#prof reid

It wasn’t until there was a particularly bright bolt, an equalizing charge tearing through the sky, that I realized she was watching me stare at her instead of the storm outside.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” I asked, finally breaking myself from her spell and returning my attention to the papers in front of me, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re usually… More smiley.”

The question itself seemed to lift my spirits from their prone position.

“Am I?” I teased, trying to trick her by adding a tilt to my timbre, but it failed. Though it produced a smile, it remained a cautious one. 


“Around me, yeah, you are,” she said.

“You’re a cocky little thing. Have I ever told you that?”

“But I’m right,” she giggled, and I couldn’t even bother to correct her. I couldn’t fight it, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of my dignity. I would have given her so much more than that.

Still, she seemed let down by my lack of argument. She’d told me herself that she loved our spirited debates on things like the best flavor of frozen ice and whether Tuesdays or Thursdays were more frustrating. And just as she had failed to realize that those two days would never be anything but brilliant to me, knowing that I would see her, she failed to understand why I failed to fight. That I was trying to protect both her and me from the terrors peeking their heads out every time I closed my eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, and both of our smiles fell, hung down with feelings that we kept locked away behind tight lips.

“No. I’m alright,” I promised, knowing she wouldn’t believe me, “But thank you. You are, as always, very sweet.”

“Okay,” she sighed with resignation before she stood from the chair. I put my pen down, turning my attention to her once she assumed the power pose that she’d been working so hard on. She noticed my watching, the playfulness appearing in my eyes and my tongue caught between my teeth.

She didn’t let it intimidate or dissuade her from commanding, “Lose the jacket.”

“Excuse me?” I laughed, because there was really no other reasonable reply.

At least, I thought there wasn’t. (Y/n) clearly disagreed. With hurried hands, she waved them like a bird’s wings over my shoulders. She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes with something that actually resembled confidence so closely, I felt compelled to follow.

I did continue laughing the whole time, though.

“I feel like I should be nervous you’re asking me to strip.”

“Nothing nefarious is going on, don’t worry,” she mumbled, albeit with puffed cheeks and eyes nervously trying not to focus on my movements as I shed one of my layers.  

When I was in a state of undress apparently conducive to her plans, she gave me a curt nod as if to instruct me to take my seat again. At the same time that I returned to my position, she stepped behind me.

My body tensed on instinct when her hands ghosted over my shoulders. They were waiting for the pain, for the hardness and the sharpness of nails and anger.

But none of the above were found. Her fingers worked slowly, gently finding the lines of tight muscles and smoothing the pads of her fingers along them like a musician might treat worn strings. It took them time, but they eventually realized that they were safe in her hands.

I realized that she wasn’t going to hurt me, and my shoulders collapsed with relief that also expelled from my lips with a deep rumbling moan.

“This is evil,” I cried, and I heard the nervousness in her giggle.

She didn’t stop, though, her ministrations becoming more spirited now that she knew I was enjoying myself. If she heard the guilt in my whining, she wrote it off as my typical self-hatred. My normal belief that I did not deserve anything she offered in honey covered hands.

But as I let my head fall back, I stared up at her and saw the way she smiled. A slight, focused look on her eyes that also happened to be far away. Far, but in a paradoxical sense.

The further away from me she went, the closer I felt her become.

“You’re going to make me reveal all my secrets if you do things like this,” I whispered, unsure if I was talking about the massage or the way she had somehow entered my thoughts.

“Duly noted,” she whispered, a distinct mirroring of one of my favorite phrases. It, like everything else, sounded sweeter on her lips.

I started to shift before I remembered that she couldn’t actually read my mind. Her hands popped up; palms spread in surrender. I couldn’t help but laugh as I reached up to them, placing them back on my shoulders as both a reassurance and a plea for her to continue, which she did.

However, her movements faltered again almost immediately when she realized what I was doing. I hadn’t moved much; just a few clumsy, rushed tugs until I finally loosened my tie to the point where I could slide it off.

But I knew it probably meant more to her, because it meant more to me, too. It was the first time I’d shed the austere costume of authority around her. The first time I made a point to level our playing fields even just a little bit. I couldn’t shake the fifteen years between us, and I couldn’t take back the parts of myself I’d given to others.

I could take off my tie, though.

I placed the fabric on the desk, noticing how much heavier it felt when I viewed it as one of the many barriers that I’d asserted to protect myself. I should have asked myself why I took it off, why it meant so much to me, but I didn’t.

Instead, I took a sledgehammer to those walls for a second time, chasing the adrenaline rush of exposing more of my more human side to her. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my shirt with shaking hands, pushing the sleeves up as far as I could.

I was so much braver when her hands were on me. It was like I could actually feel the way she felt for me, an unbelievable and undeserved level of respect, patience, and kindness that I would never feel I deserved.

But for the moment I would drink from her, soak in the ambrosia with greedy lips until I was drunk on her. I would consume that praise in excess until it made me sick. I would let her worship me like a God, not daring to correct her for just a few moments longer.

But I also knew that a few would never be enough. My poor, pitiful Hebe, too young to understand what power she held in her hands.

“I-Is this okay?” she stuttered, causing my heart to stop with the sound.

“You continue to be wonderful in every sense of the word,” I answered with a troubled sigh. Because it really was unfortunate how extraordinary she continued to be.  

“I’m scared I’m going to hurt you.”

The thought made me laugh.

“Trust me, Bunny,” I said through the sound, “I am not fragile.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

She didn’t expound any further. But while her words became less spirited and timid, her hands became the opposite. They slid up my shoulders and around my neck.

I knew she could feel my pulse against her thumb, but she seemed too distracted to count just how quick it was beating. Her fingers had caught wind of something else, a thick abnormality that didn’t follow any veins.

“You can look,” I announced when I noticed how she lingered.

“What is it?”

“Just look.”

Thankfully, she kept her hands on me, falling back to my shoulders as she brought her face closer. I couldn’t look at her, though. No matter how badly I wanted to. I couldn’t let her see the apathy in my eyes as she inspected the trauma sewn into my skin.

“I was shot. This was the second, although more irritating of the two,” I tried to joke, but I heard the horror as her voice broke through the tense air.

“Oh, god,” she whispered, pulling her hand back like the hardened tissue had burned her, “I’m so sorry. That must have been scary.”

“I don’t really remember it. Besides, clearly, I was fine.”

“Still…”

Again, her voice disappeared. The sentence trailed away from her and carried with it the implication that I was wrong to think that I had walked away from the encounter with nothing but excess tissue to remind myself of it.

I wasn’t ready to follow nor accept that line of thinking.

“I have many more scars than that one,” I offered, instead.

With it, I held out my arm, exposing the more recent of my scars. A small, self-inflicted mark that reminded me of my ability to survive even the most suffocating of places. She looked away from that one quickly, searching for anything else to focus on rather than the jagged lines that indicated the stubborn prison-acquired infection that had followed the original wound.

My palm held her attention longer. So long, in fact, she stopped what she was doing to gain a better look. Dragging her fingers along my arm, she eventually ended at my hand, which she cautiously took in both of her own.

“And those are just the ones I can show you in my current state of undress,” I muttered. It was meant to be a joke, I’d thought, but it came out flat and broken.

I blamed her hands. There was no other explanation for why I couldn’t focus. She was inspecting the rough, puckered skin, and I wondered what she must have thought it was from. For a brief second, I didn’t see it as a reminder of the time I fought every ounce of self-preservation to protect someone else.

I’d fought so hard to take that part of my body back, but in that moment, when her thumb followed the line that cut my love line in half, I only felt broken. I felt like a failure.

How could I touch her, then? How could I let her touch me like this?

Before I could take back the evidence of my failure, my thoughts were disrupted with a quiet, timid little giggle from the girl still staring at my hand like there was anything good, anything worth seeing.

“Something funny?”

“It’s just… You told me that you weren’t fragile,” she explained, softly and filled with a surprising amount of admiration, “but now you’re showing me how many times something broke you.”

She laughed, but it was a horrible, heartbreaking sound. The strain was felt in my own throat, my eyes glassing over just as hers had.

When I moved, she jumped. She didn’t let go of my hand, though — she held it tighter. She pulled it closer, and I didn’t object, because it had always been in my plan to be closer to her. I slid the scar tissue over the unmarred skin of her neck, trying to lose myself in the warmth and fluttering feeling of her pulse, rather than the thoughts that threatened to ruin the moment.

I cradled her cheek in my hand, my lungs ceasing all function as I felt the slight, almost indiscernible weight of her head as she leaned into it. I stared into her eyes, always so full of compassion that they threatened to spill over at the slightest inconvenience to herself or anyone else.

“I’m still here,” I said, unsure of which one of us I was trying to reassure. But then her laughter chimed through the room, echoing with the rumbling of thunder in the distance, and it didn’t matter anymore.

“Yeah, you are,” she mumbled through a pout. Just as I thought to myself all of the things that I would sacrifice to feel those lips against me, she moved. Turning slowly, she brushed soft lips that were still laughing over rough skin. Carefully, she held my palm against her at the same time she moved forward, pressing a chaste kiss against the permanently broken love line.

She lingered, too, long enough for me to feel the next words spoken against the same, flushed and tingling skin.

“I’m really glad about that,” she said.  

“Me too,” I replied, failing to mention that it had been fully true for the first time.

In fact, I said nothing else. I didn’t trust myself to. I suppressed my thoughts with deep, uneven breaths that still didn’t feel like enough. I closed my eyes when she dropped our hands, choosing instead to remain in a world where I could intimately feel the steady flow of her breath.

“You should go home,” she giggled, happier now than before, “You look beat.”

With a feigned pain, I croaked, “You wound my pride, Bunny.”

“Yeah? You better get out of here, then. I can go all night.”

The both of us paused immediately after the words had been said. They hung between us, and I watched as the horror spread over each of her features. She tried to hide them behind her hands, but I could see straight through her.

“I bet you can.”

“Don’t tease me!” she squeaked, which only made me want to do it even more.

“I meant nothing nefarious, don’t worry,” I cooed before deciding she had done more than enough to deserve some mercy. But when the words came, I noticed yet another shift in her body language that drew me further into her web.

“I’m familiar with your type and intentions,” I’d said.

I never expected it to light a fire behind her eyes, and I couldn’t have predicted the way it was immediately snuffed out, either. Her shoulders rose just to fall, and the rest of the time she spent gathering her things was uncharacteristically downtrodden.

I didn’t want her to leave, either, but this seemed like a different emotion than a general disappointment.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, I drove. Thanks, though,” she sighed.

It really felt like she was running away from me as quickly as she could. My eyes were following after her like a lost puppy who’d caught sight of something he wanted. I was desperately tracking each of her movements to understand what I’d said wrong.

But then she spun on her heels, somehow perking herself up like a morning glory at sunrise. Despite the storm raging outside, she pulled her hands tight to her chest and pointed at me with silly little finger guns.

“Hey! I’ll see you at the faculty party, right?”

“You’re actually going?” I chuckled, but her raised eyebrows and persistent pout answered me before she had the chance.

“Of course. I’ve never been able to go to one before,” she said as she continued to conduct a mysteriously absent symphony, “The first time is always exciting, right?”

I watched the second sexual innuendo in a matter of seconds dawn on her but said nothing. The smirk I wore and the petrified look in her eyes spoke enough for the both of us.

“That it is,” I agreed with a small nod of surrender, “I’ll see you there, Bunny.”

“Until then, Professor,” she casually called before she left the room and took half of my heart with her.

As soon as the door closed, the frigid darkness shrouded the room despite the switch remaining untouched. The incandescent bulbs worked as hard as they could, but the heaviness of the thoughts in my head were overwhelming. They had tried to make their way through my throat, but I hadn’t allowed them. Now they were seeping from every pore of my skin and dripping from eyes that were really too tired to be crying.

I didn’t even know why I was crying. I had an inkling of what I was feeling when she touched me, but she’d just left and taken the answer with her.

Maybe that was why I needed her so badly. Maybe it was the way she pulled the answers so effortlessly from my heart. Maybe she knew everything, and I was being stubborn. I was being selfish and stupid, fighting the way it felt when her lips pressed against my palm.

She hadn’t been nervous at all. She’d kissed the hardened tissue without an ounce of disgust or derision. She’d done it the same way I dreamed of my mother doing for me every time I sat at the edge of her bed with eyes practically taped open, praying that she would wake up and be someone I recognized. It wouldn’t have been the same for her to kiss my bruises, anyway, I had reminded myself every time. Healing kisses only work when the lips are not also a product of the person whose hands had hit you in the first place.

But (y/n) had never touched me with anything resembling badness. She only knew to grow, to heal, to inspire. I knew she felt things, too, for she was just a person at the end of the day.

But she was a good person.

The kind of person that really ought to stay the fuck away from someone like me.

——————————————————

Despite the chill in the air outside, the decorated conference area was plenty warm. Although it seemed impossible, the normally too-bright lights seemed duller. They set an ambiance to the lively room of my peers that also didn’t seem quite right. I wrote it off as a product of my mind, rather than an actual reflection of anyone’s spirits.

After all, they all looked like they were enjoying themselves. In a way, I supposed I was, too. It was just difficult, to stand beside these people I’d been trained to see purely as authority figures and believe that I was meant to be there.

I felt like a fraud.

“First time not quite living up to expectations?”

The sound and feel of Spencer’s question on my ear shook me from my trance. I sat straight up, only narrowly avoiding colliding into him. But he’d expected me to respond that way and was already in the process of taking the seat next to me before I answered.

“I guess you could say that,” I laughed to mask the nervousness.

His response, or lack thereof, indicated to me that he was either expecting something other than the honest truth, or he didn’t believe I was saying what I actually wanted to answer. Either way, I wasn’t ready to be profiled by someone as talented as him.

Especially not when I was already three glasses of wine deep and he seemed to be drinking some kind of soda. We sat together in the silence that was still preferable to dillydallying with my superiors.

Well, my other superiors, I reminded myself. Because that term also applied to him. Him, and the woman who I’d been unintentionally eyeing.

It was hard not to spot my other professor in a crowd. Even if it weren’t for her truly uncanny beauty, there was something about her presence that demanded the attention of everyone in the room.

Spencer was no exception. He’d followed my eyes the moment he noticed they weren’t turning to him like they usually did, and I watched from my peripherals at how they wandered over her the same way he often looked at me.

“How was your meeting with Professor Hawkin?” I asked, hating myself for how small and petty I sounded. The jealousy seeped through my words, but I wanted him to look at me so badly.

He did.

“Candy?” he asked with a wrinkled nose, chuckling at the notion of calling her anything else. But then he must’ve seen the frustrated pout that quickly formed over my features, because he quickly added on, in a low, slow drawl, “Why, are you jealous?”

“Tch,” I scoffed, or at least tried to. But the sound I made was more like a sigh, and I knew I had already been defeated before the battle had even begun.

“How could I not be?” I admitted so he wouldn’t call me out for it, “I mean... she’s pretty. Established. Smart.”

Spencer snapped his fingers together just outside of my ear, chuckling as my attention followed immediately. I wordlessly thanked whatever gods were responsible that he hadn’t actually touched me. I wasn’t sure I would have survived his hand cradling my face again.

“You are also all of those things,” he said like a chastisement.

What followed, however, was anything but— it was carefully affectionate and dangerously full of desire. His eyes dropped, tracing the lines of my body slowly before he meant my eyes again.

“The first now more than usual, although it is difficult to imagine you any other way.”

With a nervous laugh and cheeks that felt scalded by rushing blood, I quickly and sarcastically replied, “Thanks.”

I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to get into the depths of my insecurity nor the ever-running undercurrent of affection I felt for the man. I was already mortified that he knew as much as he undoubtedly did; he didn’t need any more ammunition to shatter my heart.

Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward to rest a hot cheek against the palm of my hand. The other brought my drink to my lips, only for me to take a sip so small it was equally embarrassing as having not drank anything at all.

“Is it just me, or do you ever feel super out of place at things like this?” I asked.

“It’s definitely not just you,” he answered with an astounding amount of honesty, “It might just be the two of us, though.”

It was genuine enough that I found the courage to down the rest of the contents of my glass. But no matter how much pretentious wine I’d drank in my life, I still couldn’t hide the visceral reaction to the dryness. A slight chill ran through me, and I watched the way Spencer tried not to laugh about it.

“I still feel weird drinking in front of other adults. Is that weird?” I whispered before he had a chance to mock me for it.

“A little bit. Why is it weird?”

It was a question I’d thought about, anticipated even, but never had the chance to figure out. If I’d looked at him, maybe the look in his eyes or the quirk of his lips might have given me a hint. But the barely empty glass seemed less intimidating than him, so I watched as the few droplets dragged slowly with each turn of my wrist.

“Hmmm. I guess it’s because… I don’t know. I grew up hearing all these stories about wild, raging parties and chaos. But I never really did any of that.”

“Yeah, you don’t really strike me as a bad girl.”

“Oh, trust me. I can be bad,” I defended, but this time it was his turn to avoid my eyes. He didn’t need to speak for me to read his mind. The highly arched brows and tight-lipped smile told me that he was not convinced.

“I can!” I shouted again, enjoying how it elicited a giggle from the both of us. “Just… not like that.”

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with being a good girl,” he said with a bit of a slur to his words. Once I was able to reroute my brain from the horribly distant line of fantasies that quickly erupted from his use of the phrase ‘good girl,’ I glanced down at his drink again to find that it still carried carbonation.

Spencer wasn’t drunk on alcohol in any way when he spoke again, quieter, closer, and his voice dropping a full register. Taking all possible precautions to ensure I was aware that the message was meant for my ears, and my knowing, only.

“Many men find innocence far more alluring.”

My heart was pounding so hard, I was certain he could hear it from where he was. He would undoubtedly see the way my pulse changed, the same way I felt his breath begin to shake as it hit my ear.

“Yeah?” I dumbly added, and he was quick to answer with a firm, “Yes.”

I forced myself to break eye contact with him, terrified that I would actually melt or be consumed by the way he was looking at me. I was forced to set my glass down so my trembling would be less obvious, but I knew he caught it all the same.

“There’s still something so… exciting about the thought of it, though. You know?” I mumbled, fiddling with the hem of my cocktail dress as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

But even then, I was still distracted by the way others perceived me. I wondered if Spencer saw me as I did, as nothing but a foolish little thing who’d been tricked into walking straight into the lion’s den.

“Maybe the others are on to something,” I thought aloud, “Maybe drunkenly making out with a random guy in a closet is exactly what I need to stop feeling like a little girl playing dress up and pretending to be a grown up.”

“Those things are always better in theory,” he answered a bit too quick for comfort.

“How would you know? Did the ever enigmatic Dr. Reid participate in his fair share of Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

Spencer had made the terrible decision to take a drink just before the question was asked, and I watched him barely escape choking on it. His laughter was different, boisterous and free as he shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

It was my turn to not be convinced.

“Did you want to?”

His eyes snapped back over to me, his jaw clenching shut so tightly it looked almost painful. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Not really, no,” he finally said, “Never had anyone I wanted badly enough to work up the confidence.”

Pleased by my amusement in his explanation, Spencer’s jaw managed to relax again. I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just saying what he thought I wanted to hear, but I wasn’t going to stop him even if he was.

I liked this side of him. The imperfect, casual side of him that choked on laughter and soda and freely admitted to his shortcomings. Especially when those things, those insecurities, were so similar to my own.

“Yeah. Same,” I sighed in agreement.

Spencer just gave a solemn nod, hiding that glint in his eyes once again.

I wasn’t ready to let it go.

“But what if I just… did it?” I giggled, shaking my shoulders and hoping the inertia would help my spine straighten. Hoping that I could actually trick myself into doing the things I was too scared to try.

“Is that really how you want to experience your first kiss?”

The world came to a record scratch stop, and for a moment I almost missed it. But then it hit me all at once, and my voice shot out of me much too loud and garbled from the shock.

“Wha— How did you know that?!”

“I didn’t,” he snickered, “but now I do.”

“Y-You— You son of a bitch!” I gasped, now fully lost in my astonished laughter he always seemed to enjoy. I got the feeling he liked the curse even more, though.

The two of us returned to the comfortable quiet, the calmness and contentedness that usually accompanied one another. Spencer wasn’t ready to let it go yet, either. He lifted his elbow just enough to bump into my arm, waiting until I responded to lean closer.

