nubecita040

[nubecita040]

Do you know the trend where if you have a significant other in the military you say they can’t come into your house but amendment 2 or 3 which say “ no quartering of soldiers without consent”

That with cyclone or Bob

All Shook Up - Bob x Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: After seeing a trend where military spouses tell their loved ones they aren't allowed inside under the 3rd Amendment, you decide to play a prank on your sweet, returning husband Bob—that is until you get the words out, and he reacts in the only way Bob knows how.

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, husband! Bob, very mild accidental hurt/comfort.

Authors Note: This idea is so funny to me! I'm already working on Beau's version, and I'll definitely be posting that soon.

Read on AO3

The sun had just begun setting when you put your plan into motion. Grinning to yourself as you set dinner to cook in the oven, you check out the kitchen window for any sign of Bob's car. Your husband had been away on a training exercise all week and had just called you thirty minutes ago stating he was close to home.

Minutes later as you spare the driveway another glance, you see Bob climb out of his car, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. You couldn't mask your almost childish excitement as you left the kitchen and trod over to the door. Even after the years you'd been together you never got over just how handsome he was. But today you had other things in mind.

You hear the soft thud of his boots on the porch followed by the jingle of his keys before the door opens.

"Honey I'm home," Bob calls out just as you appear.

His brow furrows when you don't answer, instead just standing and watching him without an ounce of your expected warmth.

"Honey?" He tries again, "Is everything all right?"

You let another long second pass, his brows furrowing, before you answer.

"Oh, yeah," you say casually, "you just can't stay here."

Bob's eyes instantly widen behind his glasses. His gentle gaze fills with a look that is somewhere between confusion and heartbreak.

"I..What?" He questions.

You clear your throat, initial plan shattering but doing your best to follow through with your prank in light of his expression, knowing it'll be easier to explain in the end when you're both—hopefully—laughing. 

"It is my right as an American citizen to exercise whatever rights I have the liberty of holding--including the third amendment of the United States Constitution, no quartering of soldiers and related military personnel without consent," You say, still standing in the entryway opposite Bob and the half open door.

Bob blinks, expression leaning more towards the confused end of things. For a second it looks like he's about to say something, only to remain silent. He glances at his hand still holding the doorknob, then over his shoulder outside before slowly— slowly —backing out and closing the door all without a word.

You let the silence hang for a second before you yourself grow confused. You had expected him to laugh or maybe fight back, or...really anything except actually leave . Yet as you're left standing there, your first instinct is to chase after him.

Crossing the distance and pulling the door open, you see him about to get back in his car.

"Bob!" you call out, earning a hurtfully hopeful glance back over his shoulder from the man, "I'm just messing with you!" you continue.

Bob's gaze drops and a brief flash of regret goes through you. He looks genuinely bewildered, as if he's going back through and cataloging months and years' worth of interactions to figure out where all this was coming from.

With a sigh you close the door behind you and step off the porch, padding softly down the steps until you're close enough to wrap your arm around the waist of your hopelessly sweet husband.

"I promise, It's just a prank, Bob," you reassure his worrying mind, "I thought it'd be funny, not that you'd just…”

You trail off, gesturing vaguely at everything as a brief flash of knowing crosses his eyes.

"Oh," he says after a long pause, brows still furrowed but tone far less tense, "I was so confused."

He returns your embrace, setting his bag on the ground and slinging an arm gently around you.

"I thought maybe something happened I didn't know about."

You can’t help but let out a soft laugh as you look up at him.

"You thought I'd kick you out over something you didn't even know?” You ask incredulously.

"Maybe If I forgot an anniversary or didn't text you goodnight–" He stammers, raising his free hand to rub the back of his neck, "I don't know what you think is worthy of invoking the constitution over, but it felt serious."

By now a soft blush has risen onto his cheeks and you can't help but place a kiss there, his flushed skin warmed under your gentle touch.

"You are too sweet for your own good, honey," you muse with a laugh, "You thought this was it? Really?"

"Well, I...It sounded serious!" He defends again with a bashful smile.

You can't help but laugh again, looking up at him in near warm-hearted wonder.

"You're always welcome to quarter here, or anywhere else I stay, for that matter."

Bob lets out a breath of relief, whatever tension was still held in his body leaving as your words provide the last bit of reassurance he needs.

"I...really didn't want to sleep in the car.”

You pat his back with a laugh and guide him up the steps and back inside before closing the door behind you both.

"Welcome home honey," you try again, a hint of joking still in your tone, "A place you'll always have a bed."

"Good to know," he chuckles softly, "Please, don't scare me like that again."

"I promise," You smile, pulling him in for a proper kiss this time, "I'll make it up to you."

"Yes please," he sighs, only to be distracted by the smell of roasting chicken coming from the kitchen.

"You...made dinner?" He asks gently, always so surprised by the little things even when they're a part of your daily routine.

"Of course I did. Can't have you going hungry, now, can we?"

Bob blinks then nods faintly in agreement.

"Good, go get changed while I finish up down here."

At that Bob practically melts in your arms like he does every time he comes home, never more relaxed than he is in your presence—even if it's your attempt at a prank that shakes him up to begin with.

Taglist: @rosiahills22 @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @callsignaries @blue-aconite @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @eliseline @xoxabs88xox @lisedanie @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @teti-menchon0604 @sass-masterkittenmama @kmc1989

[nubecita040]

This is so sweet and cute

short n sweet but we need one where spencer loves head scratches and getting his hair played with

Heart Nebula - S.R

summary: spencer tells you every atom in your body was once part of a star, but you think he's the celestial wonder worth studying. pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: fluff galore, existentialism, star-gazing, astrophysics inaccuracies im so sure wc: 2.1k

"You'd be so proud of me today, you know."

You scoot closer, disrupting the careful folds of the blanket. The fabric bunches beneath your legs, damp soil seeps through, not quite wet enough to be a problem, but enough to make you aware of it. A blade of grass tickles stubbornly at your ankle. You wiggle your foot once, twice, it stays. Some things do.

Your pinky grazes his, the barest of contact, but he turns his head anyway. The night seems to fold him in shadow, softens his features, makes him look almost ethereal. His eyes give him away, glinting back at you, tiny shards of cosmos blinking back at you. It should be impossible to feel jealously of the sky, and yet.

"Yeah?" The familiar crease settles between his brows, a well-loved marker in the pages of him. His head tilts, waiting, not impatiently, already certain he's going to love your answer. "Why's that?"

Your smile jumps ahead of you, swells into one of those too-big-for-your-face grins. The kind that crinkles your nose, bunches your cheeks, makes your face ache after a while.

"I learned about a nebula."

Spencer's laugh starts in his chest and works its way out, rattling through his ribs, shaking his shoulders, until the momentum knocks his knee into yours.

"Look at you," he says, all teasing admiration. "I am proud. Which one?"

"I think It was called the Heart Nebula?" You glance at him, waiting, watching, half-hoping that he'll recognize the name, that he'll give you that little nod of confirmation.

He does. You beam.

"I saw a picture earlier, and it was just—," You trail off, eyes tipping upwards, letting the sky steal whatever poetic explanation you were about to give. "I don't know. Too beautiful to be real."

Spencer had been so excited when you told him you wanted to stargaze, his eyes had practically glowed, already rattling off a dozen facts about atmospheric conditions and celestial visibility, and why tonight was perfect.

He barely took a breath before he had been launching into a dozen more reasons, winding himself up so tight with words that the only way to release them, apparently, was kissing you. Feverishly.

Like he had no other way to translate his excitement into something tangible, something felt.

It made you want to promise him everything, to tell him you'd do this forever, that you'd let him drag you under the stars a thousand times over if it meant being kissed like that.

Spencer glances at you, his mouth twitching like you've just said the punchline to a joke you don't realize you're telling. You're here, waxing about a sky full of ancient light, calling the Heart Nebula too beautiful to be real, and he's looking at you like you've missed the most obvious part.

You narrow your eyes, but he only shakes his head, like whatever crossed his mind was his to keep.

"The Heart Nebula is full of newborn stars," he tells you, gaze still pointed on the sky. "Their radiation makes the gas glow red, pink. The whole thing shifts under stellar winds, reshaping itself, over and over again."

His voice wades its way through the parts of your brain, finding its place. He has this way of explaining things, of turning something infinite into something intimate. 

And you love that. Love how he does that. Love the way he sees things. Love him.

"It's about 7,500 light-years away. Which means the light we're seeing now left before humans even figured out agriculture." A small, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "By the time it reaches us, whatever we're looking at doesn't exist the same way anymore. It's already changed. Probably unrecognizable."

His fingers twitch against his thigh, probably resisting the urge to gesture. "Space is weird like that."

"I don't know, Spence," you tease, fingers pinching the sleeve of his shirt, catching just enough of him to feel real. His dimple carves into his cheek and your heart stumbles, caught between beats. "It kind of sounds like you're telling me I can't trust my own eyes."

"Well, technically you can't." He turns fully toward you, dimple still firmly in place, eyes flicking, too quickly, too obviously, to your lips. "The human eye takes in scattered bits of light, and your brain—" he taps your temple for emphasis "—fills in the blanks. Adjusts for shadows, alters colors based on what it thinks is there. Your eyes are compulsive liars."

He pauses, tiling his head, considering. "And since our perception is limited by our optic nerves, no one really sees their own eyes the way others do. Which is a shame, because if you could see yours the way I do, you'd understand why I can't help but stare."

There are moments when Spencer says something so casually devastating that your brain just empties, and this is absolutely one of them. Your mouth opens, then closes again.

"That's—" Your voice catches, so you clear your throat, shake your head, try to reassemble your thoughts. "That's a really unfair thing to say, you know."

Spencer blinks, like he’s running back through the conversation in real time, replaying his own words to figure out what, exactly, made you forget how to breathe. 

"Why?"

"Because some of us have a very delicate hold on their emotional stability, and you—” you point at him, accusing “— just shattered it in two sentences."

"Technically, that’s the limbic system at work. The amygdala controls emotional reactivity, but the prefrontal cortex tempers it."

You would try to unpack that, really, you would, but then his hands find your waist, and suddenly the ground isn't where you thought it was. You gasp, giggle, crash right into him, catching yourself with shaking hands against his chest.

"So really," he continues, as if you aren't sprawled across him, "if your emotional stability was shattered, you should blame your neural pathways, not me."

Your fingers twist in his hair as you lean in to kiss him, deeply and thoroughly, like proof, like inevitability maybe, a thought forming in real time, one you can press straight into his skin. 

"Maybe my neural pathways are just adapting to something worth remembering," you whisper, and the way he stills, the way his lips part just slightly, makes you think you might not be the only one.

Spencer makes a small, pleased noise against your lips, something that was half sighed and smiled, and you feel it, all of it, in the way his throat moves beneath your fingertips as he swallows.

"That... might be my favorite use of neuroscience yet."

You flash him a grin. "And you thought I wasn't paying attention when you ramble."

"I should've known you'd find a way to weaponize it."

You let your full weight settle onto him, chin perched on his chest, his heartbeat a slow song beneath your cheek. Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through soft strands, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, testing a theory you already know the answer to.

Yeah. Definite reaction.

"So that's what it takes, huh?" you tease, lips curling against the material of his shirt. You scratch again to be sure, and his next breath comes slower. "Just a well-placed brain chemistry reference?"

"From you? Yeah, that'll do it."