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. At least it’d be over, right?” I said with a shrug, “And it wouldn’t mean anything. It won’t hurt when it amounts to nothing, because I went into it with that expectation.”

It was hard to sound genuine when the words were a half-truth. Especially when they were spoken to a profiler.

Because the truth was, the ideas I was spouting only made sense when applied to anyone else. If I were to admit what I really wanted, it wouldn’t be a random hook up in a closet. It wouldn’t be meaningless, detached company.

It would be the two of us, entwined like climbing vines around a trellis. Driven not by a desire to be seen as older or younger or anything of the sort. Rather, having been compelled by the heavy feeling in the center of our chests. The unending yearning to be seen, to be felt and held and loved.

“Does that make sense?” I asked, like he would know the real question behind it.

It almost seemed like he did when he softly answered, “It does.”

His jaw twitched, the muscles in his face tensing as his eyes began to wander. At first, I thought it was his subtle way of telling me that he’d heard my thoughts and didn’t feel the same.

But that wasn’t it. It couldn’t have been. Not when his eyes settled on his hand that had fallen between us, just to immediately outline the path I assumed he wanted to take. He was fixated on the sliver of my thigh visible through the slit in the dress. I looked, too, noticing for the first time I had started to shift my legs open, slowly closing the gap between us.

His knuckle brushed over the heated skin, just to snap away. His hand retreated, but the rest of him stayed close by. We both leaned into one another, forgetting the rest of the world for those few seconds.

I drowned myself in sweet treacle eyes and heavy breathing. My lips parted, trying to speak but losing all of the words almost immediately.

Because I felt it. Spencer’s fingers sneaked between the fabric and his palm coming to rest against my thigh. All the while, his eyes challenged me to do something. To stop him or urge him forward, to make a move with a similar boldness.

“I think I’ve had too much wine,” I said with thready vocals. A voice box rioting against any sound that wasn’t shaped like his name.

The others would blame the glassiness and heaviness of my eyes on the wine, but his hand on my thigh was far more intoxicating. Even when it slid away, it dragged me with it. The pads of his fingers were smooth but still seemed sticky in the way they compelled me to follow.

Leaning forward, Spencer whispered directly in my ear, “Come with me.”

He stood so casually, as if he hadn’t just held my inner thigh in his hand. Those same fingers curled up into his palm, beckoning me to follow him as he fled the room. I probably should’ve been concerned at the sight, the connotations that would accompany us all but bolting out of the room together.

But I didn’t give a single fucking shit.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he guided me through the sparsely populated hallway.

As we took a sharp turn, he vaguely answered, “A closet.”

“Why?”

I had already forgotten the entire conversation we’d had not five minutes before. My entire body was moving purely on instinct, a desperate need to please him. He finally glanced back at me, flashing me the cutest, wickedest little smirk before he responded.

“You’re a smart girl,” he said, “You can figure it out.”

But I couldn’t. Not when the words were punctuated with his hand around my wrist, pulling me forward and against his chest. The world spun around me, or perhaps it was just the wine, but the next time I was able to feel my own feet, they were backed against a door.

Spencer flipped the lock, leaving the lights off and relying on the little bit of moonlight filtering through the windows to see the shocked expression on my face. His forearms caged me against the door, our chests pressed firmly against one another as our breath mixed in the cramped space.

I’d never felt freer.

“Tell me to stop,” he begged.

I’m sorry, Professor.

I can’t follow your instructions this time.

“Do it,” I said.  

“Stop?”

“No,” I whispered as confidently as I could before commanding, “Kiss me.”

And he did. With movements like molasses, Spencer closed the only space remaining between us.

He kissed me.

I was so shocked that I couldn’t move, too overwhelmed and entranced by how soft his lips were. At first, he was gentle, his hands barely ghosting over my cheeks. But I felt him change. I felt it in his movements the same way I felt it in my heart.

He pressed harder, his hands showing a thrilling, mutual desperation to take more.

As soon as my lips parted for him, he filled them with his tongue. It was soft in its movements, strongly contrasted by the rough drag of his fingertips against my jaw. While I tasted of wine, he tasted of sugar. So perfectly pure like his tongue had been pulled from the petals of a honeysuckle.

My body went half limp as my lungs ran out of air, but I couldn’t make myself stop. I wondered if he really were like the sweet nectar of the flower and not the poisonous berries of the bush. I sensed no difference in the effect kissing him had on me. My heart was racing, and my pupils dilated to soak in any light we could find in the shadows. Trying to see the way he looked when he finally broke free of me for the first time since we’d come together.

I expected him to stop there, but he didn’t. Spencer’s mouth merely shifted from my lips to my jaw, then down to my neck. Before I knew it, he had nipped at the sensitive skin over my pulse before laying sloppy kisses over the wound.

“Professor,” I cried, but he did not answer with words.

Instead, his hands and tongue became even more persistent in finding and marking as much of me as he could. His fingers dug into my hips so hard that I couldn’t stop the broken cry that it elicited. It only made him grab me harder, his teeth dragging over my shoulder before pressing a chaste kiss to my collarbone.

“Please,” I begged, my voice shaking precariously on the cliff’s edge of desire that I wanted to throw myself into, the rocky shore be damned.

Spencer pulled away, but his chest remained pressed against me with each heaving breath. His hand on my face felt cold compared to the heat that had formed in my cheeks, but I barely felt it. My mind was too fixated on short fingernails still dug into the supple skin of my thigh.

He slipped his hand under the hem of my dress, and I felt the same scar I’d kissed slide against my skin. He used his new grip to hike my leg farther up his hip, forcing a distance between my legs that he once again immediately filled with his body.

That’s when I felt it — A strange, unfamiliar hardness pressed firmly against my stomach. As soon as it occurred to me what it was, the desire that he was demonstrating, I couldn’t stop the pathetic, trembling whimper that followed.

It lit a fire in his eyes that I’d never seen before, and I knew it was reflected in my own.

I’d never felt like this before. I’d never wanted a man this way. Every fantasy I’d concocted of the perfect moment fractured and fell away. I would have given my everything to him right then, and the darkness brewing in our locked gaze told me that he would have taken it with greedy, insatiable hands.

I wished he would. I wanted to be consumed by his impatience. I wanted the darkness inside of him to poison my veins and lead me into the darkness with him.

Still, when he spoke again, the sound was riddled with restraint.

“Tell me, Bunny…” he whispered, sliding his lips across my jaw and slipping his hand on my face up to grip my hair. I hung on his every word, not moving but allowing him to manipulate my head with his new hold.

He forced my head back against the door, pressing his erection hard enough against me that I saw his eyes struggle to stay open. But they did, staring insistently as he finally managed to gather enough breath to ask the question that had finally clawed its way through his throat.

“Do you feel like a woman now?”

It took me a moment to answer, not because I needed the time to decide, but because none of the air I took in seemed to cure the emptiness inside of me that I desperately wanted him to remedy. Eventually, I managed to breathe out a soft, timid affirmative.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, not full of arrogance or pride but with a genuine relief.

I didn’t understand how it was possible, but Spencer pulled away from me with an eerie amount of ease. His hands didn’t ball in fists, remaining open wide enough that his palms were visible.

I saw how his hands shook, returning to me with a tenderness and affection that didn’t suit the mood he’d established minutes before. He led me away from my spot against the door, flipping the lock back to its previous position and fleeing the room without another word.

I stayed, silently recalling everything that had just happened. The party continuing down the hall felt like a lifetime away. A reminder that the world was still spinning at the same speed as it had before.

Despite Spencer’s absence, I didn’t feel alone. In fact, I’d never felt closer to him than I did in that moment, with my lips tingling in memory of his and my hands roaming skin that felt new.

I didn’t feel alone at all, I realized.

I felt my heart break into pieces that he carried away with him. They had always made heartbreak sound horrible, and in a way, it was terrifying. Because I felt the way he kept me close with memories he knew himself incapable of forgetting.

I didn’t feel alone.

I felt like I was his for the first time, and I never wanted it to end.

—————————————————— 

Lights were slowly being turned off section by section. A vacuum came to life in one of the aisles. People started to scramble from their seats - shoving their things into their backpacks, throwing out empty coffee cups into the overflowing bins, checking out books they might still use that evening.

All signs indicating it was time to go.

Dolly, one of the librarians, ushered towards you. Her jacket draped over her shoulders, her bag in hand. She gave you the usual spiel of how you can stay until the janitor is finished cleaning, to which you politely nodded along. She wished you a pleasant night, and with a “see you tomorrow” she hurried out the door.

Once she was out of sight, you groaned under your breath and ran your fingers through your hair. You had an assignment due tomorrow, one you started hours ago and only managed to formulate three total sentences. Your gut was telling you there was no way you were going to finish now, especially since you had about thirty minutes until you would have to leave.

Leaning back in your chair, you fluttered your eyes closed in an attempt to collect your thoughts. The tranquil feeling didn’t last long however, as you were abruptly brought back to reality by someone loudly clearing their throat. You immediately sat back up and quickly scanned the space for the source of the interruption.

A tall brunette man stood a few tables away, his hands slowly sliding into the pockets of his pants. He was definitely older, by how much you couldn't quite tell. But, you definitely took notice of how handsome he was.

“The library is closed for the night.” He stated, the tone of his voice calm yet stern.

“I have permission to be here.” You retorted with as much confidence as you could muster, but the mysterious man didn't seem impressed with your answer. With an arched brow, he took a firm step in your direction.

“From who?” He challenged, as if he was waiting to catch you in a lie.

You folded your arms across your chest, unwilling to give in to whatever game he was playing. “Dolly, the librarian. I could call her if you don't believe me?”

The brunette didn’t respond. Instead, his lips twirled slightly upwards into a sly smirk and with the way he was now looking at you, you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You only hoped he didn't see the faint pink blush now present on your facial features.

“May I?” The man asked after a brief moment of silence, pointing to to the chair beside yours. You found yourself nodding, before quickly turning your attention away from him, and back to the book in front of you.

While he made himself comfortable, his leg brushed against yours. The sudden close contact sent a jolt down your spine and you shivered. A small act he definitely noticed.

“You’re not some sort of killer, are you? You’re not here to murder me?” You asked, tilting your head to once again look at the man. Shaking his head, he let out a wholehearted chuckle.

“No, I’m definitely not a murder.” He reassured.

“Definitely? That's over selling it, don't you think? It’s exactly the kind of thing a murder would say.” You teased in response, gaining a little bit of your courage back. He didn't reply. The smirk on his face widened just a little and he eyed you silently, as if you were a treasure map he was desperate to solve.

The two of you stared at one another for what felt like eternity. There was something amicable about the seconds that passed as you looked into his hazel eyes. Something harmonious. Friendly. Strong.

When you finally broke contact and proceeded to return to working on your assignment, you could still feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. In any other situation, with any other stranger, the feeling would have made you uncomfortable. Scared even. But there was something quite thrilling about the mysterious brunette sitting beside you.

“I’m a profiler.” He said after another moment of comfortable silence. “I work for the FBI as part of their Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He added as you glanced up at him from your notes, intrigue gracing your facial features. The statement was to make you feel safer in his presence - not that it was needed since you already felt strangely guarded around him.

You smiled, dropping your pen and shifting in your chair to face him completely. “So, agent, what are you doing at a university library on a Thursday night? Did the bad guys take a break?”

“Doctor.” He calmly corrected.

“What?”

“It’s doctor, not agent.” He said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.”

The smug look on his face earned him a playful eye roll. “You don’t happen to have a PhD in History under your belt, do you, doctor? Because that would be very helpful right about now.”

“No, but I do have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute.” He declared and you gaped at him in disbelief, mouth parting ever so slightly in shock.

Great, you thought, as if he wasn't intimidating enough.

“You could have just said you were a superhero.” You joked before leaning in towards him ever so slightly. The faint whiff of his cologne caught you off a little off guard, and you took a mental note to never again settle for someone that only used body spray. “Don’t worry, I’m really good with secrets. I won’t tell anyone.” You whispered and gently pressed your index finger to your lips.

The comment caused the handsome doctor to throw his head back in a whole-hearted laugh. He placed a hand on his stomach as you slowly shifted back to your previous position, chewing down on the inside of your cheek down to stop yourself from commenting on how good he looked.

“Am I going to get an answer to my previous question?” You asked once the laughter died down, your assignment long forgotten.

“I teach here.”

The statement earned him another eye roll. “Seriously? Is there anything you don't or can't do?”

It was his turn to lean in. He rested his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers together, his hazel eyes never leaving yours. The air hitched in your lungs at his proximity. You felt as if every single cell in your body was shaking.

“Well, us superheroes, we like to stay busy.” He whispered, his cool minty breath hitting you in the process, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat, a timid smile appearing on your face. “There uhm, there’s this diner not far from here. It’s twenty-four hours meaning they won’t kick us out. Would you like to come with me? We can have coffee?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved back in his seat and ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. You bit down on your bottom lip, wondering what was going through his mind. Wondering if perhaps you had overstepped some sort of boundary since he was a professor and you were a student.

But, it was just coffee. Nothing more. That wasn't so bad... Right?

“Coffee sounds nice.” He responded with a smile, after what felt like forever.

Outside, there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky making the million stars shine all that brighter. They looked like perfect sugar granules spilled on a dark surface, accompanied by the glowing moonlight.

The breathtaking sight was accompanied by street lamps. They illuminated the path while you walked side by side, almost in sync. Shoulders faintly brushing against one another.

“How long have you been a profiler?” You asked, looking ahead. The wind blew lightly through your hair causing your brunette companion to turn his head and observe you quietly. A smile crept up on his lips.

“I joined when I was twenty-two.” He answered. You glanced up at him for a brief moment - that wasn't much younger than you now. The look in his eyes suggested he knew that’s what you were thinking.

“Do you like it? Or do you prefer teaching?”

He licked his lips, thinking. As he furrowed his brows together, you noticed the unobtrusive age lines defining his handsome features. Each individual crease telling a different story, and you found yourself hoping you would one day be lucky enough to hear them.

“Every job has its pros and cons.” The brunette man stated eventually, lightly shrugging his shoulders.

You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle at his answer. “Okay professor, now you just sound conventional.”

He chuckled, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his pants. “I’ve been called many things in my life, miss. Conventional was never one of them.”

“It’s Y/N. My name, uhm, my name is Y/N.”

You both stopped once you introduced yourself, simultaneously turning in your spots, so that you were facing each other completely.

“Y/N...” He tested your name on his tongue, and a smile embellished your features because for some reason it sounded incredibly striking coming out of his lips.

“It suits you.” He retorted and the blood rushed to your face. Now, he definitely noticed the blush, you thought. He didn’t comment on it however. Instead, he proceeded to introduce himself, “My name is Spencer. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

-

masterlist

That look in her eyes, although barely visible, haunted me. Because there was nothing that even slightly resembled fear or regret. It was only lust, the same unimaginable, all-consuming desire that I felt, reflected back at me through her eyes.

I tasted the fine wine on a sweet, youthful tongue. A reminder that she was too naive to know her own limits. That she would unwittingly drown in the honey of herself. The cloying sweetness of her lips that couldn’t close; too busy singing my praise, just as I’d dreamed that they would.

She was everything I dreamed she would be.

And I couldn’t have her ever again.

“Reid! Earth to Spencer Reid!”

The call came with a soft thwack to the side of my head, and I realized just how far I’d fallen into the fantasy.

Derek was looking at me like I’d sprouted a second, and possibly third, head as he asked, “What the hell is going on in there?”

“What? I’m sorry,” I mumbled nonsensically before adding on what should have been obvious, “Sorry, sorry. I’m just... distracted.”

I thought that withholding any further explanation would be the safer bet, but I shouldn’t have underestimated Derek Morgan’s profiling skills. The time away from the BAU seemed to have only sharpened them, and with just a single glance at my nervous, fidgety figure, his shoulders dropped.

“Oh, no,” he groaned, “Don’t tell me...”

“Please, stop,” I whined, because I knew what was coming.  

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t sleep with little miss Bunny.”

“No,” I quickly and gruffly corrected, “I didn’t sleep with her.”

But again, he was too sharp to let the nuance slide unnoticed. I’d already confirmed his concerns that she was the focus of my torment, although I doubt he really needed me to say it. The fact that I corrected him so narrowly only led him down an even worse collection of possibilities.

“Don’t lie to me, kid,” he warned.  

“I didn’t sleep with her!” I repeated louder, as if it would absolve the pit in my stomach or stop my best friend from looking at me like that. With eyes full of both sympathy and frustration at just how stupid I could be.

I gave a heavy sigh of resignation and covered my face with my hands. It seemed easier to reveal the truth that way.

“I just... we might have... kissed.”

“You kissed?” he scoffed, clearly recognizing that I was still leaving out the details that plagued my thoughts.

It was too humiliating to get into all of my indiscretions at the moment, though. He could already tell that I was a wreck — I didn’t need to put any visuals in his mind of myself nor the young girl I’d robbed of at least one petal.

“And maybe some other stuff,” I muttered, vividly recalling just how beautiful she looked as she called for me.

How her thighs were so warm and inviting, and how her lips trembled with every moan. I could feel her body shaking, struggling to comprehend just how harshly I handled her. I wanted to be gentle, I did, but she was just so fucking pliable, so impressionable and prone to defilement, I couldn’t help myself.

“God, I’m so stupid,” I groaned, my hands tugging on the same hair her hands had run through, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You like her. That’s not a bad thing,” Derek tried to reason.

He didn’t understand. How could he? With hands that were clean and capable of love?

“It is a bad thing! I can’t— I can’t like her!”

Although rattled by the volume with which I’d spoken, he didn’t let it dissuade him from finding and addressing the issue at the root of it all.

“Why? Is there some rule against you two being together?”

“No.”

That wasn’t the problem.

“So why not? She clearly likes you. Just see where it goes.”

Why didn’t he get it?

“Derek, I can’t do that to her,” I croaked, feeling my eyes wet and wondering if it was from the death grip I had on my head or the things happening within it.

“Do what?” he asked, shattering the last shackle that held my thoughts safely behind the thick walls of self-hatred and selfishness.

“Trap her with me!” I yelled. My hands flew from their position, and I held them stretched out in front of me. I needed him to see how they shook from the weight that they held. His eyes, like hers, immediately flickered to the imperfections.

Derek was better at looking away than her. I wonder if it’s because he saw the failure like I did. If he saw mistakes made by the both of us, rather than a reminder that my body was capable of surviving.

“It’s not a trap if she wants to be there, Reid.”

They were the same words I would’ve given him if the situation was reversed. I knew that there was logic and reason in them, but I just couldn’t allow any conclusion where I was allowed to be happy.

“No, it is. It is a trap. Because I’m a... a goddamn black hole!” I shouted, no longer capable or willing to hold it back, “Everything I touch falls apart. JJ, Maeve, Cat, Max, my mom, I…!”

When I looked up at him, I saw the understanding in his eyes. I saw that some part of him could connect with the words I was saying. I continued, confident in my decision to willfully misinterpret and weaponize that look to prove that the words were true.

“I can’t do that to her. She’s so young and she has so much to give, and if I take it from her, I will destroy it like I do with everything else that is good.”

That I was undeserving of anything resembling love. Especially if it came from her.

After a moment of silence and mercy, Derek spoke again.

“That’s not true,” was all he said. Like he could will it to be false any better than I could.

“Isn’t it?” I laughed to hopefully stall the tears that had already started to fall, “Look me in my eyes and tell me that she doesn’t deserve someone that isn’t broken.”

He opened his mouth to speak but must have decided it wasn’t worth the breath. He averted his eyes for just a couple seconds — enough to cleanse his palate of the pain that was pouring from me. As soon as his gaze returned, I was generous enough to replace the pain with apathy. To spare him from suffering the same way I was trying to do for her.

“She’s so young, and I’ve already stolen enough from her. She shouldn’t have to pick up my mess. She should get a chance to live free from all of... this.”

Derek brought his hand to his lips, clasped together in thought and something else. A quiet kind of hopefulness that he might be able to guide me through this in time.

He always was the more optimistic of the two of us.  

“You want to know what I’m hearing?” he asked.

And despite all of my stubborn blubbering, I really, really did.

“What?”

“That you must really like that girl a lot to be willing to give up everything you want so she can be happy,” he said, “A damned fool, but one with good intentions.”