"Noted." A pause. Then, softer. "Keep talking to me about space."

"You know, you're kind of demanding." Spencer's fingers skate along your waist before he squeezes, firm and quick, like a punctuation mark to his sentence. 

Your head lifts, eyebrow quirked, fingers hovering just out of reach, close enough for him to feel the absence. "Excuse me?"

His smirk vanishes instantly, wiped clean, replaced by something perilously close to distress. His hands twitch at your waist, fingers moving like he can pull you back, like he can make you continue if he just wants it badly enough.

"Wait, wait, I was kidding," he rushes out, voice just shy of frantic. “Don't stop."

You grin, tilting your head like you're considering it. "Hmmm. Apologize."

"I—okay, I'm sorry, you're perfect, please—" his breath hitches, his laugh a little wild, a little helpless, "please keep going."

You giggle, fingertips weaving back into his hair. His response is immediate, a low, shaky sound that buzzes against your skin, something so content it makes warmth spreads through you like a lit fuse, spilling all the way down to your toes.

Spencer smirks, fingers drumming against your waist.

"You really don't let a guy off easy, do you?" He pauses for a second, glancing past you at the sky like he's taking in his options.

"Alright. Here's a fact you might like, every single part of you was once part of a star. All the heavier elements in your body, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, they were formed in the core of ancient stars, forged under immense heat and pressure, then scattered across the galaxy when those stars died, reforming."

His words drift to you, but you don't catch them all. You're too busy watching him.

Out here, in the absence of light pollution, you can see him more clearly than ever. The starlight doesn't just touch him, it claims him, dusting his skin in silver, catching in his lashes, turning the slopes of him almost unreal. Like if you blink too long, he might disappear, slip back into the night where he belongs. A constellation carved into the shape of a person.

You used to think brown was such a simple color. But then you met him, saw his eyes, now it's in everything. Wet earth after rain, cinnamon dusted over coffee, burnt sugar on your tongue.

And now, he’s teaching you it’s also carbon and oxygen forged in the cores of dying stars, pieces of the galaxy that had traveled billions of years to become chocolate flecks on a beautiful face.

He was right, it is a shame people never see their eyes the way others do.

"But how?" you ask. "Like... how does something go from being part of a star to being part of us?"

Spencer exhales softly and you can see the way he loves the question.

 "It's a long process. Billions of years, actually. When a star explodes, it sends all those elements out into space. They mix with other interstellar material, forming new stars, planets, and eventually..." He taps a gentle finger against your stomach. "You."

"That's kind of incredible."

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, grinning, that beautiful grin, the one that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. His fingers find your temple, trail gently down to your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Then, without pause, he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"It is," he murmurs, thumb brushing against your cheek. "We're built from pieces of space, borrowed, passed down, stitched together by time."

"So you're saying we've been part of the same universe forever? That's kind of romantic, Spence."

"It's also backed by astrophysics. Science just happens to be romantic sometimes. "

"Well, good," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I like knowing there's proof... but I think I would've believed it anyway."

You barely have time to register the flicker in his eyes before, he moves. In a second, you're on your back, the sky stretching endlessly behind him. The stars flicker, countless and beautiful, but right now, they might as well not exist.

Because all you see is him.

He hovers over you, gaze intent, studying you, like you're a phenomenon he never expected to witness up close. Like he's sure now, more than he's ever been about anything. Like you are the discovery of a lifetime.

"The universe has been expanding for 13.8 billion years," he murmurs, fingers trailing along your jaw. "But I don't think it's ever made anything more beautiful than you."

Heat blooms beneath your skin. "More than the Heart Nebula?"

It should sound like teasing. It doesn't.

Spencer exhales, almost like he's amused by your doubt.

"The Heart Nebula exists purely because gravity and radiation dictate that it must. But you..." His gaze softens. "You exist because of a thousand tiny impossibilities stacking on top of each other. The odds of you, of this, are so astronomically low that it shouldn't have happened at all."

Spencer just looks at you for a moment. You don't move, don't breathe. And then he kisses you.

It crashes over you, stealing your breath before you even realize it's happening. His hands tighten at your sides, pulling you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. It's not rushed nor desperate, but it is consuming, the kind of thing that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

When he breaks away, he doesn't go far, forehead resting against yours. "If the universe was capable of making something more beautiful, it would have done it by now."

And maybe that’s true. Maybe the universe, for all its galaxies and nebulae and infinite expanse, never did anything better than this. Not just you, but you and him together. 

Or maybe the universe will never quite get it right again. Because maybe this was its best work.

But it won’t stop trying. It never does. Even after you’re gone, even after you and Spencer are nothing but scattered atoms, the universe will keep going. Creating. Expanding. Changing. New stars will be born, dust will settle into something new, planets will form, galaxies will stretch apart. And maybe, somewhere, the pieces that were once you and him will find their way back to each other. And maybe, if the universe has any kindness left in it, they’ll get to love like this.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[nubecita040]

Hii, i need help please. Im looking for a fic of Spencer Reid, were he and reader are a couple (or something like that) and they had a long distance relationship and reader is sad because Spencer doesnt comunicate with her (via phone) like usually and she starts to overthink. But in the end Spencer phone brocked and he didnt have time to call her because of the case. PLEASE

[nubecita040]

Part 2 pretty pleaseeeee🥺🥺

Mail Call | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After a long and illustrious Naval career, Bradley was used to months spent on an aircraft carrier. Nothing ever felt quite as good as a letter from home. He thought he knew what to expect this time, but you always made things more exciting.

Warnings: adult language, masturbation, horny love letter

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley had been in the Navy long enough to know when to expect a mail call. Maybe it was intuition or a sixth sense, but after so many years of deployments, he was certain. When he woke up on Tuesday, something told him to start getting excited. There would be a box with his name written in a familiar scrawl in his hands soon. "Commander Bradshaw." He turned to see a petty officer jogging along the interior corridor of the aircraft carrier with a clipboard in hand. "Sir, here's your schedule for the day." Bradley grunted and skimmed the sheet as he made his way up to the tower. The lightness he felt mere moments ago was replaced by annoyance. Back-to-back meetings filled every inch of the sheet, including a meeting that was scheduled for after dinner.

"Damn it," he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. His plan to collect his parcel, enjoy a meal, and then head to his private bunk to read the letter was dashed. But he was still convinced that a Comanche helicopter would touch down on deck at some point this afternoon if the weather permitted. He'd get his mail when he could. He needed to wait a little longer to hear from you, which would make him grouchy in the interim.When he pushed open the heavy door to the tower, he greeted the collection of older officers by uttering just one word. "Admirals."

They all greeted him in response with a chorus of overworked voices, and then another clipboard was thrust into his hand. Attached to this one was a sheet detailing the flight schedules for the day, and sure enough, a smile curled along his lips below his mustache when he saw that a Comanche was slated to arrive at 1500 hours with the note US Airmail Transport.

God, a letter from you was sounding better by the minute. Your tone would be soft. You'd tell him how much you missed him. There would be something in there from-

"Commander Bradshaw. Let's get started with your pilots."

His musings were cut short, and he sighed before slipping the offered headset into place and testing out the comms. He was in charge of the training exercises for this deployment, and he needed to keep his mind clear so he could keep his aviators safe. It would do him no good to be focused on what might be happening back at home. He could read about it later.

But as the day wore on, the sky darkened, and storm clouds painted the horizon. When he called his team back to the carrier and watched them land one at a time, he asked the admirals, "Should we check in with the mail transport? It seems to have gone off schedule."

Lightning cut across the sky just as the comms crackled to life with a new voice. "This is Comanche. We're coming in low from the east, trying to avoid the rain. Are we clear to make a quick landing in seventeen minutes?"

Bradley listened to the air traffic team guide the helicopter in, and sure enough, the landing was low and loud, followed by another crack of lightning. He watched from his high vantage point as a team ran out in boots and rain slickers to collect bin after bin of mail, and now his hands were itching again. He could already feel the familiar weight of the box packed with his favorite snacks and some handmade artwork.

"Commander, you'll be late to meet with the pilots."

Bradley was once again yanked from his daydream of being at home where it was warm and dry and cozy, and he was faced with the prospect of having to duck outside into the storm to get to the meeting rooms on time.

The first gust of wind had him shivering and wishing he could grab his mail directly from the helicopter and head back to his bunk. The second gust left him cursing under his breath. He had to go lecture all of these young pilots about where they needed to improve before they could fly their mission, and he just didn't have the energy for it.

"Work now, reward later," he told himself, taking a deep breath and picturing your smile. That was enough to get him through the meetings. It was enough to get him back to his small office where he wrote up his notes for the day. It was even enough to get him all the way to the narrow hallway where the mail was being sorted.

But now there was a massive fucking line of officers in uniform waiting for the same thing he was. And to top it off, his stomach was growling. He could bail out of line, eat dinner, and come back later, hoping there was still someone there to disperse the mail before they closed up shop for the night. But it wasn't worth the risk. He'd be happy to skip dinner in favor of mail from you. It wasn't even a question in his mind.

When he finally reached the window and the rows of alphabetized bins, he told the officer in charge, "Bradshaw, Bradley," and then waited quite impatiently to have an ordinary looking cardboard box thrust into his hands. But his heart leapt with joy as soon as he held it and saw your handwriting. "Thank you."

The box felt a little lighter than usual. Maybe you didn't have time to load it up with as many snacks as you usually did. He hated leaving you for weeks and months at a time to deal with everything at home on your own. He loved being at home for the day to day grind. Loved it. But there was something unique about seeing how much things changed while he was gone.

He shook the box a little bit, curiosity getting the best of him. He passed the cafeteria and ran like a child to get back to his bunk as quickly as he could where he set the box down and tore into it. When he saw the three envelopes on top, he had to fight back his tears and take a deep breath.

He carefully picked up the envelope that said Daddy in purple crayon and opened it up to find several coloring sheets and a note written in light pink crayon that was a little hard to read.

Daddy,

I lost my first toooth. The toooth fairee took it. I got a glittery doller. I drew you the toooth and the fairee.

Love, Wren

Bradley found the corresponding page with a drawing of the tooth along with the tooth fairy. His daughter also wrote her name all over the back of the paper in every color crayon imaginable which made him smile. He read her note again before carefully placing it on his nightstand, and then he picked up the envelope that said Dad in black pen.

Dad,

When are you coming home? Fourth grade is so boring. We are learning how to write in cursive, but I already know how. Mom doesn't make the homework as fun as you do. Don't tell her I said that.

Actually everything is better when you're at home. I had a good report card, so mom let me get a skateboard. I covered it in bird stickers. I can almost stand on it for three seconds. Soccer tryouts are next week, and mom promised to take a video so you can watch it later. When are you coming home again? I'll make sure she doesn't delete the video.

Wren drew you a tooth fairy, but it looks like a demon. So then I started to try to draw the tooth fairy, and it looks really cool. It's on the back of the page. Please write back and tell us when you're coming home.

Love, Hawk

His son's version of the tooth fairy did look pretty cool, and now Bradley was cracking up as he took a second look at the one his daughter drew. Yeah, it was a bit frightening. He set both notes aside, finally ready to read what you had written to him. The third envelope said Bradley in your familiar handwriting, but his heart lurched into his belly. Instead of the thick envelope filled with page after page that he usually received from you, this one was light. His brow creased in concern as he opened it up to reveal just one sheet.

Bradley,

We miss you. The kids are mostly holding it together, but we're waiting until we know your return date to start a countdown. You know how much Wren cries when the countdown goes on for too long. Honestly, it makes me want to cry, too.

I could write you a novel about work and school and how much I miss you, but I thought it might just be more fun to show you. I got a little carried away with the camera a few nights ago when I couldn't sleep. I was too hot, and your pillow still smells like you. It smelled so good. I started thinking about what you and I will do when you get home. Then I couldn't stop. I literally could not stop touching myself, Bradley.

It never feels as good without you, but I do think some of the photos portray just how vivid my imagination was that night. Like I said, I got carried away.

Let us know when you'll be home.

Love, Your horny wife

Bradley immediately started digging through the box, and he soon realized you'd only included a thin layer of his favorite snacks. He scooped them out onto his bed and was left with some Polaroids. A lot of Polaroids.

"Holy shit," he whispered under his breath, reaching in and pulling out a photo of you wearing nothing but a tiny lace thong in his favorite shade of blue. He loved that thing. He loved taking it off of you. Your arm was covering your breasts in the photo, but that was okay. He had a vivid imagination.

Oh, but you didn't leave him hanging at all. The next one he grabbed was you sprawled out in bed, tits on full display, thong present and accounted for. You were biting down on your lip, and he could almost hear you moan. Your nipples were hard and looked just like they did after he had them in his mouth.

"God damn it, Baby. You're killing me." He missed his family. He missed being at home. But right now, all he could think about was fucking the absolute shit out of his wife.

Now he was looking at a beautiful shot of just your face, eyes closed, lips parted in pleasure. That was followed up by you bending over in the thong. And then one where you had your nose buried in his pillow.

There were so many photos, he was getting dizzy. And he was hard. He took a few seconds to unzip his khaki uniform pants while his eyes searched through the photos still inside the box. "Damn," he groaned, wrapping his right hand around his cock while he picked up one of the photos with his left.

You were straddling his pillow in your underwear. Literally grinding your pussy against it. Back arched, tits front and center, riding his pillow like it was his face. He really wished it was.

"Okay, Baby," he murmured, picking up another one while he stroked himself. Your hand was inside your thong. Another one where your blue thong was pulled to the side, showing off your pussy. Another one where you had two fingers knuckle-deep inside yourself. Another one where you were licking your wet fingers.

When he reached blindly into the box again, his hand connected with something softer next to the Polaroids. To his absolute delight, his fingers wrapped around that bit of fabric that he recognized right away. The blue thong. His cock jumped in excitement as he raised your panties slowly from the box and brought them all the way to his face. He knew. He knew you hadn't washed it. He just fucking knew this little thing was put in the box directly after you came all over it and dragged it down your soft legs.

His mouth watered as he pressed it to his nose. Eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled the scent of your arousal. He moaned your name. He could practically taste you as he rutted into his own hand. Bradley inhaled and exhaled your smell, running the lace along his nose, mustache and lips. The fabric was soft on his face, and he could picture you teasing him with it.

He would do anything to have you right now. He wanted you bent over the end of the bed, sobbing and begging him to go harder. He wanted your sweet voice in his ear. He wanted you on your knees. He wanted to bury his face in your pussy until you screamed.

"Jesus Christ," he whined, panting as he jerked himself off. All he could smell was you. It smelled like home and being in love. He couldn't get enough as he rubbed your thong all over his face before lowering it down to his cock. The lace felt exquisite as he ached with need. The fabric glided along in his hand, creating a friction that left him groaning.

He jerked himself off slowly, trying to make it last as long as he could, but the Polaroids were all he could see, and your pussy was all he could smell. He came all over your thong, ribbons of white decorating it while he held onto the wall for support.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, voice harsh as he drained every drop onto the lace. He held the sticky mess in his hand and huffed out a surprised laugh. From thousands of miles away, you did this to him. This was different from the mail he usually received from you, but he wasn't complaining. He got a nice update on what was happening at home plus a lot more than he bargained for.

Bradley walked into his tiny bathroom and draped your thong over the sink faucet before washing his hands. Maybe he'd have time to grab some dinner before returning to his bunk to write back to you, Hawk, and Wren. He had so much to say. Especially to you. He'd set himself up in bed with one of his clipboards and tell you all about what you made him do.

"Oh, shit," he told his reflection in the mirror as he thought about his clipboard again. "Fuck!"

He had one more meeting left. Starting in just minutes. He eased his cock back into his pants, still zipping up as he left his bunk. Then he walked while discreetly trying to tuck his shirt in and straighten out his uniform.

The further he got from your wrecked underwear, the more he realized he could still smell you. He was going to be able to smell you all night. This was going to be a painfully long meeting. And the letter he wrote to you later was going to be as dirty as your underwear.

----------------------

Thanks for reading! It's been a while since I posted a Bradley one-shot, and this one was hanging out in my drafts for a bit. Much love for a DILF. Hope you enjoy your Valentine's Day as much as Bradley enjoyed his mail!

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[nubecita040]

First Time For Everything

Summary: Spencer is worried he isn't experienced enough for you; you're glad he hasn't made a move yet.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst, suggestive content (16+)

Warnings/Includes: virgin Spencer, talks of virginity, past of being used for sex, everyone is insecure, Derek being the best wingman

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: oh to not be used for sex ... i wish baby

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"Hey, Morgan, can I talk to you about something?" Spencer asks as he slides into the seat across from Derek on the jet.

Derek puts his phone down, glancing up at him. They're the first and only ones on board so far. "Yeah, kid, what's up?"

Spencer hesitates for a second before shrugging. "Well… I started seeing someone."

"Aye, Reid, good for you!" Derek grins, leaning over the table to give Spencer a light punch on the shoulder.

"Ha, thanks…" Spencer chuckles, rubbing at the spot where Derek hit. His amusement fades as he shifts in his seat.

Derek immediately notices the change in his demeanor and furrows his brows. "Is there something wrong with her… or him?"

"No… it's just that—" Spencer exhales, hesitating before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. Never mind. Pretend I didn't mention it."

"Pretty boy, don't be like that," Derek presses, leaning in slightly. "Come on, talk to me."

Spencer takes a deep breath before starting again. "It's just… I think she's more… sexually advanced than me," he mumbles, his face flushing as he drops his gaze down the aisle.

Derek raises an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. "Ohhh," he drags out the sound, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. "So, what, she got you out here feeling like a rookie, huh?"

Spencer groans and rubs his face with both hands. "I don't know, I just— I feel like she knows so much more than I do in that… department, and I don't want to disappoint her." His voice drops to a whisper, his fingers still covering his face.

Derek chuckles, shaking his head. "Reid, man, first off, if she's with you, she's obviously into you for more than just that. You think she's keeping score or something?"

Spencer peeks at him through his fingers before lowering his hands and sending Derek an unamused look. "Thanks."

"Come on, kid, you know what I mean," Derek says, rolling his eyes.

Spencer sighs, still looking incredibly uncomfortable. "I mean… maybe not exactly keeping score, but she just—she's confident. She's comfortable in her own skin, and I feel like… I don't know. I might not meet her expectations."

"Do you think she has expectations? Have you talked to her about it?" Derek asks, his tone calm but probing.

Spencer shrugs. "She knows she wasn't my first kiss."

"Alright, Reid." Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on the table between them. "You don't have to answer, but just know—I'm not judging."

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. "Okay…"

Derek tilts his head slightly, watching him. "Are you a virgin?"

Spencer's entire face ignites in a deep, burning flush. He feels the heat creep down his neck, his ears practically throbbing. He lets out a humorless laugh, looking away toward the jet window. "Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter than before.

Derek lets out a low whistle, nodding thoughtfully. "Okay, I hear you. You're worried you ain't got enough experience to keep up with her."

Spencer exhales, relieved that Derek actually understands. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Does she know that? Did you tell her you're a virgin?" Derek asks, his voice still even, not pushing too hard.

"No," Spencer mutters, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Derek questions again, still using that gentle tone, not teasing, just curious.

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's embarrassing, man," he grumbles. "I'm 27 years old."

Derek watches him with an understanding expression. "Reid, come on. Nothing is embarrassing about that. It's not a race."

Spencer waves him off, ready to drop the whole conversation, when Derek leans in slightly, his smirk softening into something more reassuring. "Listen, man, confidence doesn't come from experience alone. It comes from knowing what your partner likes and caring enough to make sure she's good. And trust me, if she likes you enough to be with you, she ain't thinking, 'Oh, I wish he had a little more experience under his belt.'" He pauses, then grins. "Pun intended."

Spencer groans again, looking like he wants to sink into the floor. "I walked right into that."

"You sure did, kid," Derek laughs. "But real talk, just talk to her. You're the communication expert, right? Women appreciate a guy who listens and actually cares about what they want. And besides, half of this stuff is about chemistry, not a résumé. You can't fake that."

Spencer nods slowly, considering his words. "Yeah… that makes sense."

Derek claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good. And hey, if you ever need some pointers, I'm happy to—"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Spencer interrupts quickly, shaking his head.

Derek throws his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! Just know I got you, kid."

Spencer huffs a small laugh, finally looking a little less mortified. "Thanks, Morgan. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Pretty Boy. I'm always game to talk about your sex life." Derek smirks, grabbing his phone again.

Spencer groans, covering his face once more. "I never should have said anything."

"Said anything about what?" Emily asks as she and Hotch step onto the jet, both of them pausing near the entrance as they take in the scene before them.

Spencer immediately stiffens, his face still burning from the conversation. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in the clouds outside the window.

On the other hand, Derek just smirks, leaning back in his seat. "Nothing, Prentiss. Just giving the kid some sage advice."

Emily raises a skeptical brow, exchanging a glance with Hotch, who looks equally unimpressed but chooses not to engage. "Uh-huh," she says slowly, clearly not buying it.

Spencer clears his throat, desperate to change the subject. "How was the debrief?"

Emily lets it slide for now, but the amused suspicion in her eyes lingers. "Long," she says, dropping into a seat across from them. "And now I'm even more curious about whatever it is you're talking about."

—

When the team returned from the case, the first thing Spencer did—before even stepping inside his apartment—was call you. He didn't care that he was exhausted, that the case had drained him in ways he didn't want to think about right now. He just wanted to hear your voice, to know you were there.

He barely let the door shut behind him before pulling out his phone and dialing your number without hesitation. The call barely rang twice before you picked up.

"Hey," you greeted softly, the warmth in your voice immediately settling something restless inside him.

Spencer let out a breath he was holding, his body sagging against the doorframe. "Hey," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. "I just— I just wanted to hear your voice."

You were quiet for a second, and then he heard the familiar sound of rustling sheets. "Are you okay?"

He huffed a small, tired laugh. "Yeah, just… long case."

"You want to come over?" you asked, and God, did he ever.

"Yeah," he admitted, already toeing off his shoes, his body running on nothing but muscle memory and the need to be near you. "Yeah, I do."

"Aww, Spence, you sound exhausted. Do you want to come over tomorrow instead?"

He knows you're probably just being considerate, that you're thinking about how drained he must be after the case. But he can't help how his stomach twists, quiet insecurity creeping in before he can push it away.

Maybe you don't want to see him. Maybe you're not as eager for him as he is for you.

His fingers tighten around the phone, and he swallows hard, forcing himself to keep his voice even. "Oh—uh, yeah. Yeah, if that's better for you," he says, trying to sound casual, but he knows he's not fooling anyone.