Just like that, he crushed my preconceived notions of myself. Wielding nothing but a solemn laugh and a few words uttered like a joke, Derek took the little bit left of my frostbitten heart and tried to bring it back to life.

“I do really like her,” I answered before anxiously biting on my lip to stop anything else from sneaking past my defenses.  

Because we both knew it was a lie. Derek wasn’t going to point it out, and I would forever be grateful to him for that.

The truth was, I didn’t like her.

I was falling madly in love with her, and I didn’t know how to stop.

I didn’t want to, either.

————————————————

Leave it to the Virginia weather to change at the drop of a hat. It wasn’t a terribly cold day, and for that I was grateful. I couldn’t call myself completely devoid of luck — after all, I’d managed to find a collection of plastic bags to wrap my electronics in, and I’d worn a jacket with a hood.

Unfortunately, however, my luck ended there.

I tried to find myself somewhere far away, but the beating of rain and tiny pieces of hail hitting my head honestly felt more fitting. If it wasn’t the world punishing me for being a stupid, careless idiot, I didn’t understand why else it would be storming this badly in the middle of November.

It’d been three days since I’d see Spencer. The weekend was the same length as every other week, but it felt longer. Perhaps it was because we hadn’t really been texting each other, which was unusual.

Or maybe it was the fact we kissed.

It was probably that one.

I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do. Was it on me to text him? Was it his responsibility? That seemed vaguely sexist, or I suppose ageist, to think that he was meant to take all the steps. But I’d literally never been in this situation before, and despite his greater experience in the world of love, I sort of doubted that he had, either.

By the time I had returned to the party, he had been long gone. I didn’t entirely blame him; I left shortly thereafter myself. But I would be lying if I pretended like it didn’t bother me at least a little bit that he’d run away so quickly.

It was only to be expected, though. The longer I thought about our conversation, the more I blamed myself for where we ended up. That wasn’t to say that I regretted it, but just that I better understood his decisions.

I didn’t regret it. Because at the end of the day, pity or pride or whatever other reason, Spencer Reid had decided that he was willing to kiss me.

He wanted to kiss me… and possibly wanted to do a lot more than that.

The rain seemed lighter after the conclusion was reached. It wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to fight the way the butterflies in my stomach took flight in the strong winds. The people driving past must have thought that I was mad, to be smiling while standing drenched and clutching nothing but a soaked book bag, but I didn’t care.

I was ready to tell them as much, too. As soon as the car in front of me stopped, my mouth quickly dropped open to explain that I didn’t need to be rescued.

But then I saw him, with his eyes wide and his hands frantically waving faster than the window could open. The one man that I would be willing to let save me from any kind of storm.

“Professor?”

“What the hell are you doing?!” he yelled, “Get in the car!”

“But—“

“Get in the car!”

I’d learned a while ago that it wasn’t worth it to fight him. Running through the puddle off the curb, I scrambled into his car without regard for just how awkward it would be when the door shut.

“I was waiting for the bus,” I said with hurried breath.

Spencer wasn’t amused nor thrilled by my explanation.

“Are you joking? You’re drenched!”

For whatever reason, I glanced down at the state of me. My dripping backpack was sat on my lap, as if the rest of me wasn’t already soaking through every inch of once-dry textile.

“I’m sorry! I’m going to get your seat all wet!”

“I don’t care about the seat; I’m worried you’re going to get sick!” he huffed.

Despite the fact I was certain it was meant to be a chastisement for having gotten myself in that situation in the first place, it was very cute. His eyes couldn’t stay off me for very long at all, flicking back and forth from the road to the soaked girl in his passenger seat.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked, his voice finally having settled at an appropriate volume.

“I’m fine,” I answered quickly. But when his shoulders didn’t fall and his eyes remained troubled, I provided a more honest addition, “I’m just... embarrassed. I’m sorry.”

Spencer must have realized that his worrywart tendencies had made me feel guilty, because he gave a heavy sigh before he spoke again.

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I saw you.”

The sadness in his tone made it hard to believe him. Not to mention the fact that we hadn’t spoken in days. Before we’d kissed I could usually count the number of hours without him on one hand. I had even started to worry that he never slept.

I was trying to avoid looking at him because I didn’t want him to see the anxiety in my eyes. But after a few seconds of watching the water drip down the passenger window, I realized how pointless my efforts were. Even if I was wrong, and he couldn’t read my mind, he was certainly a good enough profiler to realize why I was freezing him out.

Also, he didn’t know where I lived.

“So uh... Where did you want to take me?”

“Oh right! I’ll take you home,” he said with a chuckle that I might dare to describe as disappointed, “Are you okay to give directions?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t hide my disappointment. Not as well as him, anyway.

I only lasted approximately two minutes in the silence before it became too uncomfortable to bear. I wrote it off as my terrible habit of overthinking. Even it was true that we’d ruined our relationship already, I didn’t want to admit it just yet.

“Can I turn on the radio?” I asked, instead.

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down at untouched dials like there was a memory or secret stored within them, “Sure. Go ahead.”

The first station that came on was silent. So quiet that I was almost convinced I hadn’t actually turned it on. But the station numbers were staring back at me, and I was too afraid to touch the volume knob.

But then it happened, slowly but surely, a familiar tune building up to a cruel, cruel verse. The sultry and suggestive beat had me snickering before the words had even started, and Spencer also wasted little time interrupting my amusement.

“Something funny?” he asked. Like he didn’t already know.

“Hmmm. No,” I hummed, happy to taunt him with the joy that the coincidence brought me.

Young teacher, the subject

Of schoolgirl fantasy

She wants him so badly

Knows what she wants to be

Instead of letting it go so easily, I continued with the same, cheerful cadence, “Did you know Sting was a high school teacher?”

“I did.”

“He swears it isn’t autobiographical and was inspired by Lolita, but... Bit of a creep, no?”

“Yes,” he answered with a stern voice and raised eyebrows, “Creepy.”

Inside him, there's longing

This girl's an open page

There was really no telling what gave me the confidence that followed. By all accounts, I should have been dissuaded by his apparent refusal to discuss the ten ton elephant in the room. But there was just something in the way his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. I could trace the tension that continued to fill the space between us, and it all led back to him.

Book marking, she's so close now

This girl is half his age

I realized something in that moment. I’m not a profiler, and I’m not really great at reading a lot of social clues, either. But I was absolutely, positively sure in my deduction that my boss and Professor, Spencer Reid, was absolutely terrified of me.

It wasn’t the usual terror - it was an abject horror. The overwhelming fear that accompanied having none of the power he usually held. Just as Sting had wanted to portray, there was a thick, undeniable guilt and frustration filling the four door sedan.

And I knew how to make it so much worse.

“Twenty five isn’t half of forty, though,” I said.

Spencer turned to look at me with narrowed eyes and a curled tongue.

“Excuse me?”

“It isn’t,” I reasserted with a shrug.  

“Are you implying something, Bunny?”

Sticking my bottom lip out and humming a quick, high note, I corrected, “No, I’m doing math.”

His lips turned to a smirk that only barely hid his true feelings. The undercurrent of fear ran along each syllable as he asked, “Where did the numbers come from?”

Don't stand, don't stand so

Don't stand so close to me

Choosing not to answer the pointed question, I turned to him. I tried to laugh, but it came out as a flat, sarcastic chuckle that almost sounded angry.

“You really think it has nothing to do with us?”

Don't stand, don't stand so

Don't stand so close to me

Any humor fell from his face so quickly that I started to doubt it had ever existed. He’d heard the insecurity and hurt behind my poor attempts at a joke, or flirting, or whatever the hell it had been. I saw myself reflected in his eyes right before he ripped them away from me.

The sound of the song faded to the back of my mind, drowned out by his persistent self-castigation. The obvious hatred that he held for himself was being projected on my skin for the first time. Every place where he had touched me, I could almost see the burn marks of areas he’d deemed corrupted by his hands.  

He gave himself too much credit, to think that he could taint me so easily.

“Trust me, Bunny,” he interjected with a sigh, “If fate had any control over the radio, it would pick a more suitable song.”

I wanted to believe him. Something told me that it might make it hurt less.

Temptation, frustration

So bad it makes him cry

But I didn’t believe him at all.

“Are you sure, Professor?”

Wet bus stop, she's waiting

His car is warm and dry

Spencer didn’t answer my question. His hand that had been in a white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel shot over to the controls. The song cut off, only to be replaced by another, more somber, tune.

I didn’t need to listen closely to recognize The Smiths, and the title of the track alone was fitting enough to my feelings that I had to laugh.

Please, please, please, let me get what I want.

I laughed, and he followed with a sad little smirk. One that I was already accustomed to. The one he wore every time I left. Every time but the last time.

We pulled up to the stoplight in front of my apartment, and I wondered if this would be a necessary one-off awkwardness, or if it would always be like this from then on.

It seemed impossible, though. How could I buy into this ending? To believe that he would really let something like that ruin all of the fun we’d had together thus far? Because it wasn’t all about the physical spark. The only reason the fire had grown so quickly was because the kindling was plentiful.

There was something in me that made him want to burn. I knew because I felt it, too.

Every time he looked at me, without fail, I found myself lost in the mesmerizing dance of fiery golden halos. I had watched the lightning strike and scar the wise, frail trunk of him. I choked on the smoke of his voice and my hands splintered over the scarred skin.

So for once in my life

Let me get what I want

“That’s funny, Professor,” I whispered.

Lord knows, it would be the first time

Lord knows, it would be the first time

He didn’t ask for clarification, but I gave it anyway.

“I think fate might be a little better than you thought.”

At the same time his eyes left mine, the awful screeching of alarms blared through the speakers. Spencer’s reaction was immediate and visceral — he winced like it caused him actual pain, and I felt that suffering in return.

He still managed to pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex with ease, which was impressive considering both the tension inside the car and the storm raging outside. We both waited for the telltale tone to end, still not looking one another in the eye.

But then the faceless, robotic voice spoke the words Spencer had clearly been anticipating and dreading.

“The National Weather Service in your area has issued a Tornado Warning...”  

“Really?! In November?!” I whined.

The cry distracted Spencer from our current circumstances enough that he felt comfortable looking me in the eyes again. The tension had dissipated with the equalizing charge of the disaster that seemed hellbent on following us.

“It’s actually less rare than you think,” he explained like it would help.

As the car finally came to a stop, I was stuck switching my gaze back and forth from my door to the man beside me.

“Just— will you come inside?” I finally asked. Before he could deny my request, I tried to reassure him, “Just for a minute. I don’t want you out in this.”

I saw the word ‘no’ on his tongue, but the fate he’d discounted so easily came back to bite him. It came with fury, rage, and a power line across the street snapped clean in half.

From the safety of the car, which was rapidly declining by the second, Spencer met my eyes yet again. I watched the hundreds of possibilities play out in small stretches of hazel.

I don’t know what he saw, but once he informed me of the conclusion, I didn’t care anymore.

“... Fine,” he said like a curse.

Together, we scrambled out of the car into whipping winds and hail that hit harder than before. There was no comforting conclusion this time to soften the blow, either.

At least, not until Spencer took me by the hand. His fingers laced between mine, and for the briefest of seconds, I recalled memories of them everywhere else. I recognized the markings that I’d pressed against my lips and it lit a fire in me.

That flame was enough to get us inside, damp and drenched in our respective states. We didn’t say a word as we navigated the short hallway. Spencer was too busy surveying the area around us to notice when the door had opened, but luckily, my hand remained in his.

He followed my lead with a surprising lack of fight or friction. He didn’t even look where he was headed, trusting that I wouldn’t pull him into danger or disaster.

Unfortunately, it did mean that he stepped directly into me. Thankfully, we both remained standing, but it just brought more attention to our current circumstances. The painful proximity that felt reminiscent of the last time we’d seen each other.

I stared up at him, waiting to see if he would have anything at all to say.

He did, but it wasn’t anything close to what I wanted to hear.

“You should change,” he said before pausing to clear his throat, “y-you know… So you don’t get sick.”

“Right,” was all I said in return.

There wasn’t anything wrong with his concern; prior to the events of the party, I might have even considered it cute and a bit flirtatious. He was always so worried about me; it couldn’t be that he only saw me as an employee. I might have been able to convince myself he saw me as a child, but our last contact had laid rest to that theory.

I was the one to take my hand back first. It hurt every step of the way, but once I had possession of myself again, I remembered the way he had looked at me in the car. That undeniable, pathetic pity he’d forced onto me.

Trapped in an odd state of perpetual anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion, I allowed myself to step away from him just long enough to change. But as I caught my reflection when I stepped out of the room, I noticed just how much of me had changed already.

I wasn’t talking about my clothes, although the difference was reflected in them, as well.

By the time I returned to the main room, Spencer had shed a couple layers. He stood in the exact same place I’d left him, wearing only a slightly damp undershirt and the same, familiar slacks.

He hadn’t noticed my presence yet, too busy staring forward at the wall like it would reveal some secrets to him. Like he could feel the memories that had been built there, and he was trying to read them with the same proficiency he read the daily paper.

I eyed his figure the same way he normally did to me. But while his viewing was unabashed, mine only lasted until he turned around. Until he caught me, with my arms full of blankets and my eyes full of a distant longing he’d experienced firsthand.

“Should we get in the bathtub?” I asked, earning the first genuine, carefree laugh of the day.

“Would that make you feel better?” he asked in return.

“... I think so?” I said, conveniently leaving off the fact that it was his proximity and not the porcelain that comforted me.

I think he knew, anyway. I hoped he did. It would have made his answer far more exciting.

“Then sure,” he answered, “Let’s do it.”

The walk to my bathroom felt like a labyrinth. Time moved differently, and the creaking floorboards reminded me of the regretful, panicked screams of those poor souls trapped on Tartarus.

But my eyes remained transfixed on the man in front of me, whose hands had been stuffed into pockets to prevent me from being able to hold them again. It seemed so like him to be able to navigate a place he’d never been.

I questioned if it was wrong to idolize him this way. To compare him to a god, even when that one was a lonely, tired, god who had been damned to the only realm they would dare name after him.

I followed him, trying not to imagine myself as that chthonic maiden of Spring and seeds. I tried not to compare the storm outside to the rumblings of the earth before it opened to swallow her whole.

I thought not of pomegranates, nor how they might taste on his lips.

Had I already consumed them? Or would I be denied the option entirely?

The two of us lacked any grace or godliness as we struggled to fit ourselves in the tiny base. Our feet touched in the middle, and I once again noticed the way his socks never matched.

The sound of my laughter in the acoustics of the room was enough to break through the tension. Spencer’s quickly followed, and he hugged his awkward crossed legs while simultaneously leaning forward.

“So, Bunny, now that I have you here… I have to ask.”

The question alone caused my adrenaline levels to spike. I was afraid that he could hear my heart pounding in response, but then he introduced an entirely new fear.

I didn’t see the way he reached out until his hands were on me. Not touching my skin this time, but once again running over a barrier of plush fabric that kept us apart. It wasn’t unlike our time on Halloween, except for the fact I now knew what it felt like for there to be nothing left between us.

I almost forgot he had a question to ask, too mesmerized by the soft patterns drawn by his thumb. My eyes were half-lidded and far away when he did speak through a rather cheeky little chuckle.

“Did these come before or after me?”

The spell was broken by my shocked blinking. I glanced down at myself and remembered that I’d been trying to beat him at this game.

That was the whole reason I’d picked the pajamas that sported a pattern of little bunnies.

“A bit arrogant to assume you have that much of an effect on my decisions,” I mumbled with both sarcasm and embarrassment.

Spencer was still laughing, obviously taking a great amount of pride in his ability to turn my brain to mush with a simple touch. One that continued as he inched closer, dragging fingers all the way down my thigh as he answered, “So… after, then?”

To avoid answering the question, I did the only rational thing.

“You look ridiculous,” I teased.

He accepted the distraction as my white flag. While I hated losing the warmth of his hand on me, I still enjoyed how much more comfortable he seemed now that we’d returned to our usual dynamic. That low-stakes, competitive banter. The things that allowed us to hide how badly we really wanted to feel one another again.

“Tubs are not made for tall people,” he sighed, “It’s a curse.”

“You’re hardly tall.”

“I’m taller than you,” he shot back just as quickly.

There were many ways to resolve this childish conflict. I could continue to play into his desires — accept and acknowledge him as an authority in more ways than one. I could act like the innocent schoolgirl he’d obviously perceived me to be.

Or I could do what I wanted to do. I could show him that the things that we’d done had altered me. I could display for him the effects that he’d had and hopefully prove to him that not all of them were bad.

I could exist in a closed space with him without losing my breath entirely. My heart would keep beating, albeit harder and faster, despite having handed it to him a full three days before.

I could show him that I was no less a woman than when he had me pinned against a door, defenseless by choice. Wholly his, without regret.

“Okay, fine,” I announced just before I tackled him back against a wall of pillows and blankets.

Spencer’s laughter was so loud that it almost hurt my ears; as much as such a thing could bring pain, anyway. The two of us floundered in the small space, with my hands pulling at his calves and positioning his arms in a flagrantly carefree way.

There was absolutely no resistance on his part. His limbs were like doll pieces, staying exactly where I’d led them. He stayed, laughing and smiling until I’d convinced him to put his legs out in front of him. He didn’t protest at all when I curled up against him with my back to his chest and his arms wrapped around me.

“Is that better, Dr. Long Legs?” I hummed happily as I settled into my new position between his legs.

“Is that supposed to be a pun?” he asked. I didn’t have to see the look on his face to know that he said it through a smile. I could feel it in the way his hands settled and smoothed over my lower stomach.

At first, I tensed at his touch. I held my breath until I felt dizzy before I reminded myself that I wasn’t meant to be nervous when he held me. That I was trying to prove to him how capable I was of intimacy.

I wasn’t scared of him, like he was of me.

“I thought it was pretty good,” I muttered once my body allowed itself to relax in the safety of his arms.  

And to my surprise, he agreed.

“It was good,” he whispered.

It was surprising, but only to the extent that it hadn’t been about the pun at all.

I could only hope, anyway. It was the most favorable of the possible reasons that he seemed so comfortable when his fingers tucked under the hem of my top.

I didn’t want to believe that he was acting this way because he was playing a game. I wanted to trust my instincts that told me he had been touching me without thinking. Or perhaps, thinking too much. Remembering the way that he’d felt the other night the same way the thoughts had consumed me for days.

I threw myself into those fantasies, imagining how they would shift if we’d waited until now to give in to one another. How much easier it would have been to transition into my room. How much freer he was to touch me in safer, more suitable ways.

When his fingers tucked under the very top of the fluffy fabric of my pants, the lights began to flicker. It was the signal to the end. Enough of a scolding from the heavens that woke Spencer from his own daydreams and reminded him of where we were in the present.

“Sorry,” he announced, like his touch had been offensive. He pulled his hands away, resting them over one another on top of my lap, instead. “I was just… distracted.”

“It’s alright, Professor. I like when you touch me,” I mumbled before nuzzling further into his embrace. I didn’t shy away from nor feel any shame from the obvious statement of fact.

But in my peripherals, I saw the way it caused his forehead to wrinkle and his lips to curve in a notable frown. I saw the displeasure stemming from my desire to keep his hands on me, and I wondered if his disappointment in himself had anything to do with me at all.

It didn’t feel that way.

“Are you comfortable enough now?” I asked, hoping to distract him from the unhappiness.

It worked like a charm.

“Yes,” he replied. His smile returned in full force with fingers tapping over his own skin now. “We should hang out in tubs more often.”

“I don’t know, it makes me kind of sleepy,” I said with the most exhausted little giggle.

I half-expected him to make his exit then. To guide me or carry me off to a more suitable place to rest my head. Because I could feel the way his heart beat like unsteady, broken wings fighting against the wind currents of hurricane gusts.

Spencer Reid’s heart was not a place where sleep could be found easily, if at all. But over time, I heard how it shifted to a more predictable rhythm. I felt him calm and his tension ease just like it had in his office.

“You can go to sleep if you want,” he said once he was confident that his heart wasn’t in my way, “There are worse ways to get through a storm.”

His voice always carried such a somber melody, even in moments such as these. I heard the longing and emptiness, the echo of a small boy that still existed somewhere. I could hear him, his voice small and broken as he cried, Please, don’t leave.