"Spencer," you say gently, and he hates that you can probably hear everything he's trying not to say. "I just don't want you running on fumes. You need to rest."

"I know," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I just—I wanted to see you."

There's a pause, and then your voice softens even more. "Do you want me to come to you?"

His lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the offer. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," you cut in before he can finish. "But do you want me to?"

Spencer exhales, tension slipping from his shoulders. "Yeah," he admits, quieter this time. "I do."

"Then I'm on my way."

When you arrived at Spencer's apartment, it was as if the entire atmosphere shifted the moment you stepped through the door. The weight of the case, the exhaustion pressing down on him, the restless energy that had been buzzing under his skin—it all faded, dissolving in the quiet comfort of your presence.

Everything felt calmer with you around.

Especially when you were in his arms.

The second he pulled you close, it was like his body finally understood it could relax. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he let out a slow, tired breath. The tension in his muscles melted away, his heartbeat slowing to match the steady rhythm of yours.

"You okay?" you murmured, your hands running gently along his back, grounding him even further.

"Yeah," he whispered against your skin. "Now I am."

You held him a little tighter like you understood exactly what he needed without him having to say a word. And for the first time in what felt like days, Spencer felt like he could breathe again.

"How do you do that?" Spencer murmured into your shoulder, his voice soft, laced with something vulnerable.

"Do what?" you asked, fingers threading through his hair, gently combing through the strands. You felt him sigh against you, his body sinking further into yours like he was trying to memorize the feeling. He loved when you did that.

"Make the world seem less scary," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their soothing motions. His words settled deep in your chest, wrapping around your heart, filling you with warmth and something almost indescribable.

You kissed the side of his head, letting your lips linger there for a second longer than necessary. "Because I'm big, bad and scary," you murmured.

Spencer couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. He pulled back just enough to look at you, still grinning, and was met with your own wide, goofy smile. The kind of smile that made his chest feel too tight, his heart pounding just a little harder than it should.

And then he realized—this was it.

This was the moment.

With your hips pressed together, your gorgeous smile beaming up at him, and your dreamy eyes shining with amusement and something softer beneath them, Spencer suddenly remembered the second piece of advice Derek had given him.

"You just gotta be confident, walk in there, and lay it on her."

For all his intelligence and ability to recall and analyze even the most minute details, Spencer had never quite mastered confidence when it came to things like this. But as he stood there, looking at you, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he thought—maybe he could try.

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against your waist before he finally spoke, voice just a little unsteady but full of intent.

"Then I guess I should just... lay it on you, huh?"

Your smile faltered for half a second, your eyes widening slightly, and that reaction alone made his breath catch in his throat. Because for the first time, he saw something shift in your expression—something knowing, something new, something that made him want to follow through.

He didn't overthink it this time.

The moment Spencer leaned in, the rest of the world faded away. The second his lips met yours, it was like a spark ignited between you, something electric and all-consuming.

The kiss started slow and hesitant as if Spencer were still testing the waters. But something inside him shifted, and his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer. 

Time became irrelevant.

The kiss deepened, turning from something careful into something desperate, something that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long. His hands moved up your back, fingertips pressing into you like he was afraid you'd slip away if he let go. 

Spencer was about to try something new—maybe slip his tongue past your lips, bite your lip, or something else entirely. The possibilities felt endless, thrilling, completely uncharted territory. But you pulled back just as he was about to take that step.

He blinked at you, still slightly dazed, lips parted as if he hadn't expected the moment to end so suddenly.

You sucked on your own lip shyly, your eyes darting up to his before dropping away again. Then you laughed—soft, a little awkward, a little hesitant. "Is that why you invited me over?"

Spencer furrowed his brows, still caught in the haze of what had just happened. "What?"

"Just horny, big guy?" you teased, but there was something off in your voice, something uncertain beneath the humor, something that made Spencer's stomach twist.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "What? No, no, Y/N, no. I missed you. Really." His voice was rushed, desperate to make you believe him. "I'm sorry—I don't know what got into me."

You nodded, lips pressing together as if trying to push down whatever you felt. "It's okay," you said lightly, though the weight in your eyes told him it wasn't just okay.

So much for trying new things.

Spencer let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling frustration—not at you, but at himself, at his own inability to navigate this without stumbling. "I didn't invite you over for that," he said again, softer this time like he was trying to erase any doubt you might have. "I just… I just wanted to be with you."

Your expression softened just a little, but the moment had already shifted, and the atmosphere no longer crackled with the same intensity as before. Spencer swallowed hard, unsure how to fix it or even if he could.

So instead, he did what he always did—he overthought, panicked internally, and, worst of all, let the silence stretch between you.

"You can go home if you want," Spencer sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor instead.

It felt like a knife twisting in your stomach. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, disbelief and hurt tightening your chest. "Wh-what? You want me to leave now? Because I wouldn't have sex with you?"

Your voice wavered despite the edge of anger creeping into it, but underneath it all was something much more painful—betrayal.

Spencer's heart dropped the second he heard the hurt in your voice.

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. "What? No! No, Y/N, that's not what I meant," he rushed out, his words tripping over themselves in his desperation to fix what had just gone wrong. Y/N, I swear that is not it," he said, shaking his head frantically. That's not what I was saying."

"Then what were you saying, Spencer?" You searched his face, your voice steadier now but no less wounded.

Spencer inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the words. He felt like everything was spiraling, like no matter what he said now, he had already made you feel like you weren't wanted here.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

"I—I just thought maybe you felt uncomfortable," he admitted his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration at himself. "I didn't want you to feel pressured or—trapped here with me."

You stared at him, and for a second, neither of you spoke. The weight of the moment hung heavy between you.

"Spencer," you finally said, your voice softer than before, "if I felt uncomfortable, I would leave. You don't have to tell me I can go."

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

"I want to be here," you continued, stepping a little closer, searching his face for any sign that you weren't completely misreading everything. "I just… I don't want that to be the only reason you want me here."

Spencer's head snapped up, his eyes wide, filled with something close to panic. "It's not," he said quickly, shaking his head, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure if he should. "God, Y/N, it's not. I swear."

"Okay," you murmured, offering him a small, hesitant smile.

Spencer let out a breath, his hands still fidgeting at his sides. "So… you're staying?"

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head but smiling wider now. "Yes, Spencer. I'm staying."

And just like that, the tension in the room began to dissolve.

"But we need to talk about this again later," you said, your voice gentle but firm. This wasn't something that could just be brushed aside, and you needed him to understand that.

Spencer nodded quickly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly like he feared you'd change your mind and leave anyway. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing hard. "We will. I promise."

You studied him for a second longer before sighing softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Okay," you murmured, letting the tension ease just enough to move forward, at least for tonight.

With that, the two of you headed to bed. Spencer climbed in beside you, hesitant at first, unsure if he should keep his distance after everything. But as soon as you nestled against him, your warmth pressing into his side, he exhaled deeply, finally letting himself relax.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just lying there in the quiet, feeling the rise and fall of each other's breaths.

And even though there was still a conversation to be had—still things to work through—at least for now, in this moment, you were here. And for Spencer, that was enough.

—

The next evening, after dinner, you curled up on Spencer's couch, your legs tucked beneath you as you turned to face him. He was clearly tense, hands clasped between his knees, and his eyes flickered toward you and away again.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself before you spoke. "I just want to start by saying I do believe you," you said, watching the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. "I know you didn't invite me over just for sex. And I'm really grateful for you, Spencer. You have no idea."

His brows knitted together, his head tilting slightly. "Grateful?"

You nodded, your fingers twisting together in your lap. "I've been in relationships before where… that's all I was. Where the second I wasn't giving them what they wanted, I wasn't worth their time anymore." You swallowed, looking down for a second before meeting his gaze again. "So, to finally be with someone who isn't just using me for sex? It means a lot to me."

Spencer's face softened, something aching in his expression as he shifted slightly closer. "Y/N… I would never do that to you," he said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. "I—I don't even know how to be that kind of person. I just…" He let out a breath, shaking his head. "I messed up. I moved too fast and made you feel like that's all I wanted, even when it wasn't true. And I hate that I made you feel that way."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. "I know you didn't mean to," you admitted. "But Spencer, sex is… complicated for me. I can't separate it from how I've been treated in the past. So when things escalated like that, I panicked."

His jaw clenched, guilt flashing across his face. "I should have been paying more attention to your feelings instead of just going with the moment."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the tension in his fingers before he relaxed against you. "I just need you to understand that it's not that I don't want you," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "I do. But I need to go at a pace that doesn't make me feel like I'm just… filling a role, you know?"

Spencer nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "I understand. And I—I want to do this right with you." He swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "You're not just anyone to me, Y/N. I don't want to do anything that makes you doubt that."

You felt your heart swell at his words, at the sincerity in his voice, and at the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Spencer smiled softly, his fingers lacing through yours. "I just want to be with you."

Your chest warmed, and you felt completely, undeniably safe.

"I want to be with you too," you said softly, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you cuddled closer, letting your body melt into his.

Spencer exhaled, his arm tightening around you instinctively like he never wanted to let you go. He rested his head on top of yours, his breath tickling your hair. For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

Then, after a brief pause, he spoke. "I need to tell you one more thing."

You tilted your head slightly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against his chest. "What's up, Spence?"

He hesitated, his grip on you flexing ever so slightly before he finally said it. "I'm a virgin."

You froze momentarily, processing his words, before you pulled back slightly to look at him. His face was already tinged pink, his gaze flickering away like he expected you to react a certain way—like he wasn't sure if you'd be surprised or disappointed.

But you weren't either of those things.

Instead, you smiled, gently kissing his cheek and guiding his eyes back to yours. "Spencer," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, "that doesn't change anything for me."

His brows furrowed slightly. "It doesn't?"

You shook your head, your smile softening. "Not even a little. It just makes me feel even luckier to be the person you want to experience that with whenever you're ready."

Spencer swallowed, his throat bobbing as he took in your words, letting them settle into the quiet, insecure part of him that had been holding onto that secret for so long. Finally, he exhaled, a small, relieved smile ghosting over his lips.

"You really mean that?" he asked, almost shyly.

You nodded, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips. "Of course I do."

And when you pulled back, Spencer was still blushing—but now, it wasn't out of embarrassment. 

It was love. And maybe a bit of lust.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[nubecita040]

The Wingman | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more!

"I need your help," Jake said, forcefully removing the cup of peanuts from Bob's hand. "Right now. Come on."

"With what?" Bob asked quietly as Jake hauled him to his feet and started pushing him away from the pool table and toward the bar. Bob wiped peanut shells from his uniform as he went, perplexed about what was going on.

"See those two girls?" Jake asked, pointing to the end of the bar. "Kinda cute, right?"

Bob's jaw dropped open. Kinda cute didn't quite cover it. Gorgeous was more like it. He swallowed the last peanut he was chewing on and murmured, "Yeah. Very cute."

"Great. The one on the right has a perfect looking rack, and she seems kind of mean. She's for me. You can have the one on the left. She's sweet. Not my type," Jake said as they drew closer.

Bob was practically stumbling along now. "But why do you need me?"

"You're going to be my wingman."

"But.... we aren't flying?" Bob asked, so perplexed.

Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Focus, Floyd. It means you can hang out with the friend for a bit so I can get laid. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Bob muttered, and then he was being thrust up right next to where you were standing. He had to catch the wall so he didn't slam into you, and then you looked up at him slowly as you released your straw from your lips and smiled.

"Hi." Your voice was breathy and soft, the perfect juxtaposition to the noisy bar. And you looked even more beautiful up close, something Bob would have thought impossible. "Are you Jake's friend?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied, swallowing hard as your bright smile took his breath away. "I'm Bob," he managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.

And then you gave him your name, and something told him he was going to remember it for the rest of his life. "It's nice to meet you, Bobby."

He nodded, heart thudding. "Nice to meet you, too." 

You called him Bobby, and he liked the way it sounded on your lips. But nothing compared to what you said next. 

"I noticed you before," you said, looking down at your drink, suddenly shy. "Last weekend when we were here. And the weekend before that. I can't believe you're talking to me."

You had noticed him before? Bob couldn't formulate real words. You were surprised he was talking to you? But you were so far out of his league, it was ridiculous! He just watched your straw brushing against your lips as your gaze slowly moved up his chest and neck until your eyes met his again. You were just so pretty.

You cleared your throat and pressed your lips together. "Of course, if you don't feel like talking to me, you don't have to." And you quickly turned to face the bar, taking a few steps away from him. That's when Bob realized he'd been staring at you instead of talking to you at all. 

"No, no, I do want to talk to you," he said, wondering if it was okay to touch you and decided to go for it as he reached out to let his fingers brush your arm. He said your name and you turned to look at him again, but you didn't come any closer. "Sorry, I-I just got distracted by how pretty you are."

You laughed, and that smile was back now. "You know, that usually sounds like a line when a guy says it, but for some reason I believe you, Bobby. I even told my friend Alli that you looked handsome and sweet at the same time." You gestured toward your friend who had her lips glued to Jake's, but Bob barely glanced in their direction.

"Nobody really calls me Bobby, but I like it when you do."

When you closed the distance between your bodies and ran your fingers along his collection of insignia pins, Bob let his left hand rest lightly on your waist, and you didn't stop him. He couldn't believe you were letting him touch you. 

"What do you do in the navy?" you asked, meeting his eyes before examining his pins a little closer. 

"I'm an aviator," he replied. 

"You fly a jet?" you asked, eyes wide now. And this was what Bob hated more than anything; having to explain to someone that he was just a backseater. 

"No, I'm a weapons systems officer, actually."

"Oh! So you're in charge of a pilot! Do you fly with Jake?"

Bob smiled at your simple and yet surprisingly accurate description of what a WSO did. "No, I fly with her," he replied, pointing across the bar where Phoenix was gaping at him with a pool cue in her hand. 

You turned to look before turning back to him and saying, "That's so fascinating, Bobby."

"What do you do?" he asked, wrapping his hand a little further around your back and nearly gasping as he felt the swell of your butt. He let go of you like he'd been burned, but you reached for his hand and placed it right where it had been. 

"I'm a kindergarten teacher."

Bob's mouth went dry. Phoenix told him all the time that he was destined to marry a sweet, pretty kindergarten teacher and have six kids and a golden retriever. 

"Do you like kids, Bobby?" you asked, your fingers back on his pins. 

"Yeah... six of them," he murmured. 

"Hmm?"

"Oh. Nothing," he told you. "Yes, I like kids. Sometimes I volunteer to read at the library when they need military personnel for story time. Hey, how do you feel about golden retrievers?

"Your lips parted slightly as you looked at him, and Bob could feel his cheeks flushing with color as you leaned up. The way your eyes fluttered closed should have been enough warning for him, but nobody had ever done this to him before in the middle of the Hard Deck. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of girls he had ever kissed at all, anywhere.

But the soft touch of your lips to his was enough to have his right hand wrapping around you as well. And then everything felt perfect as he touched you while you kissed him. 

The kiss didn't last long, but you kept your body pressed right up to his while you assured him that golden retrievers were your very favorite type of dog. Then you told Bob about your classroom and your school and the kids in your class. You told him how much you liked when they played movies in the park by your apartment. You told him that you always went with some of your friends to the food truck festivals. And you told him how much you liked his glasses. 

"You really like them?" Nobody liked his glasses. Women frequently asked him if he ever wore contacts. He supposed that would make him a bit better looking, but he hated poking at his eyes when he needed to use them for work.

"Like is an understatement," you assured him with a smile. "You're so cute. Can I kiss you again?"

Bob nodded helplessly, already kind of pathetically in need of your attention. This kiss was a little more forceful, and Bob could feel your tongue touching his.

And then Alli threw her drink on Jake, and you gasped, backing out of Bob's arms. "Maybe I should go check on her," you said as your friend stormed toward the exit. But you didn't move. 

"Well, Bob, your wingman duty is no longer needed," Jake drawled, wiping what appeared to be rum and coke from his face before he wandered away.

You groaned and tipped your head back before you met Bob's eyes. "Jake made you come over and talk to me, didn't he?"

You looked completely distraught, and Bob thought he might die if you left right now. He didn't even have your number, and he hadn't asked you out on a date yet. "Don't go," he begged, reaching for you as you set your empty glass on the bar. "Please. It took literally no persuading on Jake's part to get me to come over here. And you're so pretty, I would have been too scared to ever come over on my own."

You looked at him for a beat. "You seem sincere. Are you being sincere?"

"Of course," he swore, panicking inside. "I don't want you to leave. I'm hoping you'll give me your number and let me take you out tomorrow."

To Bob's relief, you pulled him over to the one empty bar stool and pushed him down to sit. Then you were on his lap, perched on his thigh, and he was handing you his phone. You saved your name and phone number and texted yourself so you could have his number too. "Where are you taking me tomorrow, Bobby?" you asked him.

"Anywhere you want," he promised. And you ran your fingers through his hair, teasing them along the back of his neck as you kissed him again. He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you a little closer. Then he felt you reach for his other hand, guiding it to your bare knees where his fingers skimmed the hem of your dress. 

You were good at this. You knew what you were doing. But Bob wasn't good at romance, and he didn't have a lot of experience. But he knew he was already addicted to your kisses. And he should have understood what you meant as soon as you said it, but he really didn't.

"You could take me out for breakfast," you whispered as you kissed your way along his jaw and tasted his neck.

"Okay," he muttered. "I'd love to pick you up tomorrow morning. For breakfast."

He was just thankful you didn't laugh at him when you pulled back. Instead you were biting your lip and toying with his pins again as you said, "Or you could stay over. And then you wouldn't have to come pick me up. Because you'd already be there."

Bob knew he was hard in his khaki uniform pants, and the way your thigh was nudging him wasn't helping him process the fact that you just invited him to spend the night with you. He didn't know if he could do this. He'd never done this sort of thing before. 

You were looking at him expectantly and a little apprehensively. He kissed you softly. "I don't usually go home with girls from the bar. I actually don't even usually talk to girls when I'm here. Or...anywhere, really." His face was flushed, collar too tight. He was uncomfortable now as you appraised him with your wide eyes.

"How is that possible? You're so smooth." Now Bob was the one with big eyes as you added, "I've never taken a guy home from the bar before, but you make me feel comfortable. And I think you're sweet. And I'm pretty sure we're going to date."

Bob nodded, so sure of it. "Yeah, we're going to date. And get a golden retriever." 

Your smile right before you kissed the tip of his nose made him squeeze you tighter. "Then let's go," you whispered, wiggling out of his arms to stand up. Bob had to try to discreetly adjust himself as you dug into your purse, but he managed to get his wallet out in time to pay for your drink before you could. "Thanks, Bobby," you muttered, taking his hand in yours. 

Bob watched the identical looks of shock on Jake's and Nat's faces as you looked up at him and lured him toward the door. He was going back to your place. He was going to take you out for breakfast. He was so excited. And so nervous.

As he helped you climb in his pick-up truck, you leaned down and kissed him softly, and he just knew you would never make fun of him for anything. Bob closed the door and walked around the truck, checking his phone which had been vibrating nonstop.

Hangman: I told you she was sweet.

Nat Trace: OMG BOB, have a great night! Text me tomorrow! 

He climbed into the truck only to find that you had buckled yourself into the center of the bench seat right next to him. "Hi," you said with a laugh, and then you let your palm come to rest on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

"Where do you live?" he asked softly, and you gave him directions while you touched him so gently that Bob felt some of his nervousness receding. He parked in front of your building, and you led him inside. 

The elevator ride was filled with sweet kisses as you draped your arms around his neck. Either you could tell that he was out of his element and were being extra nice about it, or this was how you always liked to do things. Either way, he really, really liked it. Even the swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as the elevator arrived at your floor wasn't too much for him now. When he nibbled gently on your lip, you moaned softly, and he pushed you back against the wall. 

"Let's go," you panted, pulling him toward your door. Bob kissed the side of your neck as you fiddled with your key, but once you had him inside, things started going a little too fast for him. 

You closed and locked the door, and then your fingers were on the zipper of his uniform pants, and your tongue was in his mouth. Bob let you slip your hand inside the waistband of his underwear, and then your hand was stroking him, and he was seeing stars behind his eyelids. It felt so good. He'd been touched like this before, but it had been months, and it had been with someone he was dating. 

He liked you a lot, and he didn't want you to stop. But suddenly, when your hand stroked back up his already throbbing cock, he pulled away from your kisses. "Can we go a little slower?" he asked between raspy breaths. 

You nodded with uncertainty at him and gently slid your hand out of his underwear. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "Guys usually like that."

"I do!" he insisted. "It's....just...maybe we can kiss more first?"

"Okay," you agreed. "How about on the couch?"

"Sure," Bob whispered. You pulled him further into your living room, fingers linked with his. When he settled back onto the sofa, you sat on his thigh, just like you had done on the barstool. 

"Is this better?" you asked, your lips brushing against his while you ran your fingers through his hair. Your cheek was nudging his glasses, and honestly, he was just as aroused as he had been when your hand was stroking him. 

"Yeah," he managed, and your mouth and his met in the best kisses he had ever felt. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually you were straddling his hips, and his hands were wrapped around the backs of your bare thighs.

"That feels good, Bobby," you whined as he stroked his thumbs along your perfect, soft skin. Your lips found his neck, sucking and licking him, and he had to work hard to fight the urge to buck up against you. He could feel you occasionally rub yourself against the open zipper of his pants, and each time he was afraid he was going to finish before anything really began. 

He didn't know what to do now. Was he supposed to ask you if you wanted to move to your bed? Was he supposed to tell you it was okay to touch him anywhere? Was he allowed to touch you anywhere?

When he eased his hands up along your butt only to determine that you weren't wearing any underwear at all, you kissed him hard. And then you slid from his lap so that you were kneeling on the floor between his spread thighs, and Bob watched you lick your lips. You reached for his pants and underwear and guided them down his legs while you smiled softly at him. When his hard cock was just inches from your lips, he got nervous again. But then your mouth was on him, and he had never in his whole life felt anything this amazing. 

You kissed his tip before parting your lips and sliding your mouth around him. He grunted, hands fisted on his knees, veins bulging in his arms. You moaned softly as you wrapped one sure hand around the base of him, and he throbbed with need for you. 

"You're really big," you whispered, pausing to kiss along his length, nudging him with your nose. He tipped his head back against the couch, praying that he wasn't going to embarrass himself after ten more seconds in your hand. When he felt your tongue lick his entire length from his balls back up to the tip, he snapped his head back to attention to watch you take the bead of his precum onto your tongue. 