But was he even talking to me?

Please, I need someone.

Would I be enough?

I need you to stay.

Would he want me to be if I could?

Please, don’t let me leave.

I hadn’t realized the way my whole face had gravitated to look up at him until his hand cradled my cheek. His thumb wiped at invisible tears on my cheek like he saw something I didn’t.

I didn’t dare look him in the eyes… until I did.

And I drowned exactly like I knew I would. My bottom lip trembled with a memory of pain that didn’t belong to me. I realized then that I hadn’t been making it up. I saw that little boy in his eyes, reaching out and holding onto the only person who’d ever stopped to really look at him.

I really thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t.

Spencer’s fingers drifted down from my cheek along with his eyes. They looked off at nothing in particular, failing to focus on anything at all.

“Professor, about the other night...” I started, hoping to finally explain myself or at least hear his own reasoning.

Those dreams were crushed even more quickly than I thought possible.

“Let’s not,” he said with a startling amount of finality.

“What?” I asked, my voice box audibly projecting the sound of my heart breaking in front of him.

“Do you remember what you said about expectations?”

‘At least it’d be over, right? And it wouldn’t mean anything.’

How could I forget one of the first lies I’d told him?

‘It won’t hurt when it amounts to nothing.’

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

Was I meant to lie again? What other option did I have? My heart was already cracked and aching in his hands, and he didn’t seem to have any desire to hold it together any longer.

“I guess,” I lied, knowing he would hear the falsity in the two syllables the same way he’d seen nonexistent tears in my eyes.

“So... let’s not.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat and hoping that the action might make the word hurt less. Knowing that it wouldn’t.

“Okay,” I agreed.

I tried to shift under his arms, but Spencer grabbed hold of my shoulders and turned me towards him. I all but crawled onto him, trying to be as close as I could while he inspected the red rimming the eyes that he’d found comfort in.

I felt the force of the way he cursed himself under his breath, every part of his mouth trying to fight itself. Trying to find a way to say what he needed to without hurting me any more than he had.

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said almost like it were a bad thing. His hands almost let me go, but then they held on tighter. He smiled when he spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear it over winds still roaring outside, “You deserve to be handled delicately, and I am not a delicate man.”

I wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but I knew that I would never win an argument that required him to show himself any sort of kindness. He would never forgive himself the way I needed him to in order to understand what I saw.

He didn’t want to believe me, but he desperately wanted to believe in a world where his own insecurity wasn’t so all-encompassing. Where we weren’t doomed before we began.

“Maybe in another life,” he whispered, “but not this one. I’m sorry.”

With a small nod, I forced my lips to raise into something resembling a smile. I blinked away the few tears that gathered, not daring to let them fall, lest they take any chance I had with them.

Can I still be your bunny?

The question stayed sat on my tongue, unmoving. My eyes took it in turn, begging him to hear it and give me the answer I needed.

“I trust you to be right about that,” I croaked, masking the fractures with an equally broken laugh.

“I know,” he chuckled, pulling me in closer to him again. His arms wrapped possessively around me. I wilted in his embrace, curling in at the edges like petals facing their first frost.

“I am,” he reminded with the start of a lausgh that never really came to be, “I always, unfortunately, am.”

As his heart fell back into a regular rhythm, I wondered if the changes had ever been because of me. I thought of how our minds make unreliable connections and recognize imaginary correlations when we want something too hard.

Was that really all that we were? Haphazard wanting without a hope for finding what we sought?

When sleep came to me, I took it. Even nightmares seemed like a reprieve from the enmity inside my bathtub. I let myself take only comfort in his warmth and the way his hands still wandered carefully over the delicate curves of my body.

I dreamed of Spencer picking up the broken fragments he’d made of me and putting them back together like one of his puzzles. In that perfect world, we’d swapped pieces of ourselves and realized for the first time that we’d always been carrying the wrong ones.

The storm passed, but Spencer didn’t wake me. He waited for me to stir before he rushed for the exit. Just as he had before, he restlessly bolted to the door.

But this time he stopped, frozen in place in response to nothing but a simple farewell.

“Goodnight, Professor,” I said, thinking of the way Persephone must have felt when the sun started to drift too close again.

Spencer turned to me with those eyes that saw more than mine.

“Goodnight, Bunny,” was all he provided.  

But when the door clicked shut, it sounded a lot like an apology.

——————————————————

The poor barista stuck working the busy early morning shift eyed me like I’d grown two heads when I once again devolved into laughter for no apparent reason. I almost felt embarrassed about it, but then I reassured myself that if she’d heard Dr. Spencer Reid tell a drug-induced-boner joke, she would also laugh about it forever.

I’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Not in a perverse way, either, despite his increasing comfort in breaching such topics in my presence. It was more like I’d started to infuse him into my every day, finding him in whatever way my brain would allow. While I made my way to his office, I breathed in the soothing scent drifting from the cups that were precariously perched in flimsy cardboard.

The smell took me back to quiet moments in his office. The kind of simple serenity that accompanied silence between two people who need not speak to share ideas. Where the second you looked away, you felt their eyes follow you, like the universe couldn’t maintain its structural integrity without one of you looking at the other.

It was intoxicating and alluring; so easy to lose myself in. Something I knew was dangerous for a number of reasons.

For example, when I am not paying the utmost attention to my surroundings, I have a tendency to lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. I also tend to… drop things. Especially hot and otherwise dangerous things.

Things like the two cups of coffee that finally became too much for shallow, defective cardboard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screeched as I became acutely aware of every place where scorching hot, drenched clothing hung on angry skin. Normally, I would at least try to sound more dignified while on my way to work, but it hardly seemed like it mattered anymore.

I was too busy hurriedly tearing at my shirt and dropping everything else I was holding. I’d gotten three whole buttons on my shirt popped by the time I remembered it wasn’t technically necessary. I dropped my bag immediately at the thought, tugging on the hem of the shirt and trying to bring it over my head.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t regained my grace, and in the muddled mess of fabric, I’d also grabbed hold of my undershirt. Which meant that whoever was walking through the empty halls of the early morning in academia would find me, with my stomach exposed and clothing dripping while unintelligible curses flowed freely from my lips.

I expected most people would probably just turn around and leave. I probably would’ve. The giant splatter of coffee and the absolute idiot slipping in it were beyond saving.

But there was at least one person who saw the mess and stayed.

I smelled his cologne before I felt his hand was pressed over the bare skin of my lower back. Despite the fact my skin was burning, it welcomed the warmth of his touch. My body stopped at his command, waiting for him to break me free of the paradoxically frozen state I was in.

He pulled the shirt back down, just enough that I could see him when he wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders and started guiding me into his office, which I’d somehow managed to almost walk straight past in my daze. I wished that I could go back there, to the imaginary world where he hadn’t just seen me half disrobed and cursing while covered in the coffee that I’d meant to give to him.

Spencer’s hands left me once the door was shut, probably trusting, or at least hoping, that I could figure out the mess on my own. Oddly enough, I didn’t notice any signs of him staring at me. Like he only felt comfortable looking when I was clothed.

I tried not to think about it. Once I did manage to free myself of one of the shirts — without further flashing my boss — the anxiety brewing inside of me burst out in the form of frantic shouting.

“Hi Professor! I’m so sorry, I spilled the coffee!”

“Yeah, I... saw the puddle,” he mumbled, throwing a cursory glance back at the hallway before his eyes met mine with a terrifying level of compassion, “Are you alright?”

“Besides the boiling liquid on my skin and the horrid embarrassment? I guess,” I mumbled back before shouting, “Shit! This is why that woman sued McDonald’s! Why do stores serve coffee like that?!”

Spencer didn’t really say anything. In fact, he kind of just stood as frozen as I had been, staring at everything around me rather than meeting my eyes again. But while he seemed somewhat cool and composed, I continued to tug at my clothes to try and avoid the friction. It was then that he cleared his throat, covering his face just like he’d done when he saw me in an arguably more provocative position the week before.

Arguably, I said. I should have known that Spencer would win any argument. I should have considered why he was making such a point of not looking at me while I clawed at the white undershirt turned beige. But I didn’t. Not until I looked down to inspect the state of my skin.

I realized then that Spencer had been trying to figure out a way to inform me that not only had the coffee turned my shirt a different shade — it had also eliminated the opacity.

He could see my bra. Spencer Reid, my boss, was trying not to stare at my very clearly visible bra.

“God, this is the worst Monday of all Mondays!” I whined between half-sobs, “and Mondays are already bad, Professor!”

There must have been something else in that cry, too. Something akin to permission. Enough for him to step closer, managing to avoid looking at my chest in the process. I’d entirely forgotten that he’d wrapped me in his cardigan until he pulled it tighter around my shoulders like his own version of an embrace.

“That they are, Bunny.”

If my skin had been heated before, it turned to flames at the use of the nickname. It was honestly a pure work of magic that the liquid on me didn’t turn vaporize the second I’d heard the word.

Bunny?

I pushed the thought away as quick as humanly possible, focusing instead on the way my clothes were going from uncomfortably hot to frigid as a result of the usually refreshing air conditioning. But when I was once again reminded of the obvious undergarment, I sighed.

“I can probably ask a friend to bring me a replacement shirt, or just go to class like this,” I thought aloud, “No one really looks at me, anyway...”

Spencer’s response came immediately, his hands flying up in protest as he shouted, “No!”

I wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, or even which part of the statement he was objecting to, so he was met with a wide-eyed, slow blinking stare.

“I-I mean, I have a shirt you can borrow. I don’t want to subject you to any further embarrassment,” he explained at a significantly more appropriate volume, “You can just wear my extra shirt.”

He turned away from me before I could respond, shuffling through something hidden beneath his desk that created more questions than answers for me.

“Why do you have an extra shirt?”

“Go bag,” he said in the most nondescript manner. It wasn’t necessarily abnormal, either. The question I’d asked didn’t spark any concerns in his mind, but it also wasn’t the question that I felt needed to be asked.

What I really wanted to say was caught in my throat. My hands clamped together in front of me tighter than my jaw that resisted opening to make way for the thoughts that felt more scandalous than they should’ve been.  

“U-Um, Professor don’t you think—“

“Here you go,” he offered with a smile. I took the large, plain black shirt with a hefty dose of caution, my hands shaking along with my broken voice that still couldn’t finish the sentence from before.

Spencer finally noticed the struggle on my face, and I watched his body move from comfortable to defensive in a matter of seconds. Like he was worried he’d done something wrong in trying to be kind.

He hadn’t, but I felt like I had.

“Won’t people... you know?” I mumbled, motioning a hand between the two of us, “I’m showing up to your class at 8AM wearing your clothes…”

I thought that the words alone would be enough. I thought that the gesture was overkill. But Spencer was still staring at me with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought.

I was going to have to say it.

Won’t they think we’re having sex?

There was no way I was going to be able to say it.

“Aren’t you concerned about people getting… the wrong idea?” I blurted out, instead.

The confusion on his face shifted to a clever little self-assured smirk so fast that I almost missed the transition. My stomach flipped from the sight, but then he spoke again, and what had felt like it was filled with butterflies turned to rocks.

“I’d much rather them gossip about something that’s not happening than watch the young boys ogle you instead of paying attention.”

It wasn’t the words, but the way that he’d said them. Like they were silly, like the idea of us being together was so preposterous it could only be entertained by people he perceived to be children.

I was foolish, too.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said with a wave, “Just worry about making this Monday a little bit better.”

“O-okay. Thanks,” I whispered, turning and running from the room only to be reminded of the mess I’d made. But the pool of tawny liquid on the floor wasn’t the most disastrous thing anymore. That honor was reserved for the state of my heart, begrudgingly continuing to beat despite being broken.

Scooping up my bag that I’d abandoned before, I tried to allow myself to be happy about the little things. For instance, the fact that the shirt Spencer had handed me was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt in my life. It made sense, considering the sensory issues he always described.

Still, I waited until I was in the safety of a bathroom stall before I buried my face in the fabric. It smelled just like him, a mixture of freshly done laundry and vanilla. Much better than the cheap, burnt coffee that covered me. Funny enough, that sort of smelled like him, too.

By the time I slipped into his clothes, I had almost forgotten his joke entirely. I was too lost in the joy of sweater paws from his cardigan and fabric that felt like a hug. Or at least, what I’d imagined a hug from him would be like.

The energy it provided me was a better pick-me-up than any cup of coffee had ever been. I kept my squealing as quietly as I could, bouncing in place just like the nickname he’d chosen to let stick. But before I returned to him, I felt something. A small, noticeable weight in one of the cardigan pockets.

If I’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, if I’d reminded myself that they were his clothes and not mine, I would’ve let it be. I wouldn’t have pulled the little object from its safe hiding spot. It would have stayed locked away, leaving me none the wiser of its presence.

But I didn’t think about it, and then there I was, holding onto the sobriety token I should’ve seen coming.

Not that it was a bad thing; I already knew Spencer had a history with drugs. He’d mentioned it in passing in class and was deeply involved with a number of volunteer programs around the area. At one point, I’d even taken it upon myself to research his history.

That research, while I regretted it now, feeling that it violated his privacy some way or another, led me to a second conclusion. As my thumb ghosted over the embossed number five, I realized that Spencer had been sober since he was released from prison.

My heart swelled with pride and relief that felt shameful. I didn’t want the token to have such a profound effect on the image of him I’d already crafted in my mind. Lord knew I didn’t need any more reasons to idolize him. And, at the end of the day, I’d only discovered this information by happenstance.

Part of respect, I decided, meant ignoring the way that fate seemed to push us together. If Spencer ever wanted my opinion on his sobriety or strength, surely, he would just ask. So, I slipped the chip back into the pocket and made my way back to him without worry for what it meant.

While I had no worries, Spencer was another story. I’d barely even made it through the door when he saw me. All of the papers he’d been holding immediately fell from his hands the same way the coffee had fallen from mine.

“Oh no! My clumsiness was contagious!” I laughed, bolting over to help him only to find his face an unhealthy shade of red. He chuckled back but said nothing else as he scrambled to pick up the loose-leaf that had splayed itself all over the floor.

Once we were back on our feet and as collected as we could be considering the circumstances of the morning thus far, his eyes met mine again. His cheeks were still flushed, unable to focus on anything specific and choosing to traverse my body the same way his hands had on Halloween.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in a way that made me wonder if he knew I could hear him, “I was distracted by how unfair it is that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

It was my turn to be flustered, but Spencer didn’t let the moment drag on. He tore himself away from me in every sense of the word, marching past me and halfway exiting the room before he found the courage to look at me again.

“Are you ready to head to class?” he asked as if it were an option.

I suppose to him, it was. For a second I imagined what the future would hold for us if I’d said no. What would he have done if I begged him to stay with me, instead? What if we rebelled against expectation and remained locked away in his office until we grew tired of one another? What if we never did?

My mind filled with fantasies of Spencer’s hands freely feeling my skin the way his clothes could. I could hear soft, breathy sounds of desire shaped like my name. For all of my inexperience, he would still find me intoxicating. He would grow drunk on me the same way a child finds endless joy in sweets that really ought to make them sick.

Then again, maybe he had grown used to the sugar. Maybe he wanted something more mature, a bitterness like molasses that was only earned from years I hadn’t had yet.

Regardless, I couldn’t really get into any of that. Instead, I just flashed a very awkward thumbs up to the man fifteen years my elder when I droned, “Sure am, Professor man.”

As stupid as it felt to do something so juvenile, the smile he gave was worth it.

“Alright then, Bunny,” he answered with his own little peace sign, “Let’s hop along.”

——————————————————

It hadn’t even been a week since I saw her, scantily clad in the plush, socially acceptable equivalent of lingerie. It’d been even less time since I admitted my own weakness to her. I’d replayed the memories of her visceral responses to my touch enough times that I should be sick of it. But there was no tiring of her.

I considered deleting the photos she’d sent me, convinced that it was cruel to keep them when she’d only sent them while inebriated and undoubtedly exhausted beyond belief.

But when I woke up in the morning, my stomach still reeling from the knowledge of what I’d done, all that she’d sent was a curious collection of emotes and a very brief note.

“Oops!” she’d written, “Bad bunny?”

I put that phrase out of my mind immediately, unable to handle the way it incited the desire for destruction in my veins.

“I’m always glad to hear that you are safe.”

That was the end of the conversation, and I was grateful for that much. Even the few words we’d exchanged would haunt me until I saw her again. Of course, the torture ended there, but only for a few seconds before it was replaced with other images and words.

It’d been hours since I’d found her flailing about half-naked in the hall while uttering rushed curses that sounded too crude for her lips. It’d been hours since I felt the soft skin of her lower back and became lost in an entirely different set of fantasies.

It’d been even less time since I saw her standing at my door, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater and staring at me with nervous, shifty glances. Completely unaware of just how beautiful she was in her simplicity. How much more torturous it was to see her wearing my clothes than any lustful suffering that lingerie or nudity could elicit.

I thought that it would get better throughout the day, but it didn’t. It only got worse.

I’d stepped out of my office for barely half an hour, but I returned to find her curled up on the plush chair. Her shoes were slipped off, revealing colorful socks that clashed with every other neutral color she wore. It somehow made me want her even more.

I stayed stuck for a few seconds longer, watching her with bated breath and shameless admiration. She was so caught up in the papers on her lap that she didn’t even notice my presence until the door clicked shut. It was then that she turned to see me, allowing a smile to blossom across her face despite eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What’s all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the collection of bags hanging from my wrists.  

“Did you know…” I started before my heart stopped at how she always leaned forward with excitement whenever I started a sentence that way, “that food is one of the best ways to solve a terrible Monday?”

“Which scientific study did you get that from?”

I paused again, debating telling her the many studies that would support such a theory, but then decided against it. Instead, I sought out her laughter and childlike joy that always brought out the best of her.

“Garfield,” I answered.

Sure enough, the office filled with the melodious sound of her happiness. I moved as quietly as I could, thinking back to when I was younger and thought of how powerful bottled laughter would be if I could capture it. Hers would surely right so many wrongs.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but I figure it’s the least I could do.”

She approached me to assist before I’d even made it to my desk, and although I thought her hands were far too soft to be bothered with something like this, I allowed her to help.

“You could do nothing, you know. It was my own fault.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

She laughed again, shier and shrinking into the sweater as she tried to find her place in such a domestic activity as sharing a meal with me in private. I thought of how it was a taste of my dreams.

Because as often as I did fantasize about her, undone, bare-skinned, and defenseless to my desires, I just as often envisioned her just like this. In fact, I found those fantasies more dangerous. They couldn’t be written off as mere lust. They were another, scarier thing.

“Well, lucky you I am an exhausted, broke grad student, so free food will always win me over,” she muttered, half-sarcastically but just sad enough to bother me.  

“Duly noted,” I said.

I hid away the promises I wanted to make. That if she were mine, she would want for nothing. That I would give her everything she needed to bloom. That I would prune away any neighboring flower that dared get in her way or block the sunlight. There would be no need to worry of predators or pollinators intruding, because she would belong to me and only me.

I would be her earth, her rain, and her sun. I would be surely and shamelessly selfish.

Her shoulders rose with a cheeky, excited little giggle once she had collected her food. I wanted nothing more than to let her enjoy it to her heart’s content… but there was a problem.

“Nuh-uh, no way,” I chuckled before she had a chance to return to the chair with her precarious paper plate, “Get in the other chair.”

Her face scrunched up, bouncing back and forth between the two seats in the room like she’d heard something so strange that it must have been a mistake.

“Wh— your chair?”

“I will not have you ruining another shirt today,” I explained. It caused the confusion to quickly shift to an embarrassed frustration within seconds. Just as she opened her mouth to protest my teasing, I continued with something I knew would tie her tongue until she could no longer argue.

“If you’re so worried about what they’ll say when you show up in my shirt, just think of how they’ll talk if they catch you wearing nothing.”

That stubborn little thing still tried. Her mouth floundered, strange sounds of protest starting but never finishing until she gave up. She sulked over to the seat with an odd amount of self-satisfaction. She settled into my space as comfortably as she always did. With an ease that was almost unsettling to my tired, tortured heart.

Swapping places with her for that little bit of time was a good idea. I hadn’t expected that it would bring me as much serenity as it did. My usually busy lips kept their focus on the food, opting to listen to her ramble about any and everything that came to mind.

It wasn’t until she was fifteen minutes into an explanation on her paper that I realized how little I’d tried to learn about her life outside of me. Whether it was self-preservation or narcissism, I’d never decided. But what I was certain of was that it had been a brutal form of self-sabotage.

Because as I sat there, watching her clumsily, excitedly swinging her fork and proving my point that it had been a good decision to give her the desk, I saw her for in a different light than before.

She was not just a beautiful, mysterious flower peeking through the concrete. She was the trembling giant, the clonal colony of thousands of quaking aspen trees. An extravagant network of roots that flowed far beyond the seed that started them.

This sprout might be new, but her soul was ancient and celestial, wise and immortal.

“Who knows?” she sighed, coming to a natural conclusion of a story I had almost missed while lost in daydreams and metaphors, “Maybe one day I’ll be a professor, too.”

“You’d be good at it.”

For once, it felt like she accepted the compliment without a fight. I considered it progress all the way up until she shot back a thinly veiled taunt.

“Thanks. Means a lot from someone who has 4 stars on rate my professor!”

“Don’t forget the chili pepper,” I jokingly returned.

“Not sure I’d get one of those.”

I knew that my disagreement wouldn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things, so I opted for a slightly-self-centered flattery instead.

“Just show up in that outfit,” I said with a nod that barely hid my actual intention of focusing my eyes on the rest of her, “you’ll be golden.”

“You gonna let me borrow it in ten years?” she hummed.

It was a dangerous proposition, an implication that made the pitter-pattering in my chest unbearable. Rather than chasing her down the rabbit hole of fantasies, I just chuckled before I answered, “You know how to find me.”

Then it happened again. Her face slowly changed, growing from a cautious optimism to a yearning. A subtle hint of words left unsaid. And although she wet her lips and set down her fork, the words never came out. They stayed stalled in her throat, and there was no discernible way for me to drag them out of her without hurting the both of us.

When a loud knock resounded through the room, the thought ended altogether.

“Come in,” I grimly announced, recognizing the intrusive sound as the death rattle for whatever might have been said.

As the door opened, I realized the same time (y/n) did that we had forgotten that the rest of the outside world wasn’t familiar with our dynamic. They didn’t have the backstory of how she’d perched herself on my chair with her shoes off and wearing my clothes.

Torn between scrambling to take more socially acceptable positions and the knowledge that our hurry would make us look even more suspicious, we both opted to remain frozen in place like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

When the door opened, however, I was somewhat relieved to see someone I found completely unthreatening. My closest colleague, a woman that should really terrify me all things considered, seemed mostly perplexed when she found a young girl in my seat.

She quickly turned to me, drawing out her words as she asked, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I... interrupting something?”

“No, what can I help you with, Candy?”

“I was hoping we could talk about my current paper proposal.”

She paused, and I took the moment to follow her glower to the flower still stationary behind my desk. (Y/n) stared back, seemingly frightened by the presence of the other Professor.  

“If you’re busy with... office hours…” Candy muttered before turning back to me, “we can always set up a meeting for a better time.”

Before I could address the possible tension or implication, the girl at my desk sprung to action, clearing off any sign of her presence as she spoke.

“You know, I actually need to get going.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t look at me when she answered, “Yeah, I’m sure your papers are more important.”

If I’d turned back to Candy, I might have seen the condescending scowl that was driving her away. If I’ve had any inclination or desire to look at Candy, I would have realized that (y/n) wasn’t trying to escape from her connection to me. She was just trying to get out of my way.

It didn’t make it any harder to watch her leave. I took solace in the fact that she held tighter to my cardigan, trusting me to keep her warm by proxy as she ventured back into the real world. The world where we couldn’t be in peace.

“Thanks for the advice, Professor,” she said before she left, “You were right. As usual.”

One last smile was shared, somber but sobering. A necessary break from the intimacy of the moment.

“See you in class.”

The office felt so much duller without her radiance, but my disappointment would have to wait. As much as I actually didn’t mind the world knowing how my heart hurt from her absence, I knew that it was best I didn’t let it impact her academic career.

“Sorry again for the intrusion,” my colleague said in a much happier voice.  

“It’s not a problem at all.”

She must have noticed the way it sounded like a lie, because her tone quickly shifted back to a slightly disgruntled confusion.

“I didn’t realize she was your student, too. What class is she in?”

It was juvenile, really, the way my heart fluttered so ridiculously at the mere mention of her existence. The excuse to discuss her again.

“Oh, did she not tell you?”

Candy just shook her head with a blatantly false smile.

“Unsurprisingly modest,” I laughed, making my way back over to my seat and running my fingers over the wooden armrests like it would be the same as touching her ghost, “She’s my TA.”

“Oh… I see.”

“She was the only one who would put up with me,” I offered with a chuckle. Self-deprecating humor was the only reliable personality trait I had. It was also, unfortunately, one that most women in my life despised and refused to let sit.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

It sounded less sweet coming from her. I wrote it off as a product of the differences in their species. While the hummingbird of a girl who’d just flittered away was used to only drinking the sweetest, purest nectar, the bird of prey who’d entered relied on the work of others to gather the sweetness before they were devoured.

That wasn’t to say she was cruel; hawks are as much a miracle of nature as hummingbirds. I simply related to one more than the other. I understood one while the other remained a mystery. And I loved mysteries more than myself.

“So, you wanted to talk about your paper?”

“Oh! Yes,” she chirped, passing the packet over to me now that I’d found my way back to what she probably deemed my rightful place. “The conference is coming up so much faster than I anticipated, and I would love to hear your opinions on my first draft.”

I’d already started to read the first page when she spoke again, uncharacteristically bashful and anxious, “Since we’ll be presenting together, I figured...”

“Yeah, no problem at all,” I interrupted, not wanting her to dwell nor expand on the thought of us doing anything together any more than necessary, “I can send you mine.”

It felt curt, blunt, and off putting when I said it, but she didn’t take it as such.

“Wonderful. You have such a unique voice when you’re writing. It’s very refreshing.”

Immediately, a memory appeared at the forefront of my mind and led to a laugh that I couldn’t contain. Candy seemed pleased at the sound, and I felt the need to explain.

“Thanks. (Y/n) likened it to Ray Bradbury at one point, although in different and less flattering words.”

I could hear her clear as day, quoting my words with an overdramatized effect before laughing, ‘Pack it up, Bradbury, you’ve got more science stuff to explain.’

Of course, we both found her laughter-ridden explanation of the ‘meme’ far funnier than the original joke. She was probably the only person in the world who never seemed bothered by explaining everything to me ad nauseam.

“She is... certainly a choice as a TA,” Candy strained upon scrutinizing the smile that had returned to my face for the first time since (y/n)’s departure, “Will she be joining us at the conference?”

But then the guilt returned, wiping the smile from my face and replacing happy memories with deviant thoughts and fears.

“Oh... you know, I haven’t asked her.”

“That’s perfectly alright! I think we’ll do just fine without her.”

“Right...” I whispered, glancing back down at the stack of papers in my hand before setting it in the tray designated for (y/n). “I’ll have her look at your paper just in case.”

A lull in the conversation stretched past the point of comfort for both of us, and I glanced up at the woman I actually felt guilty for ignoring in place of fantasies that would probably never come to be. She hadn’t even done anything to warrant my disregard. She was an attractive woman — as beautiful as she was brilliant, really — she had worked very hard to garner my trust and academic collaboration. At one point, I had considered her one of the few potential candidates for something more than a purely academic partner.

But there was something about the way she looked at the honeyed girl that made my hair stand on end. A defensiveness and instinct that couldn’t be ignored.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that was all,” she said as she broke from what I presumed to be her own daydream, “I hope your semester keeps going well.”

“Thanks, I hope yours does, too.”

I meant it, despite the aforementioned concern. I wished her well in the semester for both selfless and selfish reasons. I wished her well because she deserved it, certainly. But the other reason, the larger one, was that I hoped she would remain distracted. I hoped that she didn’t notice the way I would slip away from her affections to chase those from a more interesting challenge. One that remained mysterious, with hair covered in pollen and lips sweet with ambrosia.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid.”

I failed to respond to her again before the door shut because my hands were already busy with rekindling contact with another.

“I have a proposition for you, Bunny.”

“Sounds ominous. I’m in.”  

The fact that the response came before I could even shut off the display was so characteristic of her that I had to laugh.

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” I observed, to which she once again immediately responded, “Your point being?”

“I’m afraid this is an obligation that does require some expansion before agreement.”

Her response was slower, then, and I could almost see her with a slight panic and overwhelming curiosity that grew stronger by the second.

“Ominous and vaguely unsettling,” she said.  

I considered drawing it out further, letting her imagination truly run wild with the possibilities. But then I realized that if she thought hard enough about it, she might reach the same place that had immediately come to my mind.

“Would you like to attend the upcoming conference with me?” I relented, almost stopping there but then frantically tagging on the conditions I knew would be most likely to cause hesitation. “You’d have your own room, of course. The department and I will help with funds.”

But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to be worried.

“A cheap weekend away from school where I get to be a nerd with you?” she sent with another set of small, smiling faces I was only just starting to understand, “Of course I’m going to say yes, Professor!”

“Perfect. I’ll arrange it.”

“I can’t wait!”

Although I felt the same, I forced myself to end contact again. I put my phone out of reach to prevent myself from spoiling any more of my fantasies than I already had. I didn’t need her to second-guess the possibilities of a weekend away together now that she’d already agreed to it.

The thought alone sparked guilt anew. Through the entire interaction, I’d infused each word with a charge that shouldn’t have been. Each line was far more provocative than it needed to be.

It was just an academic conference. Most people found them terribly dull, not to mention physically exhausting. It would not be a time away like most couples dreamed of because we were not a couple in any sense of the word.

Yet… I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps there weren’t as many differences as one might think. Because while yes, most people would be bored, I didn’t think Bunny would be. Clandestine meetings made between conference meetings sounded exactly like the kind of dreams we would share.

I believed it so strongly that my mind had already drafted several narratives that would suit her. I pictured her and I sharing company in public, unafraid of public displays of affection — innocent, childish kinds, of course — because we were miles away from those who might care.

That drunken, lust-inducing, half-lidded gaze from the week before would return. Except this time, I would taste the wine on her tongue, my hands sliding not over fluffy fabric, but the same skin that I’d felt for the first time that morning.

Behind our door, I would teach her so many things. Things that she would have begged me for. Things that others would see written on her skin in the shape of my fingers and mouth. Things that she would carry with a straighter back and dripping down her legs.

I didn’t just want to destroy her. I wanted to break her so that I could build her back with gold-laced lacquer. She would be my kintsugi creation full of sugar and honey, just imperfect enough that the sticky residue of her sweetness would slip through the cracks to coat everything she touched.

And then she would touch me, and I might finally feel like I deserved anything at all.

——————————————————

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.  

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay ­– good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.  

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.  

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.  

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”  

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.  

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

 ——————————————————

 There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.  

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”  

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

 ——————————————————

“It can still be a good morning, right?” she asked, marching over to the windows and flipping the slats to bring the sunshine in with her. She still cringed when the brightness hit her, but I accepted the warm embrace of the light.

“Was it not a good night?” I returned. The question caught her off-guard, but she had always been quick on her feet.

“It was,” she sneakily simpered.

“Good,” I said as I stood from my seat. The action seemed to set off something inside of her, because I could actually see the muscles in her arms and neck tense at the movement.

Her little hummingbird heartbeat was going absolutely wild in her throat, and her eyes were equally restless. She blinked quickly, then not at all. She just stared at me while I tried not to ogle her deer-in-the-headlights posture more than necessary.

Although rare, death by shock had been documented in rabbits. Especially young bunnies.

But it was too tempting not to tease her. I couldn’t look at her wringing fingers and bitten lip and not want to torment her a little bit longer. To see how she would react when denied the thing she’d finally worked up the nerve to ask for.

So, I didn’t hug her, despite her stepping directly into my path. I stepped beside her with my hand resting gently against her lower back. I urged her to follow me like there wasn’t unfinished business behind the thick, wooden doors.

“Wait, Professor!” she huffed, digging her heels into the floor and turning to me with her best pleading look to date. She didn’t stop there, either. My bunny took a firm step forward, blocking my exit completely and demanding my full attention as she tried to be bold.

“A-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Am I?”

I’d meant the intonation to illustrate just how sarcastic I was being, but the poor thing seemed to take the challenge to heart. Her spirits fell at the same rate her hands raised to her chest and wound together. She freed two fingers and began patting them together as she murmured, “A promise, perhaps?”

“Was it a promise?” I asked, and she heard the affection in my voice that time.

Her eyes lit back up like the sunrise over dewy fields, and I finally understood why the songbird sings.

“It was,” she chirped.

When I opened my arms to her, she had no hesitation. She practically leapt between them and threw her own around me before I could even set down the papers I was holding. I took my time enjoying the koala-esque grip of the girl, only setting down the papers on the desk because they’d gotten in her way.

I laughed as she hummed and nuzzled her face against my shirt. There was no other way that I knew to express the joy bubbling through my chest. I had no physical nor verbal language that could correctly capture that feeling.

It may be a crude and stereotypical comparison, to liken myself to a computer — but I felt the current between us like lightning. I felt myself become more alive the longer she held me, with hands clutching and releasing fabric like each attempt might bring me closer.

I rested my head against hers, breathing in the distinct smell of soap and perfume. I, too, pressed harder against her, hoping that she could imprint on me in more ways than one. I thought of how later that day, the breeze might blow me a kiss that smelled like her on my skin.

That was the moment I realized that, in all of her enthusiasm, I’d yet to even return the hug. My hands were more hesitant than hers, but they made their way around her, nonetheless. I treated her gently, because I’d meant it when I said that was what she deserved.

Gentle, but firm in my desire to be near to her. To share this space, this breath, this body in a way I’d rarely experienced with anyone else.

She sighed, the warmth tickling my skin through the fabric, and I similarly felt her eyelids flutter shut as she, too, found peace in the embrace.

I couldn’t be sure how long we stayed like that, with hands and hearts full of one another, but I was the one to break the silence. As we barely started to sway under the weight of everything, I whispered the only thought I could think.

“How could I ever forget you?”

When she answered, there was a sadness in her voice that I hadn’t expected.

“Professor?” she called.

“Hm?”

Without moving or allowing me any hint of what emotions were undoubtedly displayed in her eyes, she vaguely stated, “I missed you.”

I knew what she’d meant, but the reminder brought pain where I wanted there to be only happiness. So, I cautiously clucked my tongue before answering, “Silly Bunny, I haven’t gone anywhere.”

That might’ve been a stretch of the truth for what she was referring to, but it’d certainly been true in the moment. If anything, I’d only held her closer. I was surprised that we were both still capable of breathing, but I credited that to our body’s natural understanding of how to move as one. As her lungs emptied, mine filled, creating the illusion of the two-headed monster often referred to as lovers.

Her voice was small but powerful in its breathiness.

“You’re softer than I expected,” she dreamily explained as she drew patterns against my back. Before I could ask her to expand, she did it on her own.

“It’s a good thing,” she assured me.

I believed her. She could have said nothing else, and I would’ve written it off as a mere preference of a physique. But she seemed to sense that I hadn’t understood her point still, and her frustration came out in the form of three truly baffling words.

“It feels... safe.”

That, I knew, I would never understand. The goosebumps that tore over my skin were as much out of affection as they were fear. The inertia carried me away from her — my arms retreating quickly as I cleared my heart from its place in my throat.

My Bunny was calmer than I’d ever seen her, with a sleepy hint to all of her features and a dopey smile on her face. I stared for a moment longer, unafraid of the fact she would see me because I wanted to be sure that I would never, ever forget a single detail of her face in that moment.

Her hands rose and rested against her chest, holding herself like it might keep the ghost of me there longer.

She said nothing, but the clock continued to warn us of the world raging on outside.

“We should, um... we shouldn’t keep them waiting,” I announced, although I really didn’t want to. I wanted to keep us both there, shielded behind closed doors and holding each other.

She didn’t put up anything resembling a fight, and I tried to follow her example. We both picked up papers and started to make our way to the classroom like every other day.

But it wasn’t like every other day. How was I meant to focus, knowing that she was behind me? Watching me with eyes filled with admiration and an understanding of what lie behind my defenses. Knowing about the rhythm of my heartbeat and the way my hands roamed. How could I care about teaching anyone anything, when I could be holding her instead?

I’d run on autopilot so many times, I thought that I could make it.

I was wrong.

With a tired but still smitten voice, I called to the girl in the back row as I finished scribbling mostly illegible writing on the board.

“Would you pass out those papers for me, Bunny?”

It wasn’t even the sound of my own voice uttering that nickname that caught my attention. I’d adopted it into my regular vernacular so pervasively that I didn’t even realize I’d made a mistake — not until I was met with a stunned silence behind my back. Not until I turned to make eye contact with that poor girl as her pencil fell from between her fingers.

“Y-Yes, sir, Professor!” she said a little too loudly, her voice careening and breaking with each added syllable. She nervously flittered over the room just like that, and I only found it possible to look away from her state of panic because of the knowing stares that had all fallen on me.

I stood front and center, watching sharp, judgmental eyes misjudge the girl who’d done nothing wrong. I felt them like needles in my skin, digging deeper with each scoff or giggle that seemed to never end.

Although I was able to turn back around and begin speaking again like nothing had happened, my mind never once switched off the mistake over the course of the hour. The sheer lack of luck that I must’ve been made with for everything to unravel like this. I’d known all along that it was dangerous to refer to her as something so blatantly affectionate, but I’d also foolishly thought that I was smarter than that.

What a fool I was, expecting my mind to ever work right when it came to her. I desperately wanted to rewind time to before the tragedy, to free her from the giggles and whispers that would follow. To free myself from the temptation to take her now that I’d already ruined her several times over.

But when she approached me as the students left, with a grimace and shaking hands, I couldn’t handle it.

“Professor, I’m sorry about—“

“I can’t talk right now,” I said, forcing my eyes off the pitiful sight of my own transgressions and sweeping all of the piles of papers into my own arms. She saw me trying to shake her like the autumn winds had torn the last stubborn leaves from naked branches.

“Okay, but I think we need to talk about it,” she said with broken words that I suspect matched the feeling in my chest.

I made another mistake, looking up at her and witnessing the consequences of my actions. The desperation and longing flashing behind glassy but effervescent eyes. I could practically hear her begging for me to let her try to help. She wanted so badly to cradle my head against her heart and show me how she might still be able to make it better somehow. That she might be able to save me somehow.

But that wasn’t her job. I wasn’t her responsibility.

“Not right now,” I said.

And I ran. Like the coward I’d always been, I ran from her and hoped that she’d had the self-preservation and mercy to let me go for good.

—————————————————

I had never been a particularly brave person when it came to myself. To many, the most notable accomplishment of mine wasn’t even anything I’d done, but rather, my avoidance of doing something. The failure to hand over the one thing that they wanted most from me. Their fascination hadn’t been with me, but instead about what about me they could claim and consume.

Spencer had once casually likened me to a flower, and I’d since wondered what kind. I had a feeling it would be one where the petals were plucked easily between naive fingers. My downfall, a spectacle before others, to the tune of ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’

It wasn’t easy for me to stand up for myself, even when I’d done nothing wrong. But as I stood outside of his office that day, it felt like I was doing something wrong. Not necessarily making a mistake, or anything close to regrettable, but too taboo for someone like me.

I knew it was silly to think of it all that way — I was usually the first one to point out that the very notion of virginity was a ruse intended to liken women to objects rather than conscious beings. The myth of purity, I knew, was exactly that: a false ideation to force compliance.

I knew that sex wasn’t tied to morality, and that I could be both evil and a virgin just as easily as I could be a martyr and a harlot. So why was the idea that I might lose any part of it so unbelievably petrifying?

My legs felt like they were encased in lead, but when I glanced down, I saw the bare skin of my thighs peeking out between socks and skirt. I felt the heat filling every inch of me, and I knew that if I didn’t act soon, I would surely burn and turn to ashes on his office doorstep.

All I had to do was tell him how I felt. He’d done it to me a number of times before that moment. Just the night before he’d demanded all of my attention an hour after he’d backed me against my car and implied that I was welcome in his bed.