And then you smiled again as he gaped at you. "If you don't like it this way, that's okay. You can tell me what you like best," you whispered before turning your head slightly to kiss his left fist where it was balled up and shaking on his knee. "And you can touch me if you want to."

Bob swallowed hard and then immediately blurted out, "I've never had a blowjob before."

You stared up at him, brow creased in confusion, pretty lips pursed. He could feel his face flushing, he was probably bright red. You were still stroking your thumb along his penis as you cocked your head to one side. 

"What do you mean? Never?" you asked softly. 

He shook his head back and forth in short, jerky motions, and he was so embarrassed. He thought maybe he should just leave. He shouldn't have even come home with you. "Never."

Then your face relaxed a bit, and you kissed his tip one more time before climbing back onto his lap. Bob relaxed his fists and wrapped his arms around your waist as you sat with his hard cock at attention between the two of you. But you didn't look bothered by anything now as you asked, "How old are you, Bobby?"

He swallowed hard and met your eyes, "I'm almost thirty."

You nodded and kissed his nose. "Have you had sex before?" you asked softly, pressing your lips to his cheek. 

"Yes," he replied, melting into the feel of your fingers and lips on him. "I've had two girlfriends."

"Okay," you told him, smiling before you kissed him. "So here's the deal, Bobby. I really like you. And I'd really like to give you a blowjob. If you want me to. And then I'd really like to take you to my bedroom, and I don't care if we just cuddle and talk, but I want you to stay with me all night. And then we can go out for breakfast. And then we can go out again after that if you think you like me as much as I like you."

This time Bob leaned forward to kiss you. "I'm nervous that I'm going to embarrass myself."

You laughed softly. "How do you think you're going to embarrass yourself?"

He let his gaze wander all over your face before he looked down at the couch cushion next to his thigh. "You know... I'm not going to last more than a minute."

Your soft sigh as you ran your fingers along his penis had his gaze snapping back to yours. "Oh, Bobby. I don't care about that." Then you bit your lip for a beat before you added, "It's kind of flattering, getting to do this for you. If you want me to. And if you cum really fast...well, we can try it again later. But that would be flattering, too."

He nodded his head, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek as he said, "Okay."

And then you were kneeling between his legs again, and he ran his fingers along your cheek while you stroked him with your hand a few times. "Ready?"

Your mouth was warm and wet, and Bob was treated to the feel of your tongue swirling along his length. It was the best thing he'd ever felt. Until you sucked on him. "Oh my god," he gasped, watching your pretty eyes as you looked at him. When you started to move your mouth up and down his cock, he laughed softly. "You're amazing."

You moaned while he was deep in your mouth, touching your throat, and he could feel his entire body start to tighten up. He wanted to panic, but then you bobbed along slowly, and he could only feel pleasure as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your head. And with one more swipe of your tongue, he was ejaculating right into your mouth. 

He couldn't formulate words as he grunted and watched you suck on him and swallow his cum. When he touched your throat as you swallowed him down, he groaned softly. 

"Was that okay?" you asked before licking up a little more cum that dripped out like it was a treat for you. Your hand was still wrapped around him, and you were treating him like a lollipop now, and he already wanted you to give him another blowjob. 

"Yes," he managed to say, feeling quite boneless on your couch as you giggled. 

"I liked it, too," you assured him. "Let's go to my bedroom." You pulled him to his feet, and somehow his brain recovered the knowledge of the mechanics of how to walk. He pulled his underwear and pants up as you led him along. He barely had a chance to look around your room before your hands were gently undoing his shirt buttons. And then you undressed him down to his white briefs, running your warm hands along his biceps and shoulders with a look of awe on your face.

Bob wouldn't say he was self conscious exactly; his body was strong, and it did everything he needed it to, because he took care of himself. But he wasn't as handsome as Hangman and Coyote, and he wasn't as muscular as Payback and Rooster. But you didn't seem to have an issue with anything you saw as you folded up his uniform and then pressed a kiss to the center of his chest. 

When he reached for your dress, you bit your lip and immediately said, "My body isn't perfect like yours."

"Perfect?" he mumbled. You thought he looked perfect? That was impossible. You were so close to perfection, he still couldn't believe you'd even talked to him at the Hard Deck in the first place. And with each additional time he looked at your face, he was certain you just got prettier.

"Yeah," you told him as you ran your fingers down his flat abs and then along the waistband of his underwear. "Perfect."

But you looked up at him and reached for the hem of your dress before you pulled it up your body and over your head, dropping it on top of his uniform and kind of shrugging. You were completely naked now, and Bob hadn't been prepared. At all. He started stuttering at the same time his cock started getting hard again.

"I th-think... wow." He took a deep breath and started over again. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"So smooth," you whispered. And then Bobby was in your bed as you reassured him that it was okay to just snuggle with you under the warm blanket. So he pulled you against the front of his body, and he was the big spoon as you kissed his hand.

He was sure you must have been able to feel the press of his erection against your back, but you didn't say anything about it. Instead you asked him all about himself, and you told him stories, too. And after a while, Bob's hands grew a little bolder, drifting over the soft skin of your belly and hips until it sounded like you were begging for him. Soft little moans filled the space while you whispered his name. He wasn't sure what to do next, but you rolled over to face him and started to kiss him. 

Yeah, this was really good. He liked this immensely. He liked the way your hands on his bare skin made him feel safe and grounded. He liked how you were going slowly again, because when you finally reached down toward his cock, he was ready for it. 

"Wait," he whispered, pushing you gently onto your back. "May I do to you what you did to me earlier?"

"Yes," you whispered, slowly spreading your thighs apart as Bob nodded. He'd done this a few times before. He'd liked it in the past. But when he put his lips on your slick slit, he moaned in pleasure which made you moan as well. He liked the way you tasted and smelled, and when he licked your opening, you were already gathering the sheets in your fists. 

That seemed like a good sign, so he just kept going. At each encouraging sound or gasped word from you, he went harder and faster. Soon you were loud. Like very loud. You were propped up on one elbow watching him. And you had one leg draped over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as you whined, "Bobby! You've done this before!" You were rolling your hips up against his face, nudging his glasses. 

When he slowed his movements to reach up and removed them, you gasped. "Don't you dare! You leave your glasses on!" Your eyes were flashing with need, and Bob did exactly as he was told. 

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered with a smile as he returned his mouth to your pussy. He licked and sucked until you were yanking on his hair and riding his face, and then you came with your back arched, whining his name so loudly, he thought your neighbors could probably hear. 

"Bobby!" you gasped before collapsing back on your pillow. And just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any better, you took his hands in yours and ran them along your breasts. "Kiss me," you demanded, and so he did. You licked his lips clean while he squeezed your breasts, and soon he was tasting you there as well. 

You were alternating between pulling him up to kiss your lips and pushing him down to kiss your breasts, and really there was no bad option for Bob. He could probably do this all night if that's what you wanted. But you seemed to want more, because you rolled him onto his back and pulled his underwear off in one swift motion.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess that you don't have any condoms with you?" you asked softly, kissing his bent knee. 

He shook his head, but at least he was pretty sure he wasn't blushing any longer. "No. Sorry."

"I have some," you reassured him. "But... I don't know if they're big enough." You scooted off of the bed and walked out of the room, and Bob got a little apprehensive. He didn't know his size could potentially be an issue? He didn't even know he would be considered big. 

But when you walked in a minute later, tearing open a small box with a smile on your face, he felt better. Bob tried to roll on a condom, but it broke immediately. "It's okay," you said with a laugh, trying a second one which also broke. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a laugh. But you managed to get the third one on him successfully.

"I'm on the pill anyway," you told him. "You know, in case this one breaks, too."

"Alright," he whispered against your lips as you straddled him and guided your pussy down around him, inch by inch. You kissed his lips and cheeks and neck, running your fingers through his hair as you set a slow, steady pace.

But Bob was almost immediately stammering and blushing. "It feels too good," he told you, but you silenced him with your kisses and went a little harder. You felt so tight, so perfect, and you were letting him touch you everywhere. Your breasts were soft, and you were arching your back, pressing yourself into his hands. 

"You feel good too, Bobby," you promised him, grunting softly as you rode him. He let his hands slide slowly down your sides until they were on your hips, and that was a mistake. Because he could feel the motion of your body taking his. He could feel the roll of your hips against his palms.

"It's too good," he groaned, and then he was coming inside you. "Sorry," he whispered, panting against your shoulder as his pleasure washed over him. 

"Don't apologize for anything," you told him, riding him with slower movements until he was breathing like normal. 

"I just want to be better for you," he promised, and when you adjusted his glasses for him, he smiled. 

"We have all night."

Bob frowned at you. "Can we have longer than that?"

You looked down at him with parted lips. "If you still want to?"

"I thought we agreed we were going to date," he said. "Breakfast is one thing, but I thought we could do all kinds of stuff together. Hang out and maybe I could be your boyfriend after a week or two."

Without another word, you kissed him. And you didn't stop kissing him. And late night turned into early morning, and there were a few more experiments with the condoms. And a few without. 

And instead of ever making it to breakfast, Bob ended up treating you to lunch instead. He wore his wrinkled, day old uniform that you insisted looked adorable on him while he sat with his arm around you. And then he took you to see his place, which consisted of lots of snuggling and another blowjob. 

"My friends are asking if I'm going to the bar again tonight," he told you, running his fingers along your arm as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

"Do you want to go?" you asked, pressing your lips to his neck.

"Only if you come with me."

And when Bob strolled into the Hard Deck again on Saturday night with your arms wrapped around his waist and your voice in his ear, he just smiled at the looks he was getting. It didn't matter if he thought he was as handsome as Hangman or as strong as Payback, because you kept assuring him that you thought he was. 

You spent another evening touching and kissing him, perched on his leg and laughing. And he made plans with you for the following day and the following weekend and the one after that. He wouldn't be surprised if he was making plans with you every day for the rest of his life. And he would let you name the golden retriever. 