Or, I had completely misinterpreted everything, and was about to initiate my own demise. Either way, it had to happen then. Thanksgiving break was only a week away, and I refused to go through the whole holiday worrying about what was waiting for me back at work.

That potential, dreadful reality brought my hand to the handle. My feet almost moved too fast for the speed with which I opened the door, and as a result I stumbled rather gracelessly into his office.

A poor start, which was only made worse by the greeting I’d received from the man behind the desk.

“I can’t talk right now,” Spencer replied, refusing to even look up. I suspect he’d been waiting for this.

I knew I had, but for another reason.  

He kept his eyes on the desk and his hand shielded his eyes from detecting me, even just through his peripherals. He hid away from me like it would be enough to dissuade me.

He was wrong. He thought too little of me.

“Fine,” I said in a voice that hardly sounded like my own, “Then... w-we don’t have to talk.”

“Listen, Bunny...”

But the thing was, if he wasn’t going to listen to me, I certainly didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I’d heard all of his excuses before. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what was holding him back. He’d worn the guilt and shame on his sleeve like a badge of honor.

Spencer Reid could pretend all he wanted, but I knew the truth of how it felt when he touched me — when he so much as looked at me. The way his voice changed to a melodic tune and his laughter became freer and more easily earned. I’d been on the receiving end of his desire, and I wore the bruises to prove it.

I was done waiting. I wanted my answer. An honest end to the question I’d been asking myself ever since the day I’d met him.

Do you want me like I want you?

I repeated it in my mind like he’d be able to hear. He couldn’t, but I caught his attention, nonetheless. The sound of rustling fabric and heavy breathing brought his eyes to me for the first time since it’d happened.

His eyes grew wide, and I swore I saw his pupils reflexively shrink from the brightness just before they doubled in size at the sight of my shirt already half-unbuttoned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice lacking fear and carrying a different anxiety in its place.

I didn’t stop moving closer, and my fingers continued to fumble with the buttons until I felt the cool embrace of chilly air against my stomach. But while I continued to approach him, Spencer seemed paralyzed in place. The only things that had moved were his eyes and his mouth, both of which tried and failed to focus on one thing at a time.

My hands fell away from the opened shirt and dropped to his hand gripping the armrest closest to me. I tried to pick it up, but he remained steadfast. So, I just held onto him there. I wasn’t able to withstand the scrutiny of his stare well enough to speak, so I turned my face away before I did.

“Touch me.”

I held my breath, and I heard him do much the same. It explained why when he answered, he did so in such a quiet, strained voice, I’d barely heard it.

“What?”

“I know you want to do it, a-and... I want you to do it,” I stammered, clutching tighter to his hand like that might make him move, “So touch me. Please.”

It was less an order and more of a beg. A sad, desperate attempt to remedy the tension between us. Even if he’d said no, I just needed to hear an honest answer from his mouth. I needed to know if it really was all in my head, or if there was a chance that he might let me love him like I’d wanted to.

As if to prove my point, Spencer let out a long, somber sigh before he murmured, “Bunny...”

The name would normally bring me happiness, but in that moment, it only served to upset me. It was a constant reminder of the problem that seemed to have no solution other than blind hope and begging.

“Don’t you see, Professor? That right there — that’s not normal!” I cried before biting my tongue, trying to stop actual tears from falling as I tried to appeal to him. “You keep telling me that you can’t, but you’ve never once said that you didn’t want to, and it’s not fair that y-you get to make all those decisions without me!”

“I don’t know what to tell you—“ he started, but I cut him off by finally, successfully lifting his hand from the chair. His fingers flexed but did nothing to stop me. Not even as I brought it to my skin.

“Don’t tell me anything just...”

Spencer watched as I moved his palm over the soft skin of my stomach. I guided him over areas I’d seen him try to memorize, and I reveled in the warmth provided.

“Please,” I pleaded, “I need you to touch me.”

His reaction was delayed, his control over his muscles only returning when his fingertips grazed over the fabric of my bra. That damned garment was all it took to bring him back to reality, and Spencer’s hands immediately tried to cover his face again.

“Это пиздец (This is fucked up),” he groaned in a language I couldn’t place. I could tell from the sheer force behind the words that they weren’t portraying kind feelings, but the frustration told me they weren’t all bad, either.

While he rubbed his temples, his eyes made their way back to me. They caressed each inch of skin on display just as he’d wished his hands could do a thousand times before.

“Professor, please. I’m begging you,” I said. The request would have been meaningless if not paired with action, so I did that, too. With shaky legs and an even more precarious tilt to my tone, I climbed onto his lap with absolutely no resistance from the man.      

“I-I... I want you, Professor,” I whispered, “Please, believe me.”

Unable or unwilling to focus with my body on display for him, Spencer both threw his head back and clenched his eyes shut with his hands over them as he practically sobbed, “этот заяц будет моим концом (This rabbit will be the end of me).”

Whatever the words had meant, his hands made their own statement. They flowed from his face and fell to his lap where I rested. He couldn’t avoid touching me then, so he did, cautiously caressing my thighs with hands that shook just as badly as mine.

It felt familiar but exhilarating in an entirely new way. Beneath me, I also felt his erection straining in his pants. I could feel it twitch against me at the same time he opened his eyes and saw me, panting and wanting just as he’d left me.

He tried to look away again, but I caught his face in my hands. I led him back to me and inched closer, trying to close the gap as much as I could without losing sight of those vast universes within the taupe ripples.

“Do you want me like I want you?” I asked, hoping I might finally get my answer. In a way, I did.

"ты не знаешь, что ты просишь от меня (You don't know what you're asking of me),” was the garbled noise I’d heard.

Although I didn’t understand a word of it, I saw the longing in hazel irises that had locked onto my own. I saw the intention to stay forever in his eyes, and I wanted nothing more than for him to see the same thing. To let himself believe what he saw without question.

When my fingertips brushed over his cheeks, Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut for just a few seconds before they found me again. Each second that passed, I felt closer to the man in front of me in both a physical and metaphorical sense. His pulse so fast and so hard that I could feel it against my wrist, and I found the urge to kiss his neck until it calmed almost irresistible.

But somehow, I managed. I maintained a single inch of distance between our lips as I leaned my forehead against his and allowed my own eyes to close for the first time since we’d started. As much as I wanted him to see the confidence with which I spoke, I was too afraid that I would find a retort in his eyes.

“You can speak in tongues all you want…” I whispered, shaky but sure, “but I know you, Professor.”

I wanted so badly to kiss him, but I didn’t. I demanded he do it himself, to take that step or end it all right here. If he truly didn’t want me, I wanted to give him an opportunity to prove as much to me.

Spencer made his decision. With soft, hesitant lips against mine, he answered my initial question in the affirmative.

I want you like you want me.

The kiss was so gentle that I could barely feel it. I hardly reacted at all at first, waiting to see if I’d simply misjudged or imagined the feeling. But, just as quickly as I’d started to doubt myself, Spencer’s hands became ruthless once more.

Short nails dug into my skin and caused a high-pitched yelp to echo off our walls. From that point on, it seemed that causing chaos to the tune of my voice was all he’d wanted to do. He left angry welts in wake of his hands until one eventually tangled in my hair. His mouth was equally ravenous, biting down on my lip when it didn’t open fast enough for him.

“You want me to touch you, Bunny?” he asked, smirking against my mouth stuck open in a broken cry. He knew I couldn’t answer him yet, so he took the time to lift me off his lap and slam me onto his desk before he asked again, “Answer me, is that what you want?”

There wasn’t a single shred of doubt in my answer that I nearly screamed, “Yes! Yes, please, Professor!”

The noise was only kept away from nosy neighbors by the scratchiness caused by the extensive overuse of my lungs. An overexertion that would only grow exponentially worse when I heard Spencer laugh; bitter, broken, and low.

“Touch you, or fuck you?”

On instinct, my hand shot down to grab his wrist as it slid under my skirt with ease. Spencer halted his actions, but his words grew louder and more insistent in my ear.

“Because that’s what I want to do to you, Bunny. I want to hold you down and fuck you until you break. I want to defile you beyond recognition.”

When his fingers twitched against my thigh, I pulled them closer to my throbbing heat. I gasped when he pressed hard against the flimsy fabric, but the sound wasn’t enough. He needed me to repeat it, louder and more enthusiastically. So, he grabbed hold of my hair once again with his free hand and forced my head back to achieve his desired result.

Then, when I was at his mercy with my hips rocking against his hand and tears stinging at lust-filled eyes, he growled, “I want to fucking ruin you.”

I tried to respond— I really, really did. But the only sound that came out was an unintelligible whimper as his finger continued to stroke harshly against underwear that was quickly growing damp from his attention.

Out of breath and patience, Spencer continued quieter, “Is that what you want from me, Bunny?”

I couldn’t trust my mouth to make any words, so I tried to guide him in other ways. My hands slid over the tense, twitching muscles in his arm still fixed between my thighs. Without a word, I pushed him closer, rewarding him with a quiet squeak or moan when his fingers toyed with the side of the fabric and came closer to doing what I’d wanted them to.

It still wasn’t enough for him. The vague excitement in his eyes was buried beneath a persistent guilt, but I could still see it. I could taste the true power that he’d tried so hard to keep locked away. I wasn’t sure what else I could do besides returning to my literal, desperate begging, but thankfully, I didn’t have to guess.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleaded, “I want a reason to give it to you so fucking badly.”

Drunk and delirious from his touch, I slurred my response as clearly as my lips would allow, “You, please, God. I want you.”

Our eyes were locked, and our breaths were practically synchronized in their chaotic patterns. Spencer stopped, taking the time to analyze each atom of my expression with more scrutiny than I’d thought possible. And although I should’ve been terrified, I wasn’t. I wore my lust like a crown of thorns, daring him to doubt how badly I craved him.

He never once stopped looking at me, even when his finger finally slipped past the last remaining barrier and slid through slick folds. The pleasure derived from the mere anticipation of his touch in such an intimate place shot through me like lightning. I cried out to him, but my hands were sliding over loose papers on his desk.

Spencer, sensing that I’d needed something to ground me, wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me against him on the edge. The jolt of movement muddled the sensations between my legs so well that I barely noticed the sting when his finger finally pressed between tight, resistant muscles.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he instructed between light kisses against my forehead.  

“I can’t,” I keened, my back arching to move away from the intrusion. But my hips rolled forward, causing my whole body to squirm in his embrace that became more confident by the second.

“I know you can, little Bunny” he cooed in a way that almost felt like mockery. But I couldn’t deny my body’s response to the encouragement. After each wave of tension in my legs followed a brief pause, a fluttering that would eventually allow space for a second eager finger.

Spencer chuckled again, pressing a sloppy kiss against the side of my lips like anything closer would break his concentration. I knew he could see his title on my tongue, but the clever bastard curled his fingers inside of me just as I went to call to him.

He smiled, watching each of my naive, overly excited responses like I was his favorite subject of study. He would pause, releasing hold of my body to brush away strands of hair that got in the way of his admiration. His lips would break to litter my cheeks with kisses.

The harder I started to shake, the faster his fingers would thrust inside of me. With each motion, he would pause, gently stroking against a spot that made my whole body shiver. When my nails dug into his shoulders to try to hold on to my sanity, he winced from the pain but rewarded me with a low, rolling groan.

“Look at that,” he praised, “you’re doing so well for me.”

Every cell in my body was on high alert. My muscles were tensed around his hand tightly enough that I didn’t understand how he’d maintained his pace. But then he forced his leg between my knees and forced them open without so much as slowing down.

“I-I...” I started, but my throat closed, refusing to open for anything other than broken cries of pleasure.

Spencer cradled my face and ran his thumb over my bruised bottom lip as he assured me with both his eyes and words, “Shhh. Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”

“Professor, I...!” I tried again, finally able to break free of lust’s grip on my soul to sob, “Oh, god, please. Don’t stop.”

That brilliant man heard the way I called for him by title only, and I watched as the idea sparked to life inside of him. His fingers grew even more insistent, and his hand on my jaw pulled me forward at the same time.

“Don’t be shy now,” he ordered.

I knew exactly what he’d wanted, but I wasn’t able to give it to him when his palm began to apply a crushing rolling pressure against the sensitive nub at my center. It was just as soon replaced with his thumb, which was only more practiced in the motion.  

“Say it, Bunny,” he dared, “Say my name.”

My eyes were barely able to stay open as the tightening in my stomach became unbearable. My jaw dropped and my lungs lost their fight to fill enough to stop the room from spinning.

“Spencer.”

A tenderness immediately tore through oceans of hazel, but he never once stopped. He just stared, unbroken and filled with adoration as the first wave crashed over me before I said it again.

“Spencer!”

When I tried a third time, riding out the death of some notion of innocence as long as I could, he stopped me. His mouth covered mine without any of the violence and all of the love I knew him capable of. He waited until my muscles had settled into fine tremors before he stopped.

“Хорошая зайка (Good Bunny),” he breathily called as he wiped evidence of what he’d done against my thigh, “Good girl.”

The room was quiet except for the sounds of our hearts and lungs trying to return to normal. My vision, however, remained hazy. The lights haloed around him and I wondered if he would ever see what I saw when I looked at him. The unadulterated good that he’d kept sequestered from the rest of us.

It was so rare to see it, and I didn’t want to let it go. I was terrified that I would spoil the moment, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’d never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to please him and hear more of his praise.

There was an undoubtedly stunned look about him, but it was overall good. Eerily calm in a way I wanted to remedy. But in hindsight, perhaps wanting to fix anything about him was my first fatal mistake.

The second was reaching out to him when I knew my hands were too shaky to be useful. As I tried to unbutton his pants, the only thing I did was signal to him just how untrained I was at our activities of choice.

“Spencer…” I said with a nervous gulp, “I-I want to help you, too.”

I just wanted a chance to try. I needed to feel him and see him come undone as he’d been able to with me. I wanted to hold him and bear witness to his unmuted pleasure at my hands. I was greedy and naive. I was stupid and selfish.

I made a mistake.

“Stop.”

The word, firm and unforgiving, felt like a punch to my gut. Spencer tore his whole body away from me in such a purely instinctive manner that he’d actually crashed into the chair behind him. He’d managed to stay standing, but only barely.

“But I want to—“

I climbed off the desk as fast as I could, misjudging how pliant my legs had become and almost falling the same way he had. He caught me, but then continued his retreat around the desk. Anywhere to get away from me as he begged, “Please, stop. Don’t do this.”

“What did I do?” I asked, although I shouldn’t have. Not when I wasn’t prepared for the answer that was blatantly obvious based on everything about him in that moment.

“This was a mistake.” Spencer bristled, his hands running through his hair only to be violently thrown to the side with no apparent thought. His meltdown only grew more furious, with fists pressing against his eyes and his voice fighting itself. “We shouldn’t— I-I can’t be this person for you.”

What was I meant to say?

This was a mistake.

What was I meant to do?

This was a mistake.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said, like it would do anything to heal the wound he’d just inflicted.

“You didn’t make me do anything, Spenc—!” I tried to assure him, I tried to reason with him. But then he spoke again, and any hope I had crumbled like the most fragile dried jasmine.

“Stop calling me that!” he yelled, turning to me with a snarl that carried nothing but disgust. I couldn’t hide my anger, then.

“It’s your name. You asked me to!”

The reverberated sound of our anger hit him, and for the briefest moment I saw the regret before it faded back to frustration and denial. It had barely taken him five minutes to forget everything we’d shared and replace it with the vilest self-hatred. He learned nothing from my sacrifice and chose only to taint the innocence he’d so readily devoured with spite.

“I’m so sorry, Bunn—“ He stopped. “(y/n). Please, just leave.”

When I made no such movement, he tried again.

“Please.”

“Are you firing me?”

I saw the word ‘yes’ on his tongue, and it felt like the most horrific, nauseating pain. I watched him fumble back and forth over the line like he always did. I felt it as he only just barely saved the porcelain encasing my heart before it fell away and shattered.

He couldn’t look at me anymore.

“No,” he corrected his course, but it hardly helped. “No, I’m not mad at you. This isn’t your fault. You’re not fired I just... I need to be alone.”

I need to not be, I thought, but I knew he wouldn’t understand.

I need you to want me to stay.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked on tears that began falling like the downpour from the first time he’d tried to warn me of the impending storm, “I am so unbelievably fucking sorry.”

Maybe it was childish, to continue to fight him, but I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to at the very least acknowledge what he’d done — what he was choosing to do — to the one person who wanted to love him more than anything.

“Please, at least look at me before you kick me out!” I shouted.

Slowly, and regrettably, Spencer lifted his eyes to meet mine. He saw the life-altering wrath, fury, and scorn. He saw confirmation of every horrible thing he’d ever felt about himself in my eyes, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t even flinch.

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” he sobbed in the most unconvincing manner, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Each step away from him I took felt like another lost petal.

He loves me.

“You’re a little late for that, Professor.”

He loves me not.

 —————(OPTIONAL SCENE)—————

 (Content Warning: panic attack, meltdown, violence, unintentional self-harm (breaking glass), blood, canon-consistent trauma (Tobias, Prison), implied CSA and childhood abuse, implied medical neglect, EXTREME self-hatred, heavy religious symbolism, might be triggering for suicidal tendencies)

—————(OPTIONAL SCENE)—————

If there had ever been a hell, it was hearing the door slam behind her. It was the silence that caused an immediate bombardment of every regrettable encounter I’ve managed to amass in a pitiful existence spanning only forty years.

I paced, back and forth, the memories of what had just happened flooding back in high-definition. I could still hear her, feel her as she fell apart on my fingers. The sweet, sticky nectar of an eviscerated honeysuckle stuck on my skin.

My hand felt foreign, felt wrong, felt tainted. Tainted with goodness. I felt like I was burning, already half decayed and spitting plumes of smoke in place of carbon dioxide.

Stumbling out of my office, the fluorescent lights of the hallway strongly contrasted the pitch black color behind the windows. I felt like I’d already fallen to the lowest depths, and the empty expanse of tile and brick felt like a labyrinth with no end.

I moved by pure muscle memory, my hands stuck craned and shaking until I found myself in front of the bathroom sink. Refusing to look in the mirror yet, I forced the faucet to the highest possible temperature and watched as steam began to rise from the porcelain.

I drowned my hands in soap like it would help me rid myself of the memory of her voice crying my name. I scrubbed mercilessly at skin until it broke out in purple dots among red welts. Tears dripped from my eyes into the mess of bubbles, blood, and regret.

There was no escaping the bastardization of every good memory through the bad. Her voice calling my name just as quickly turned to her quiet sobs and the slammed door. That sound was so familiar, each one shut set off a chain reaction until I was alone in my bedroom and unable to escape.      

No one was coming to save me. I’d thought my dad might, but his hands had never intended to do anything close to healing. My mother, too, though she tried, would willfully misinterpret any bruise on my skin.

Well, it’s your own fault, Spencer.

You knew you couldn’t climb that high.

Where were you trying to get to, anyway?

Heaven, I thought from the depths of Hell.

I’d wanted to walk among angels dressed in white and have them recognize me as something worth saving.

I’d mistaken the doctors for them once. I’d convinced my mother to take me, with the help of the one woman at school who spoke to me kindly. The one that never met my eyes and never made me hug her. I thought of her when we walked, because at least her ramblings made more sense than my mother’s when she was like that.

It’s not her fault, either.

You’re doing it again.

Stop blaming everyone else for the fact that you’re broken.

The guilt was so overwhelming that I’d changed my mind before we even got to the door of the hospital. Suddenly, every conviction I’d had was obliterated by the desire to save my mother like she couldn’t do for me. I recalled the lies I’d concocted to convince the doctor that the bruises on my skin and the fractures in young bones were the result of normal boyhood ruckus.

I was ready to tell him, to explain it all away.

But he never asked. All he’d said was, ‘He seems perfectly fine.’

That was the day that I realized that my instincts were right.

Broken boys like you are meant to suffer.

I never went back; I never sought the angels again.

Bunny found me, anyway, though. She marched into my life like she’d had every right to be there. Like it wasn’t blasphemous for me to even breath the same air as her, to even exist on this earth with her. She’d let me love her and kiss her and take my fill of her innocence.

For the first time since the sin, I forced myself to look in the mirror that wasn’t made of her eyes, for they were incapable of showing the truth. Her vision of me was warped with a misunderstanding of godliness. A conflation of piety and malignity.