----------------

I wonder what the dog's name will be. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

@theamuz

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@mak-32

@bradshawsbitch

@beyondthesefourwalls

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@endofdays56

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@shrimping-for-all

@xoxabs88xox

@cottagecori

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@chicomonks

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@ohgodnotagainn

@toobouquet

@paintlavillered

@roostette

@seitmai

@tigermoon3

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@cruelmissdior

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@angelbabyange

@milestellersgirl89

@annoyingsmartass

[nubecita040]

Thank you for writing it<3

OTHER MASTERLISTS

Masterlist 1 by @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

Masterlist 2 by @reidslibrarybook

Masterlist 3 by @rynbutt

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE MASTERLIST by @januaryembrs

Masterlist 4 by @misserabella

Cold!reader masterlist by @reiding-writing

Masterlist 5 by @badathumanemotions

Recs 1 by @jellyfishsthings

Masterlist 6 by @mindfullycriminal

Masterlist 7 by @enderlovez

Right kind of wrong masterlist by @incognit0slut

Recs 2 by @pastanest 

Masterlist 8 by @subspencer

In The Silence Masterlist by @throwaway-things

Sucrose masterlist by @sweetismyaddiction

Masterlist 9 by @minswriting

Masterlist 10 by @imagining-in-the-margins

Holy ground masterlist by @sweetestspence

Recs 3 by @adoresoperecs 

Masterlist 11 by @sundrop-writes

Recs 4 by @outoftheseine

Once upon a dream masterlist by @esote-rika

[nubecita040]

FLUFF MASTERLIST 2

Sobriquet by @siriuslylantsov

Germs by @enderlovez

Falling behind (suggestive) by @sanguineterrain 

Amethyst you so much by @boldlyvoid 

Nonexistent rizz by @miedei

Blurb 1 (suggestive) by @subspencer

Romantic lover by @starvu

Take a picture, it'll last longer by @brattyspence

Marked up (suggestive) by @drowning-rabbit

Greylist by @gold-onthe-inside

Blurb 2 by @brattyspence

Birds of a feather by @mariasont

Risk by @parfaitblogs

College lecture by @reginyani

Falling star by @galaxy-siren

Cinnamon sticks by @mariasont

The memory of your lips by @esote-rika

Blurb 3 by @r0rysreid

Blurb 4 by @r0rysreid

Suspiciously sweet by @mariasont

La vita è bella by @angellic4l

Warm reception by @ellesreids

Classified (suggestive) by @ovrgrwnivy

Ton 618 by @vatelixx

Sick day by @miedei

I can see you by @januaryembrs

Distracted by @gf2bellamy

Metal box by @amorre1989

A mystery benefactor by @moonlight-joy

Shut-eye by @siriuslylantsov 

Sleepless by @sincerelybubbles 

Roommate blurb by @miedei 

Used to, not to by @reidingandallthat

One single thread of gold by @gghostwriter

Glasses by @gf2bellamy 

Physics and racing… (of the heart) by @crsssie 

Kiss, kiss, fall in love (suggestive) pt2 by @rumplereids 

[nubecita040]

FLUFF MASTERLIST

Blurb 1 by @parfaitblogs 

roommate au by @avis-writeshq

Longing For You by @proseandpretrichor

Stripper au masterlist (suggestive) by @luveline

I wish i knew you wanted me by @irndad

Redamancy (with a little bit of smut) by @boldlyvoid 

"I hate it" "No, you don't" by @violetrainbow412-blog 

and they were roommates by @chaussetteblanche

My cup of tea by @loveraging

Bona fide (the original post was erased)

Wanted: A Gentleman by @gghostwriter

Late-Night Talking (suggestive) by @forhappysake

Love letters (the original post was erased)

Missed calls by @pathologicalreid

Magic Hands pt2 (the original post was erased)

Whispered Truths by @gghostwriter

The Misadventures of Two Geniuses by @none-of-your-bullshit

Mirror, mirror by @none-of-your-bullshit

Kids table by @benevolentbones

neighbor!au by @endearng

Level-One Intruder by @gghostwriter

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW by @januaryembrs

FUGITIVE AFFECTIONS by @januaryembrs 

Yarn by @violetrainbow412-blog

Out the door by @cinematicreid

Down the fire escape and into my heart by @justawhitebloodcell01

Remedy by @foxy-eva

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by @foxy-eva

A picture of a cat by @certaimromance

Left to want or wanting by @luveline

Birthday kiss by @siriuslylantsov

Mean it by @pastanest 

Jasmines and Vanilla by @rebelliousstories

Sticky evidence by @springtyme

Mute!reader by @lis-likes-fics

Hot cocoa by @elegantlyeva

Love letters by @mindfullycriminal

Crossword spoilerer by @re1dsb1xch

the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs by @cupidkenji 

Ghost in the machine (suggestive) by @cupidkenji

In the woods by @notlongtolove

[nubecita040]

Spencer Reid Recs

WARNING: Some of this are NSFW +18. MDNI (the authors put the respectives warnings in they works)

This is a Masterlist of my favorites fics (some are series or have more than one part) of Spencer Reid separated by gender (Meaning fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort,etc.) and other masterlist/recs of other people that i like.

(English is not my first lenguage, please be kind)

SMUT

FLUFF pt2

HURT/COMFORT

OTHER MASTERLIST and RECS

[nubecita040]

SMUT MASTERLIST

Blurb 1 by @hrnycvntt

Between the Books by @reidmotif 

Praise kink and corruption by @minswriting

A Study in Anchored Souls by @mercy-burning

@ entersandman pt2 by @misserabella

Come together by @softmiso

Do you believe me now? by @nereidprinc3ss

WHAT'S A GIRL TO DO? by @de4dlyniightshade 

Lit by love by @reidslibrarybook

Puppy eyes by @misserabella

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me) by @vatelixx

Lover’s Rock pt2 by @0mg-bird

In the crooks of your body (I find religion) (i cant find the original post) by @vatelixx

Good boy by @theognatster

Between the lines by @mggslover

Lips by @none-of-your-bullshit

A love song for lady earth by @pathologicalreid

Professional Hair Dresser (Ph.D) by @boldlyvoid

Wrong move you're dead by @stairain 

A gift of belonging by @alsofoundinpeas

Blurb somno by @palmerzy

Blurb oral fixation(? by @palmerzy

Blurb nursing/boobs by @palmerzy

Blurb dacryphilia by @palmerzy

Blurb 2 by @minswriting

The healing part by @brooke121000

Covetous cravings by @burymagdalene

Blurb munch spencer by @seasprincess

I wanna be yours by @push-the-heartbrake

Home for you (here in my heart) by @push-the-heartbrake

Rodeo show by @imagining-in-the-margins

Thimble of Honey by @imagining-in-the-margins

Devil in the Backseat by @imagining-in-the-margins

Lift your eyes by @de4dlyniightshade

Every first, yours by @mrsholmesreid

Blurb 3 by @megwritesriddles

Just the tip by @minswriting

“that’s whining, i thought we talked about this.” by @minswriting

A Closed Mouth Doesn't get Fed by @burymagdalene

Loverboy by @sundrop-writes

Meddle about by @sundrop-writes 

Book tease by @oneofreid

Dry humping by @mggslover

Yours by @aliteralsemicolon

Different kinds of treats by @minswriting

On the concept of "want" by @vatelixx

Blurb 4 by @xxnymeriatargaryenxx

The view from here by @alsofoundinpeas 

[nubecita040]

OTHER MASTERLISTS

Masterlist 1 by @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

Masterlist 2 by @reidslibrarybook

Masterlist 3 by @rynbutt

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE MASTERLIST by @januaryembrs

Masterlist 4 by @misserabella

Cold!reader masterlist by @reiding-writing

Masterlist 5 by @badathumanemotions

Recs 1 by @jellyfishsthings

Masterlist 6 by @mindfullycriminal

Masterlist 7 by @enderlovez

Right kind of wrong masterlist by @incognit0slut

Recs 2 by @pastanest 

Masterlist 8 by @subspencer

In The Silence Masterlist by @throwaway-things

Sucrose masterlist by @sweetismyaddiction

Masterlist 9 by @minswriting

Masterlist 10 by @imagining-in-the-margins

Holy ground masterlist by @sweetestspence

Recs 3 by @adoresoperecs 

Masterlist 11 by @sundrop-writes

Recs 4 by @outoftheseine

Once upon a dream masterlist by @esote-rika

[nubecita040]

HURT/COMFORT MASTERLIST

(There are some angst fics with happy endings, i put them all together in this masterlist because there weren't so many)

Close to home by @reidrum

Firsts by @endearng

Lifeline (the second part is the comfort, this part is the hurt. HEAVY TOPICS) by @endearng

Lost and found by @sunshine-on-marz

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING by @pencil-n-pen

Amelie, where'd you go? by @gold-onthe-inside 

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? by @reginyani

[nubecita040]

physics and racing... (of the heart) - Spencer Reid

word count: 1028 // (shoujo event || prompt 3 - shared secret)

summary: you soar, late to your physical, and Spencer stands dumbfounded. was that a tattoo?

The first time Spencer ever met you, he's passing the FBI academy at Quantico, and you're jumping the fence to be able to make it to the fitness test on time because... something. Spencer remembers only the sight of you jumping the fence, and it's honestly not much if you are late, but you don't seem to know that. They never tell the new recruits that— and, well, Spencer failed his physical in his earlier years so it's not like he has much of a say in it. 

But, he does spot a lower back tattoo that flashes him while you're in the air.

You had locked eyes with him and held your finger over your lips before promptly flying off on the field, and Spencer wondered if you had wings from how easily you seemed to have soared over the fence when he had spotted you.

He kept to himself over that, not mentioning it to anyone. If no one asks, then it'd be normal to cover for others. Besides, he's sure someone's got a tattoo somewhere out of all the feds. Also, he had to get strings pulled so they could keep his talent.

He knows that's how he ended up on the team, after all.

Three weeks later, you're showing up at the door of the BAU after Elle's got you in tow.

You blink at him, tilting your head and offering a shy smile, and he's nodding back.

"Doctor Spencer Reid. Our specialist on... well, everything." Hotch mumbles, and since then, you're thrown into the whirlwind of things. 

You get along with everyone, and you're careful to not change around them when you can avoid it, tilt of a head and a quiet brushing off of your hand when people ask if you're hot, but it's almost impossible to avoid when you're being flushed down for Anthrax with Spencer, shirt soaked through as you blink quietly, locking eyes with him as he stares back. 

"You mind exercising authority?" You mumble quietly, eyes blinking up at him as he swallows slowly. 

"You both mind looking away while they flush them off?" Spencer nods at you when you strip, shirt tugged over your head as the man flushes you down. There's no explicit rule about not letting people have tattoos in the FBI, contrary to most other Federal Agencies, but it's still frowned upon. You know as a matter of fact that lying on your application about having completely clear skin with no ink was a crime in itself, so you hoped to keep it that way.

You're fine, but Spencer's rushed to the hospital and near loses his damn life because of his cut. 

Morgan stands to the side as you start at a cup of jello, raising a brow when he asks for a bite.

"Thought you were a germaphobe."

"Mm... jello." He mumbles, grabbing for your spoon as you hold it away.

"Hey!"

"Can I get one?"

"I'll ask the nurse."

But Spencer Reid isn't a romantic. He knows how to read about love, just not express it. And you're not quite someone who really expresses love outwardly. Everything you do could be written off as a simple flick of the wrist friendship action. Something that you do out of care because you like gifting things to people and helping others out. You send Penelope different flowers each week. You fold paper roses for Emily and bring Derek coffee in the morning. Spencer's not special, he supposes. You seem to have everyone's coffee order memorized. Though, not that it's too hard. He does too.

But maybe it isn't fair for him to dwell on everything himself. His intellect can only get so far. His emotions can't do much to fix him if he's not needing all that fixing. He just needs to understand better, perhaps. Understand his brain. He knows how his brain is working — releasing chemicals of love and he wonders if he should lower his chocolate intake or give up on peas entirely but it's completely and utterly unfair that he's the only one with a racing heart with you around. He isn't even sure how he fell for you.

He catches you tilting your head at one of the local officers as he rambles to you — cute guy. Looks innocent enough, and isn't super sleazy. The only issue is that your puffer jacket keeps riding up with how much you're pulling at it to keep your chest warm, and your undershirt is getting dangerously close to your waistline where your pants are, and the last thing he wants is you being found out for lying. He's not too sure why he feels that way. He isn't obligated to keep the secret, but it just feels like he should for some reason.