The man who stared back at me was nothing worth seeing. He was the same one that had ruined everything whenever given the chance. The one who stole precious vials from the corpse of an innocent man he’d just killed. He’d played God to remove the spirit of Raphael, but in the process, he had become him.

The same man who’d allowed himself to pretend to be healed from the wicked poison long enough to find himself behind bars of steel and self-hatred. To contaminate the only anesthetic offered to other evil men in an attempt to play god again. He had become them.

I stared at my reflection until I couldn’t any longer. The raw, bloody hand that had been scratched until it broke did the same to the silver-backed contraption hanging from the wall. The high-pitched shattering sounded like chimes from a lullaby that my teacher had once sang to me when she found out I couldn’t sleep in my own bed anymore.

It sounded like Bunny’s laughter that quickly morphed into her screaming, begging me to see her.

But all I saw was blood and broken glass.

All I saw was a mess that I needed to clean up. It was my own fault, anyway.

Pulling jagged little pieces from my fingers, I calmly wiped away the iron with care not to aggravate the already existing wounds. I wrapped my knuckles with toilet paper in silence, replaying each dressing I’d ever received on the field with something akin to fondness for the memories.

I turned off the faucet and found a closet that looked nothing at all like the first place I’d held her. I grabbed a broom and a dustpan from the room and left the door cracked for my return. Broken glass was swept and thrown away, and the area of the wall where the mirror had hung cast an inverse shadow from years of being hidden away.

As I turned off the light to leave, I thought to myself that it almost looked better that way.

—————————————————

His voice had already sent half the girls in the class into a trance, but I was trying to focus on the content. After all, I didn’t want to miss my chance. I could feel it coming in my bones.

“In a typical partnership, there are two roles. I’m sure you’re all familiar with them already. If you’ve done the reading you should be more than a little familiar. Anyone want to—”

He cut himself off when he noticed the speed with which I raised my hand with a saccharine smile on my face. The expression he returned told me he knew he was in dangerous territory. Nonetheless, he called on me.

“Yes, (Y/n)?”

“Dominant and submissive,” I said matter-of-factly, leaning forward in my seat as I lowered my hand.

“That’s right—“ he started, but I managed to stop him with my loud interruption from the back of the room.

“But there are tons of different types of dominant and submissive partnerships.”

He seemed intrigued, and also very concerned about the fact that I was still talking. It wasn’t that unheard of for me to be mouthy in class. I think he knew where I was going with this.

I hoped so. I would have been disappointed if he didn’t.

His silence gave me the implicit permission to continue, so I did.

“It can be master and disciple, parental, siblings, or romantic.”

He smiled, the kind that dimpled his cheeks as it showed just how hard he was trying not to say something.

“So you did the reading,” was what came out instead of whatever had him biting his tongue.

“Of course,” I admitted with a shrug, “But I actually have a question, Professor.”

There was something about the way I felt when I talked to him. It was like the rest of the class disappeared, the tension between the two of us transporting us to another reality. Other times, it felt like the two of us were starring in a movie, and they were the audience watching our every move with rapt attention.

There was a reason everyone joked that I was Teacher’s Pet.

“What’s that?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his pocket. My eyes immediately flittered down to his crotch with the movement, and when I returned my gaze to his eyes, I saw him smirking with raised eyebrows.

I didn’t mind that he noticed. Part of me wanted him to. It would make the next question more... interesting.

“Which one are you?”

The second the question left my mouth, I could see the darkness shroud the playful glint in his eyes. Trying to hide that devilish look on his face, he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me?”

He was trying to subtly tell me to rethink my decision, but it wasn’t going to work. The students around me were beginning to whisper, which only urged me on.

“Would you be more dominant or submissive, Professor?”

His hands were moving in his pockets, but his eyes were dead set on me. With a deadly seriousness, he responded, “I’m not a criminal, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Everyone has an inclination to one or the other though, no?” I feigned ignorance, raising my shoulders in a half shrug with my mouth contorted in a dumb pout. “And I mean, you did say you went to prison. You must have been one more than the other.”

Once his hand left his pants, I realized that I had really gotten to him. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as he tried to remind himself that he was in a classroom filled with young adults. Myself included.

“Don’t worry,” he finally concluded, locking eyes with me one more time before he finished, “It won’t be on the final.”

Recognizing that I’d utterly destroyed this man in front of the entire class, I figured the least I could do was leave him alone for the rest of his lecture. Still, I noticed his eyes lingering on me every couple of minutes. Each time the masses turned their attention to their notes (not including the audits), his gaze would burn into me.

The last time he did it, right before class ended, I managed to look up and catch him in the act. Somewhat surprisingly, he looked away. His hands nervously fidgeted with something in his pocket and his jaw clenching. His chest heaving with angry breath.

Did I do that to him? I wondered. He answered that question, which I had thought was safely hidden in my mind, with ease after dismissing the class. I had hung around a few minutes like I always did, collecting my things and trying to decide whether I wanted to go pester the man for a while longer before heading to my next class when I heard it.

“(Y/n).”

My name almost felt foreign on his lips when he said it like that. I shot a shocked glance down the sloped room at him on the stage, blinking rapidly as if to ask him to repeat himself.

He didn’t. Instead, he raised his hand and curled a finger to beckon me closer. Butterflies erupted in my stomach, my thighs clenching shut as I tried to remind my lungs to take in air.

“Come here,” he continued, clearly unhappy with how long it was taking me to respond to his very clear request.

Now it was my turn to swallow hard, clearing my throat and running a hand over my hair before I took a single step.

He was watching me, his satisfaction in my anxiety growing more obvious. There was an undercurrent of rage that threatened to swallow me whole as I approached him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Walk with me.”

It wasn’t the kind of order that left any room for questioning, but I had never been the kind of girl to go along with those kinds of orders.

“Where to, Professor?”

Those warm brown eyes were on fire when they landed on me again through his peripherals.

“My office.”

The bugs creeping in my stomach were overwhelming, creating a chain reaction of goosebumps over my skin and a lump in my throat.

Alone with Professor Reid? In his office? Some small part of me screamed to ask him why. But the rest of me begged me not to— if it was an unsatisfactory response, I wanted to have the opportunity to convince him otherwise.

The walk to his office felt so long despite only being a couple of minutes. It was painfully quiet, my eyes following the way his fingers would tighten and loosen on the books in his hand. He avoided looking at me until he swung the heavy oak door open, staring at me with an angry yet intrigued look. It was a look meant to usher me inside.

Once I heard the soft click of the latch in the door, I expected to turn to find his unbridled rage. But I didn’t. Spencer Reid was still just as silent, his gaze just as shifty and eerie as it had been in class.

Was he trying to figure me out?

“What can I do for you, Professor Reid?” I finally asked, walking over to his desk to lean against the side of it. It was strangely neat compared to that of other professors. There wasn’t a computer to take up space. Just books.

“Tell me,” he started, stalking towards me now that I had essentially cornered myself, “why I shouldn’t kick you out of my class.”

I chewed on my lip for a minute as I placed my hands behind me on the desk, meeting his eyes in a rather challenging fashion.

“Why would you, Professor?” I asked before tacking on a soft, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” he laughed, “You think it’s fun to try and humiliate me in front of the class?”

The pout that I returned certainly didn’t help my case, displaying a guile that he was quick to pick up on.

“That wasn’t my intention, sir. I was just curious. That’s all.”

Now only an arm’s length away from me, he halted, staring down at me with an intense scrutiny. 

“Curious?”

I nodded in response, a small simper gracing my lips when he brought a hand to stroke his chin. It wasn’t the kind that emulated thought. Instead, he was displaying the characteristic signs of restraint.

“Well, I’m curious why you’re thinking about that at all. Are you planning to get into trouble, (y/n)?”

“Always, sir.” I tried to hide my delight at the thought. “But that’s not why I was curious.”

It was at this point that I decided to take a chance. Truthfully, it was ill-advised. He had never done anything beyond this moment to suggest that he would be open to being propositioned (by a student, much less).

But something about the way he was acting right now, practically backing me against his desk with his body and those damned darkened amber colored eyes, made me want to take that chance.

So I took one step forward, closing nearly all of the space between us and raising my hands in a false sense of compliance.

“See, when I was doing the reading they kept talking about how submissive partners give complete control over their lives to the older, smarter partner and I just…”

Lowering my arms, I pressed both of my hands flat against his button down shirt and smoothed the fabric under my palms as I pushed them under his jacket.

“I find that idea so exciting, Professor. Don’t you?”

To my surprise, he didn’t bother stopping me. Although he brought one hand up to wrap entirely around my wrist, he made no attempt to move it. The action alone caused me to pause, but freezing in this position almost seemed more intimate.

“I know what you’re doing,” he whispered, tilting his head to avoid looking at my face. I wondered why that was.

“Learning?” I chirped happily, a delirious smile on my face that he could surely see through the corner of his eyes.

With one swift, strong hand to my chest, he pushed me away from him. My thighs hit against the wooden desk with enough force to send a shock through my entire body.

I smiled.

Wiping his face once more, he gave my body a quick glance, committing the details to his faultless memory.

“How old are you?” he asked with a precarious tilt to his voice.

“Younger than you,” I jokingly answered, much to his annoyance. After he refused to accept the answer, I rolled my eyes.

“I’m 24.”

The breath that escaped him was much too heavy, much too guilty for me to let it rest. With it, he had already turned to walk away from me, retreating to the other side of the desk I rested against.

“You’re 14 years younger than me,” he lamented, earning a bothered scoff from my side of the desk.

“So?” I said with a wave of the hand, pushing off the desk to follow him to the other side. Noticing me following close enough to be his shadow, he refused to sit. Probably a smart move. “It satisfies my rule, so I don’t mind.”

Despite looking ragged and frustrated, he didn’t kick me out. He didn’t even try to maintain the distance between us. In fact, he looked intrigued by my insistence when he asked, “And what rule is that?”

Turning back to me while he waited for my answer, our bodies nearly collided in the narrow space between the shelves and furniture. I kept my hands off him this time, keeping them clasped behind my back.

“If he’s not old enough to be my father,” I said with the same clarity that I had applied to my answer in class, “then he can be my daddy.”

He couldn’t contain the cheeky chuckle that followed, and his pockets could no longer contain his wandering hands. There was nothing for them to fiddle with that would stop them from landing where they wanted to go.

“You’re so transparent,” he sneered, practically baring his teeth at me as he spoke, “Bold. Reckless.”

His hand finally made its way to my cheek, roughly cupping it and turning my face more towards him.

“Girls like you are so used to getting what you want.”

With his thumb, he toyed with my lower lip, pulling it down and manipulating the supple skin.

“You’re spoiled rotten to the core,” he spat, “Let me guess... Does your daddy call you Princess?”

My cheeks were flaming hot from the rush of blood, my pupils nearly as wide as his in the reflection of his eyes. With his thumb still pressed against my lips, I mumbled, “If he wants to.”

I paused before clarifying, “If you want to.”

The words almost got me what I wanted. But I could still see the hesitance in his body language. Deciding to step it up another notch, I slowly opened my mouth to him, closing my lips and wrapping my tongue around his thumb.

Unable to keep his eyes open without giving himself away, he closed them, muttering a rough string of what I expect were curses in another language. His other hand was clenched against the desk, his knuckles white under the pressure.

He was barely able to look at me when he breathily replied, “There’s a lot of things I’d love to do to you right now.”

Finally revealing my hands from behind my back, I wrapped them around his hand as I gently removed his thumb from my lips.

“Then do something,” I dared. He seemed to mull it over, to run the chances and odds of every possible reaction in his mind.

“You’re acting like you’d love for someone to take control of you, but then you’re so adamantly hostile.”

I just smirked, noticing the way he refused to identify himself as the one I wanted to put me in my place.

“There’s a name for that, you know,” he drawled.

“Oh?”  

With all the strength I knew him capable of, and none of the caution remaining, he grabbed my arms and spun me around so I was facing away from him. If that wasn’t dizzying enough, the force he used to press my upper body down against his desk knocked all the breath from my lungs.

Although a moan wasn’t an appropriate response, it was the one I gave, regardless. I could feel the pride rolling off him in waves behind me.

“You’re a fucking brat.”

My heart was pounding so harshly against the bones of my chest that I felt it might knock me back off the desk. I bit down on my tongue to try to hide my excitement, relishing the ease with which he had pinned me down.

“Well, you’ve got me all figured out, Professor. I expected no less from you.”

He didn’t speak. Removing one of his hands but leaving the other firmly in place, I heard the rustling of clothes behind me. I accepted the relative silence, letting my anticipation build to see just where he was planning on taking this.

We’d passed at least one point of no return. Might as well charge forward now, no?

“I’ve had you figured out for a very long time, Princess”

Immediately, my legs clenched together at the pet name, my breath catching in my throat as my body squirmed under his grip.

“I knew from the second you stepped into my classroom in your tiny little skirts and face all dolled up. Loving the way people call you my pet.”

Oh? And here I had thought he was purposefully ignorant. But no, he had very much been paying attention.

“Trying to convince me that you’re all grown up. Ripe for the taking.”

The only sound I was capable of producing was a breathy giggle, my hips swaying as I rocked back and forth in a desperate cry for friction. When it did come, it was his body pressed against mine while he leaned over to see my face pressed against his things.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. Last chance.”

I responded with a bat of my widest doe eyes and a smile. He accepted them both with some small breath of relief as his nerves flickered in the space between us. But as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, finally revealing that the sounds before had been him removing his tie, which was firmly grasped in his hand. “Which is why I know that you aren’t the kind of girl to comply quietly.”

In mock offense, I gasped, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Open your mouth.”

I didn’t obey right away, glancing down at the fabric with an unmatched enthusiasm. Grinding my jaw against the desk in the limited space, I maintained eye contact the entire time he took to shove the deep maroon fabric between my teeth.

“Good girl,” he cooed, gently stroking my cheek with his thumb before he retreated. The next sound I heard was the distinct commotion of clutter in a drawer. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing until he found what he was looking for.

“I get the feeling you don’t know what you’re in for,” he warned, “I don’t think you’ll enjoy this part as much as you think.”

He drew the wooden ruler out of the drawer and held it within my line of sight, dangling it limply between two fingers.

“You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that little stunt you pulled earlier, did you, Princess?”

The tie muffled any sounds my body tried to make, but it didn’t matter. He could tell they were all good sounds even without any excess articulation. Releasing my arms, he used both his hands for much more exciting maneuvers.

Starting at the back of my thighs, he ran his hands under my skirt and over my bottom, pushing the fabric up to reveal the tiny strip of fabric that made up my lacy thong.

“How thoughtful,” he said with a brief chuckle, “there’s no fabric to get in the way.”

As if to prove his point, he took one cheek in his hand, gripping the skin hard enough that I hoped it would bruise. My body responded in kind, pressing back against him.

Instead of backing up or correcting the behavior, he pressed his hips against my backside. The feel of his hard arousal underneath the fabric flared desire in the pit of my stomach. It was so strong, I thought I might be sick from it.

Just as quickly as the pressure had come, it was gone. I was left wanting against his desk, my hands keeping me up as my legs began to shake from the delicious anticipation of the silence.

It didn’t last long, though. Because just as I was about to raise my head to look back at him, I heard the first whir of wood through the air. The snapping sound of the material against my skin caused me to cry out into the mess of silk filling my mouth.

“I barely touched you,” he taunted, patting the skin softly with the same instrument, turning it to draw the corner edge along the reddened skin. “You really are spoiled.”

Without warning, he lifted his hand and brought it back down against the other side with just as much speed. This time I tried to swallow the groan, only slightly succeeding.

“I can fix that,” he explained, repeating his previous teasing in a mirrored fashion.

I went to shift my position, trying to bring my legs together to comfort myself. I didn’t get far, with Professor Reid’s foot abruptly coming between mine and forcing them back apart without a single word.

The nice thing about being hit with a ruler is the characteristic whistle of wood through the air, causing my anticipation to spike each time it would strike my skin. This time, no noise came out. In place of the vocal response, my whole body jerked. He followed quickly with the next smack, not allowing any break between the motions.

“Look at all that improvement already,” he mumbled just loud enough for me to hear it over the whooshing sounds of the resistant air. Both were quickly followed with another loud slap.

“You’re such a fast learner, Princess.”

I wanted to accept the praise, but my mouth was insistent on gagging against the silk wrapped around my tongue.

“I’m not done having fun yet though.”

My hands raked down the wood, my body remaining in place by my own sheer will. He didn’t have to hold me down to command me to stay that way. The next time the ruler made contact I heard it more than felt it, the tingling in my skin telling me that my body had begun to ignore the stimuli.

I could feel the heat; the welts were beginning to form and he didn’t seem to mind overlapping his strikes. I wondered how long it would take the marks to go away. I hoped it would take forever.

It had to have been the fourth or fifth time he hit me when the tears started to sting my eyes, my teeth finding each other despite his tie separating them. My breathing increased in intensity and came in short bursts through my flared nostrils.

He must have heard, because he paused his actions for a moment. Leaning over beside me, he ran a gentle hand over my forehead, sweeping the stray strands of hair out of my view.

“Slow down, Princess. You don’t want to pass out before the fun even starts.”

I returned a few long blinks, letting a single tear slide down my cheek as my lungs obeyed his command and began to slow down. His expression was stoic and dark, but there was a genuine softness underneath that shone through.

What a strange man, I thought.

“Do me a favor. The next time you sit in my classroom, remember this feeling. It won’t be hard; the bruises will do most of the work for you.”

His voice was low in volume and register, his hand ghosting over the skin felt like knives on the tender skin.

“Remember that it took me less than ten minutes to break you down to nothing, and ask yourself if your little games are worth it.”

The silence that followed, paired with his intense stare into my eyes, told me that he was expecting an answer. Still unable to speak, I gave a weak nod through my clouded thoughts. My legs felt weak, but still so desperate for his attention.

Seemingly in response, he vanished from my sight again. I could still see the ruler in his hand, and I closed my eyes in preparation for the next hit. When it finally came, I still wasn’t prepared.

It was certainly harder than the previous ones—I could tell even though it hit skin that had begun to riot by not reacting at all to the sting. I’d secretly hoped that it meant he was nearing his end of this little escapade, because as thrilling as it was, I wanted to give him some attention, too.

Fate was on my side, it seemed, because shortly after I had the thought, he brought the instrument back down on the other side, and the poor, flimsy piece of wood fractured with a loud ‘snap!’ at the same time the room filled with my muffled moan.

His faint laughter was the next thing I heard, a comforting and yet somehow erotic sound in response to the harm suffered at his hands. He tossed the broken half onto the desk next to me, his hands coming to rest against the back of my thighs.

That skin, still able to feel, felt twice as hard now compared to the tingling above it. He seemed to know, taking advantage of the sensitivity but dragging short nails up the skin to the small, soaked strip of fabric separating our bodies.

“Someone’s excited,” he said through a smile, hooking his finger under the lace only for a second before letting it snap back when he removed his hand. “What do you want to do about that, Princess?”

It wasn’t even a question. Because the whole time I’d been bent over the desk, I'd only had one thing on my mind.

Spencer Reid had seen enough of me panting, wanting, and begging. It was his turn.

Carefully, I pulled his tie from my mouth, tossing it to the side of the desk with the ruined ruler. Pushing myself up with both of my hands, I turned around with a slight wince to face the man who already felt so comfortable leaving marks.

“You mean it?” I asked, licking my lips that were still readjusting to the feeling of touching without a barrier wedged between them. He mirrored my behavior, sucking in his bottom lip and letting his teeth hold it back for a second longer.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

The way the words were strained told me that he meant them. Even if I said the thing he wanted least—that I wanted to leave—he would let me.

But I definitely did not want to leave. Quite the opposite, actually. He clearly wanted me to say something selfish, which told me that he still had a lot to learn about me. After all, he had thought I wouldn’t like this... and he was very wrong.

Silently, I kept my eyes on his while my fingers worked diligently at his belt, undoing the buckle and unfastening his pants in a matter of seconds. His breathing rate had increased, but he was trying to hide it.

The gears in his mind were turning, slowly at first but quickening with each passing second. The closer I got to my goal, the more unsure he was about my plan. It wasn’t until my hand had slipped into his underwear that he’d moved. His hand shot out to my wrist, grabbing it tightly and swallowing hard.

There were no questions spoken, but they filled the space between us nonetheless. Glancing down at his hand around my arm, I felt my desire continue to rise. I needed to have him, to watch him come undone in my hands.

Understanding his hesitance for an anxiety over what we were about to do, venturing into the unknown moral taboo of sleeping with one of his students, I sought to comfort him. Because I wasn’t interested in getting fucked on his desk.

Today was a test run. To see whether or not it was worth it for the both of us. Granted, I had the advantage of actually getting to test drive. Little did he know, he wouldn’t be getting anywhere near what he wanted most.

Not today.

“Relax, Professor,” I purred, letting my hand wander the last few inches to grip his erection underneath his clothes. His head tilted back; his mouth hung open in the excitement.

“Like you said, I’m not the kind of girl who likes to be quiet. So, the fact I removed your tie should have already told you what I was planning to do.”

Who said that speaking in riddles couldn’t be a part of a healthy, fun sex life? That person was a fool. Professor Reid seemed to agree, his hand winding through my hair on the back of my head while the other steadied him against the desk.

Within seconds he made it clear I wasn’t moving nearly fast enough, and he began to apply pressure to my head, driving me down onto my knees in front of him. I willed my heart to calm down, out of fear that if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to fit something much more appealing in my throat.

Still experimenting with the way his skin felt softer than the silk of his tie under my fingers, I brought my mouth close enough to allow him to feel the heat of my breath against him. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I think we both knew that. But it was my first time with someone this much older than me, and my first time with someone I wanted this badly.

His eyes were closed, his jaw clenching on and off the longer I waited to give him what he wanted. It was almost cute, the way he seemed so hellbent on waiting for me to take these steps. I guess up until now, he could pretend like what we were doing wasn’t sexual.

But it was. That much was obvious when I flattened my tongue, dragging it up his entire length. His hold on my hair became even tighter, pulling the skin of my scalp taut as his hips followed my mouth.

So responsive, I noted to myself.

In fact, responsive was the perfect way to describe him. For someone who made a ruckus about me not being quiet, he certainly didn’t mind making his own not-so-hushed noises. When my lips finally closed around the head of his erection, he let out a low groan.

“Fuck.”

Now that was a good, traditional English curse word I was familiar with. It urged me on, my tongue lavishing the small, stringy bead of arousal that had already formed at the tip. His hips sought more, bucking gently into my mouth.

I accepted the request, trying to take him in a few inches at a time. Each time I would pull away, he would try to keep me closer. Not forcefully, but just enough resistance to make it known.

“Figures you’d be good at this,” he absently muttered, almost like I wasn’t ever intended to hear the words. Opening my eyes, I glanced up to find him watching me with the most animalistic look I’d seen from him yet.

Armed with the knowledge that I had a spectator, I began to take him in quicker, bobbing my head back and forth while my tongue traced along.

My body was flowing with the movement, my knees angry and sore as they ran along the carpet with each motion. If he noticed, he didn’t make a point of showing any concern. On the contrary, he stopped holding himself back.

When there were only a couple of inches remaining outside of my mouth, he took the initiative to hold my head against him, continuing to apply pressure until I gave in. My lips pressed against the base of him, I lightly gagged at the sensation of him breaching the entrance to my throat.

I didn’t take my eyes off of him, even as they strained to look up that high and filled with tears.

“Oh, good girl, Princess,” he moaned, rolling his hips to move within my mouth and test my dedication to pleasing him. “You take cock so fucking well.”

Finally releasing the pressure, he let me pull back enough to breathe before I continued my gentle strokes of mouth and tongue. With each passing second, I could feel him losing any doubt or guilt in the freedom he was afforded in this quiet moment in the middle of the day on a Tuesday.

Once his eyes were closed again, I felt free to pick up the pace, one hand holding onto his thigh while the other gripped whatever I couldn’t fit into my mouth in the quicker forward movements.

I wished that I could speak, to tell him how beautiful he looked in this moment. I had imagined what it would be like to unravel this man, but I had never pictured it like this. Part of me had expected him to be as rough and frenzied as he was with the ruler, but he wasn’t.

He was patient and strangely vulnerable. It was like he was trying to tell me that my subservience was best when given freely, accepting this was my position. He had already literally beat the fight out of me, and now he was reaping his rewards. It was up to me to provide the energy.

... Or maybe I had spoken too soon. Because as soon as I began to slow down, distracted by my thoughts, his hand around my hair held me back and forced me to stop completely.

Blinking up at him with hollowed cheeks, I moved my tongue in slow, languid patterns on the underside of his arousal that remained in my mouth.

Then, gently at first, he began to push himself further into my mouth without letting my head move. Understanding what he wanted, I slackened my jaw to allow him more freedom to be imperfect in his motions.

He took that freedom as my consent, starting with short, shallow thrusts of just his hips before beginning to move my face in tandem. The pace was rhythmic and powerful, each thrust forward activating my gag reflex for the briefest flash of a second before it was gone again.

“Every time you taunted me in class,” he huffed, holding my face down when I started to gag, “I’d just think about how satisfying it would be to shove my cock down your throat.”

I could barely keep my eyes open, but I fought the urge to shut them. I wanted to watch the way he seethed with his words, the desire clear in every stress line forming on his face.

“What it would be like to watch you fucking choke on it.”

He enjoyed the sight of my struggle for just a second longer before he relieved my throat, continuing with his regular pace in and out of my mouth. But now his thrusts were jagged and faltering, his grip on my hair varying with strength as he neared his inevitable end.

My knees would thank him for a swift end, but I ignored the way the burns littering my bottom half smarted with every movement. I let my hands wander around his thighs, trying to devote one hundred percent of my attention to the man in front of me.

There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that he noticed and appreciated the efforts, and soon his body collapsed slightly, his back hunched over as he held my mouth flush against him. His other hand propped him up with a death grip on the desk.

Despite the full mouth and throat, he continued to thrust against my face. The pressure and insistence sparked some deep survival instinct within me, and I couldn’t contain the loud, desperate moan in my chest.

The sound reverberated around my lips, creating a delicious vibration through my mouth. The professor was clearly grateful for the final push he needed, transferring my noises into his own and sharing them with the room.

And just like that, I felt the familiar pulsing of his cock against my tongue, a warmth spraying the back of my throat. His hand cradling the back of my head stopped me from instinctively retreating at the sensation.

“You wanted this,” he growled, thrusting even further into my throat in response, “so fucking take it.”

I wished more than anything that I could smile at that, show him just how much pleasure I derived from such a crude thing leaving his mouth. But since I couldn’t, I chose to hollow my cheeks once more, sucking insistently on him.

Another wild, guttural moan ripped from his chest as he threw his head back in ecstasy. Part of me selfishly wished I could see the look on his face more clearly. But then I remembered my main goal. This was just the beginning of what I hoped for.

Today was just today. It was a test run, and I think it was safe to say that it was successful.

The speed and force with which he pulled out of my mouth left me feeling empty, the strings of spit snapping back against my chin. Slack jawed yet still smiling, I caught my breath before swallowing any remaining evidence of what just occurred behind the Professor’s desk.

He just watched me as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Tucking himself back into his pants, he took a moment to try and help me back onto my feet.

My balance was strange at first, my now slightly bloodied knees very much hating the movement. Professor Reid was now looking at me like I’d given him the key to all the knowledge in the universe. I suspect I was looking at him much in the same way.

“You’re bleeding.”

He motioned to my legs, but I merely shrugged.

“Barely.”

I could hear the ruckus of the old wooden drawers opening, but I was already busy preparing myself to leave. He didn’t notice yet, but he soon would.

“I have ointment to take care of that, as well as the other marks I left.”

With a scrunchie stuck in my mouth, I mumbled, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

When he turned to look at me, my eyes were elsewhere. More specifically, anywhere else. I didn’t want him to see the desire that was still left burning in my eyes. Because he could convince me to stay if he wanted to, and I had places to be.

“It’s important. I don’t want to be the reason you get scars.”

With a shrug and a roll of my eyes, I waved him off.

“I’ll do it later.”

After I finished making my hair less chaotic, I grabbed my bag off the seat to make my exit. I didn’t make it very far, with Professor Reid grabbing my hand in a much too affectionate manner.

“Wait—” he called, but I was distracted, staring down at the contact with a fascinated curiosity. Noticing my reaction, he pulled his hand back.

“You haven’t...” he trailed off, suddenly bashful at the topic of what we were just engaged in. It would have been annoying if it weren’t so damned charming. “It’s only fair.”

The thing was, I knew that he was still just trying to quell his own curiosity. He wanted to know more about me. He wanted to break me down even further than he already had and then put me back together again.

“Oh, Professor. How sweet of you to worry about me,” I said with a coy smile, clutching the nonexistent pearls wrapped around my neck. “But sorry, there’s no time for you to show me your hidden talents. I have to go; I have class.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said with a laugh, his eyes roaming over my body before landing back on my face. “How do you expect to sit for that long?”

I snorted, bending over to pick up the other half of the broken ruler.

“I thought we had settled this?”  

My slow strut closer to him was only a little by choice, and mostly because of how sore my entire lower body was. I poked his chest with the flat end of the ruler, waiting for him to grab it from me.

“I’m a masochist, Professor Reid.”

Swapping roles, he used the same tool to lift my chin to him. The action, although small, caused the butterflies to fill me all over again.

“I’ll just close my eyes,” I dreamily sighed, “and think about you, instead.”

I thought that would be the end of it; one final tease before I left him in his office, still wanting. But he had a different idea.

Pressing harder against my chin with the jagged wood, he leaned in closer to me. My breath left me all at once, my body freezing in position until our lips met.

I was cautious at first, afraid to admit how badly I wanted this. If this was a test to see just how attached I already was, I wanted to pass.

But there was nothing tentative in how hard he was kissing me. He didn’t seem to mind showing just how much he wanted to consume every inch of me. I supposed that was the main difference between us.

He knew he could have me.

So he took me, deepening the kiss with a sweep of that tongue I’d watched so often in class. I’d never imagined it would actually be wetting my lips. I’m not entirely sure how long it’d been, my mind turning to putty. Any sanity I retained was held up by the broken ruler in his hand.

A soft whimper finally escaped me and flowed into his mouth. He smirked, accepting the sound as the end of this battle. To him, he had won. Because if he couldn’t have everything he wanted, then neither could I.

“See you in class on Thursday, Princess.”

So, sitting in auditorium chairs with welts on your ass is a lot harder than one might think. Like, I had known it would be hard, but it turned out to be basically impossible. It was safe to say that any adrenaline had worn off within a few hours.

But then it happened – the second I stepped foot into Professor Reid’s classroom, spotting him writing on the whiteboard at the front of the room, it was back.

Thoughts of him with his head thrown back in ecstasy from my mouth wrapped around his cock sent a shock through my veins. I could hardly breathe, much less make my way to my seat. His sixth sense must have alerted him that I was staring, because he glanced over his shoulder to spot me standing like a deer in the headlights at the door to the classroom.

The small smirk he flashed me was enough to break my spell, and I quickly shuffled over to my seat. The skirt I wore today wasn’t just for his viewing pleasure; I wanted as little touching the tender skin as possible.

He didn’t say or do anything strange. The lecture went on like usual. The only thing that might have been different was that whenever his gaze settled on me, it was longer and hungrier. I wondered if anyone else could see it.

I didn’t speak as much, afraid that I would give myself away in the way my pitch rose and my volume lowered when he addressed me. Of course, my silence gave me away, too.

Which was probably why, despite ending class with his traditional salutations, he tacked on a special addition.

“See you all next week,” he had started, “(Y/n) please come see me.”

My cheeks flushed a deep shade within seconds, and my friends around me didn’t even try to hide their amusement in my apparent trouble.

“Oooh, teacher’s pet’s in trouble,” my friend chimed on her way out of the aisle.

“Fuck off, bitch,” I huffed in a mostly joking manner. She just laughed, booking it out of the room before she got dragged into whatever she thought was about to happen to me.

If only she knew.

Unfortunately, the usual couple of girls who stayed after every class had to try to shoot their shot before they left for the day. Figures. I wasn’t going to interrupt them, no matter how tempting it was.

Hey, I thought to myself, could you all fuck off so I can go fuck him like you could only dream of?

I sighed as I strategically leaned forward on the chairs of the bottom row, too scared to try and sit again. His eyes were on me again, but I ignored him, staring down at my phone.

“Come here, Princess.”

The words ripped me from my reality. I had been so absorbed in the stupid, mindless scrolling that I missed the last student leaving the room. I glanced over my shoulder one more time to be sure, and then began to make my way to the stage steps.

He watched me like a hawk the entire time, maintaining that predatory stare even as I stood directly in front of him beside the desk.

“What can I do for you, Professor?”

His reply was swift and immediate, almost overlapping with my words.

“Turn around and bend over.”

With a light scoff, I began to turn per his instruction, taking my time in pressing my palms against the desk next to me. “How scandalous, Professor.”

He wasn’t feeling patient, his hand flattening between my shoulder blades and forcing me to bend at a deeper angle. Once I was appropriately positioned, he used both hands to gingerly lift my skirt, revealing yet another thin strip of fabric that left my cheeks bare.

“You look so much better with these bruises,” he whispered, his fingers just as light over the skin. Still, it was too much for the raw skin, and I jumped under his touch with a sharp yelp.

“Watching you struggle to sit is endlessly entertaining. What a weak little masochist you are.”

My thighs had begun to rub together before I’d even noticed, my hips swaying slightly to guide his hands to the parts that didn’t burn. He still found my hips, though, a playful tilt in his tone.

“Almost as much fun as choking you with my cock.”

The memories were already filling my mind again, but he wasn’t trying to reminisce just yet.

“But there’s something else I want from you now. Something you deprived me of before.”

I giggled, but quickly corrected the misinformation, “I did no such thing, Professor.”

Roughly taking a bruised cheek in his hand, he seemed to enjoy the way my body all but collapsed at the stimuli.

“Shut up,” he ordered, “Come with me to my office.”

“No,” I said through a groan as his hand tightened once more.

“Excuse me?”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to gain my confidence back so that I might stand a chance at getting what I wanted; what I’d been planning on. Managing to protest against his grip, I turned to face him.

“Fuck me here.”

“What?”

He seemed genuinely surprised. He shouldn’t have been. It was only natural, for me to want him to take me in the first place I’d fallen headfirst into lust with him.

I hopped up so that I was seated on the edge of the desk, gripping the edge with my hands between my legs as I spread them enough that the front of my skirt lifted.

“Fuck me right here. Center stage.”

That predatory behavior returned when he placed himself between my legs, a hand on my lower back pulling me even closer to the edge so that the space between us was practically nonexistent.

“Oh, Princess, you are too spoiled.”

I couldn’t focus on his words, because his hand was slowly inching up my thigh.

“Starving for attention.”

His other hand was on my face as it has been before, thumbing at my lips and guiding my face to meet his.

“I deserve it,” I mumbled before he kissed me. This time it was gentler, his mouth coaxing mine open like we had all the time in the world. I gasped when his finger ran along the damp underwear blocking me from him. He took the time to respond to my earlier plea.

“Yes. You do deserve it.”

That was the only warning I got before he managed to maneuver the fabric, dipping into my heat. Immediately, mewls and curses began rolling off my tongue.

“Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his forehead against mine to keep our eyes locked, “You’re so responsive.”

“That’s what you do to me, Professor.”

The words were more like happy purrs, my body beginning to rock against his hand as he curled a finger inside me. When he started to harshly stroke against my walls, I moaned against his mouth.

It was his breaking point, causing him to bring a hand up to cover my mouth while his other continued to work me.

“Show me that you can be a good, quiet girl, and I’ll fuck you.”

The words alone were enough to practically throw me over the edge, and I desperately nodded against his hand, the moans still there but much quieter.

“That’s it, Princess,” he praised, slipping in another finger and smiling as my eyes were struggling to stay open. “See how good I can make you feel when you behave?”

I didn’t even care about the fact that my body was dragging against the desk, tearing at the already abused skin from a few days prior. All I could think about was the way his palms were applying crushing pressure over my face and crest.

“What else do you want in your pretty little pussy, hm?”

“Please, fuck me, Professor,” I called from behind his hand. He could still hear me clearly enough, as evidenced by the way he retreated, using both of his hands to undo his pants. The absence was noted and my body sorely missed him, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long.

“Naughty girl,” he started as he freed himself from his bottoms before tugging my underwear to the side for easier access.

There was no time for romance or subtlety. There was definitely no time to argue with him over whether we should make our way back to his office where I’m certain he probably kept protection after our little Tuesday office hours.

He didn’t seem to mind, and I figured he was a smart man, right? I’d never fucked a man without it, and if I was going to share my first with anyone, it might as well be him.

Accepting my lack of fight as an invitation, he wasted no more time. With one swift thrust, he almost completely entered me. I cried out at the sensation of my tight walls struggling to accommodate his girth. He didn’t correct me for that noise, understanding how necessary it was.

“It’s pathetic, watching you beg someone nearly twice your age to fuck you like a cheap whore in the middle of a classroom.”

His voice and breath were hot against my ear. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, trying to hold me in place once he started his slow, deep thrusts.

“Fine,” I struggled to speak, “Fuck me like an expensive one, then.”

He chuckled, appreciating the small bit of humor I was still able to provide even while coming undone.

“A whore’s still a whore, Princess.”

Grabbing my chin, he turned me back to see the smug, toothy grin while he started to pound into me with more power.

“And like a true submissive, you’re a little bit stupid, too.”

I swallowed before I bit down on my bottom lip, wanting to hear what he had to say just as much as I was trying to suppress a moan.

“I mean, what kind of stupid whore lets a man she barely knows fuck her bareback.”

My eyes were rolling back, but he pat my cheek with a light slap, as if to bring me back to the moment. It was so hard to decide which part of my body to listen to. My bottom burned against the roughness and my legs quaked each time he bottomed out inside me.

“Pay attention when I speak to you.”

“Yes, Professor,” I squeaked, trying to remember the last thing he had said before I got lost in the sea of sensations. “I-I’d only do it for you, sir.”  

The dark, possessive glint in his eyes showed that he understood my words to be true. Before he could answer, he captured my mouth with his. The action was paired with both his hands grabbing my hips, dragging me to the edge of the table.

The new angle caused him to fully enter me each time, and my moans eventually got caught in my throat as they all tried to escape at once.

“That’s right,” he growled, “You’re mine now, Princess.”

Was it ever a question, Professor? I thought but didn’t speak the words, wishing that I could share them.

He had no restraint, though, words coming easy to him as he held my legs apart to better drive into me with all the force he could muster.

“Mine to use as I see fit,” he groaned, “whenever and wherever I want.”

I wanted to fight back, to remind him that this was my idea. But I didn’t, my mind clouded with everything he was showing me. The lessons I’d learned in those moments on the table were more than I could ever glean from an entire semester of lectures.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t even speak in my class without thinking about how it feels to have me inside of you.”

His hand weaved through my hair but grabbed the back of my neck like one would wrangle an animal by the scruff.

“And all of those little boys that are always trying to fuck you will know that you belong to me.”

His nails digging into the thin skin covering the column of my throat caused goosebumps to ripple over my skin, and I grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket to keep me in place, scared that I might actually collapse in on myself like a dying star.

“They’ll taste me on your tongue and watch me drip down your fucking thighs.”

My face was contorted in some kind of pleased grimace, my body rioting against his touch in the most delicious manner. Riding that edge between pain and euphoria, it just took one more thing for me to lose myself entirely.

“Do you understand me, Princess?”

Don’t ask me why it was such a simple question that drove me into bliss, the ever-growing tension in all of my muscles snapping into a firework show of spasms.

“Yes!” I breathily cried, my hands yanking him closer so he could kiss me as a high-pitched whine mixed with our tongues.

“Yes, Professor,” I repeated, my voice grinding out through clenched teeth when his movements became ruthless and bruising, his body finally ready to give in now that he had finally finished me first.

“Good.”

With one final thrust, he fully sheathed himself in me before filling me with his warmth. I choked on a moan, unable to focus any efforts on quieting myself with the sensation of him pulsing gently at my deepest point.

“You better get used to this feeling,” he growled in my ear, his mouth hanging inches away from mine with a playful, wicked smirk.

“Because you’re teacher’s princess now.”

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