Maybe he was starstruck the first time he met you. It would've been a stretch, but he was certain he was stuck in place blinking while gaping like a fish out of water because of you. You were just. It was. It was just. You flew, and perhaps it was the strange phenomenon of a breaking of physics that you were in the process of doing when he met you but it startles him and his chest is going rampant in his chest and he does not(!) like the way that someone else is—

He meets eyes with you from across the room, holding up a file and tapping it, pursing his lips.

So he presents you with a way out, and you take it, nodding at the officer as you make your way back to the board.

"Need help?"

"Thought you might've needed a way out."

"I did."

"Then I'm glad I read you right."

You beam at him. 

"Thank you."

He glances at the way your jacket rides up along your back, and he tugs on you gently for you — secondhand habit. Like a habit. Too domestic. He doesn't know why he just did that.

Spencer hears your breath hitch, and he's sure his ears are beyond red right now.

"The ink." He mumbles, pulling his fingers away as you blink at him.

"Thank you."

"Always."

But maybe he doesn't need to overthink it. Maybe, this was perfectly okay as is.

[nubecita040]

MDNI ☆Spencer Reid and how he eats you out…

warnings: self explanatory

pre prison spencer/sub! Spencer

This man has no idea what he was doing the first time. You had to guide him, telling him what to do with his fingers. Where he should lick. What felt good and what didn’t.

And he absolutely loved it.

He loved it so much that when he is touching himself he’s remembering the feeling of you against his tongue. The way you were shaking beneath his touch made his heart skip. He couldn’t believe he was the one to make you feel like that. Inexperienced nerdy Spencer made a girl cum with just his tongue and fingers wasn’t a thing he thought would happen.

He’s definitely vocal while doing it to. All these little whines and moans that he can’t help but let out. Not that you mind, no you encourage it in fact.

You’d both just be kissing and then he’d look at you with those big brown eyes. Not being able to say the words of what he wants. But you know that look and just nod.

He wouldn’t be fast. No. He’d take his time, licking and sucking on the spot that gets you to react. The genius’s eidetic memory coming in use as he remembers all the things you told him feel good.

His tongue would work against your core so good. This man may be inexperienced but he knows how to please you. Almost like he did research…

He’s definitely done research.

He’d slowly grind against the bed too, trying to firm a bit of release as making you feel good is the same feeling of you touching him. He just loves making you feel good so much. So much so that he’d do this anytime you asked.

You’d practically have to pull his head away once you’ve cum. He just wouldn’t want to stop. He loves having his head in between your thighs as you hold his hand.

Just a whining moaning mess who doesn’t need anything back.

☆

After prison Spencer/dom!Spencer

He would also be sooo good at it. This man knows how to please a woman in so many ways and this was definitely one of them.

He’d still be vocal but less whiny. More of moans and groans as your hands would pull on his curls.

He knows exactly what you like. How you like to lay, where you like his tongue the most. The speed. He has it all planned out and knows all of your turns ons and offs.

He’d be a little more rough than his former self. His veiny hands would be on your thighs, pulling them apart to make sure you’re not pulling away. He wouldn’t ever stop before you’ve cum.

He might if he was edging you. And god is that an experience if he’s edging you.

He’s be such a dick when he’s edging you. Getting you to the closest point and pulling away before muttering a “Not yet sweetheart’ before either resuming with his tongue or touching you with his fingers.

And when he’s finally let you cum he would make the most of it. Licking that up until you have to push away. Getting overstimulated.

But sometimes he wouldn’t stop. Overstimulating you(with your permission of course. He’d never do anything you protested against.) He’d keep his tight grip on your thighs as he knows if you could you’d close them. His tongue would work against your clit so goooood. He’d switch between licking and sucking as his fingers curl inside you, making you cum for the second time. Sometimes third and fourth if he’s feeling like it.

He definitely enjoys eating you out. A lot.

Sometime he’d come home from work, pulling off his tie and walking into the bedroom. You just know by the look on his face what he wants. And he’d just end up in between your thighs. Taking away the stress of the day with his favourite woman.

rafe cameron coming soon

[nubecita040]

Hi! So… glasses was perfect, better than I could ever imagined. I’m in desperate need of a part 2 (if possible and you’re feeling inspired to write one)

I was thinking that maybe reader gets payback for all the teasing Spencer has been doing. I would also love to see confess they’re into each other. I don’t know, I’m just craving something super cute around glasses!Spencer because I feel he’s underrated and deserves so much love!

Anyway, take your time and thank you so much!!!!!! 💞

glasses ( part two ) — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: hi hi !! i hope you like this !! also this is part two to glasses but you don't have to read glasses to understand this one <3

It started with Elle.

You had been completely oblivious. But Elle? Elle saw it immediately.

One day, she pulled you aside, her expression unreadable, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. She handed you a small tube of lip gloss, the same one she had seen you apply absentmindedly before.

"Reapply," she instructed simply.

You blinked at her, confused. "What? Why?"

She smirked, tilting her head toward where Spencer sat at his desk, poring over case files. "Just do it. And then watch Reid."

You narrowed your eyes at her, trying to decipher whatever game she was playing, but she only raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your confusion.

"Elle," you tried again, but she just patted your shoulder and walked away.

So, with no real reason not to, you did as she said. You pulled out your lip gloss, twisting open the cap before carefully swiping it over your lips. The faint scent of vanilla filled the air as you pressed them together, ensuring an even coat. Then, feeling a little ridiculous, you turned your attention toward Spencer.

And that’s when you saw it.

The second he glanced up from his paperwork, his eyes locked onto your lips. His gaze lingered, just a fraction too long.

Huh.

Interesting.

You bit back a smirk, tilting your head slightly as if deep in thought. You pretended not to notice how Spencer was still staring—how he fumbled with his pen, flipping it in his fingers before dropping it completely.

Oh, this was good.

The best part? It wasn’t just a one-time thing. Now that Elle had pointed it out, you started noticing it all the time.

Spencer Reid, with his genius IQ and encyclopedic knowledge, was absolutely, hopelessly distracted by your lips.

So, naturally, you had to have a little fun with it.

Right now, the two of you had just finished lunch and were heading back to the BAU. It was paperwork day—arguably the least exciting part of the job—so you had to find some way to make things interesting.

And what better way than messing with Spencer?

As the elevator doors slid shut, Spencer launched into one of his many tangents, this time about a newly opened museum. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, fingers gesturing in the air as he rattled off historical facts.

"—and what’s really fascinating is that they’ve reconstructed artifacts based on 3D modeling of unearthed fragments. They even have an interactive exhibit where visitors can—"

He turned his head toward you, mid-sentence, just as you reached into your bag and pulled out your lip gloss.

Casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you twisted the cap open and swiped the applicator across your lips, pressing them together for good measure. The subtle shine caught the dim elevator light, and when you flicked your gaze back up at Spencer—

Oh.

Oh, this was too easy.

He had completely short-circuited.

His mouth was still slightly open, like he was about to finish his thought, but no words came out. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your face, then back down—as if his brain was refusing to cooperate with him.

"You were saying?" you prompted innocently, capping the lip gloss and tucking it away.

Spencer swallowed thickly. "I—uh, the, um…" He blinked rapidly, pushing his hair back in frustration. "The… the museum," he finally managed, though it came out weaker than intended.

"Right," you nodded, biting back a smile. "Something about 3D modeling?"

Spencer exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly realizing what had just happened. His jaw tensed for a moment, like he was debating whether or not to call you out on it, but then he just shook his head, letting out a defeated chuckle.

But as you stepped out, you felt the warmth of his hand brush against yours, his fingers just barely grazing over your skin before pulling away.

And, well.

Maybe you weren’t the only one playing games.

The second time you messed with Spencer was in the morning.

You suppressed a yawn, still trying to wake up, when suddenly a coffee cup landed on your desk with a soft thud. You blinked in surprise, looking up to see Spencer standing there, holding his own coffee while he plopped the extra one down in front of you.

"Oh my god, thank you," you said, wasting no time in reaching for it. Without hesitation, you took a sip, sighing in appreciation as the warmth spread through you.

Spencer gave a small, pleased smile. "Do you need help with—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Completely froze.

His mouth hung open for a beat, and his eyes flickered—first to your face, then down to the cup in your hands.

Confused, you followed his gaze, looking down at your coffee cup. And that’s when you saw it.

A small, perfectly shaped imprint of your lip gloss stained the rim.

You barely had time to process it before Spencer looked back up at you, his expression somewhere between dazed and fascinated. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his fingers twitched against his own coffee cup like his brain was desperately trying to reboot.

Oh. Oh.

This was almost too good.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Spence?"

No response. He was still staring.

You suppressed a grin, watching as his lips parted, like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Instead, he licked his lips absentmindedly, his gaze once again flickering to your cup before darting back up to your mouth.

"Everything okay?" you prompted, leaning forward slightly.

Spencer visibly jolted, like he had just snapped out of a trance. "Uh—yeah! Yes, um… fine. Totally fine."

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. "Are you sure? You kinda just… stopped talking."

"I—no, I just—" He let out a short, awkward laugh, pushing his hair back. "I, um… lost my train of thought."

Your smirk deepened. Bingo.

"Must not have been important, then," you mused, taking another slow sip from your cup—making sure to leave another lip print behind, just for good measure.

Spencer's gaze dipped to it again, and you swore you saw the tips of his ears turn red before he cleared his throat and walked away.

You watched him go, utterly delighted.

This was way too much fun.

He was fine. Totally fine.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he all but fled from your desk, gripping his coffee cup like it was some kind of lifeline.

But he wasn’t fine.

Not even a little bit.

Because now, all his brain could focus on was your lips.

And the way your lip gloss—shiny qne slightly tinted—had left the faintest mark on the rim of your coffee cup.

It should’ve been such a minor thing. Just a simple, fleeting detail. But his traitorous brain had decided that, no, this was now the most fascinating thing in the world, and it refused to think about anything else.

And the worst part?

You knew.

Spencer knew you knew. The way you had tilted your head, the way your lips curled into that barely-there smirk, the way you had taken another sip—slowly, deliberately—just to leave behind another lip print.

It was calculated.

It was a game.

And he was losing.

He groaned internally, practically collapsing into his chair at his desk, scrubbing a hand over his face.

This wasn’t fair. You weren’t fair.

And soon enough it all blew up.

You were standing beside Spencer’s desk, waiting for him to finish packing up his bag so the two of you could head home. It had been a long day—filled with paperwork, caffeine, and your ongoing mission to see just how flustered you could make Dr. Spencer Reid.

(So far? Extremely flustered. Success rate: 100%.)

You sighed softly, shifting your weight from foot to foot, watching as he meticulously arranged everything in his bag like some kind of human puzzle. It was endearing, really—how precise he was about everything. But it also meant that waiting for him to be done took forever.

But just as Spencer was slinging his bag over his shoulder, something caught your attention.

Across the bullpen, Gideon and Hotch were whispering to each other.

And not just casual, offhand whispering, either. No, this was a serious discussion—low voices, furrowed brows, the kind of conversation that made your curiosity spike instantly.

“Spencer, look,” you whispered, nudging his arm and nodding toward them.

Spencer followed your gaze, adjusting his bag slightly. “What about them?”

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice. “Can you read lips?”

Spencer turned his head to you, and that was his first mistake.

Because in the process, he suddenly realized just how close you had gotten.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin. Your lips—still glossed and shiny from whatever devilish brand you insisted on wearing—were parted slightly as you focused on the two men across the room.

And Spencer?

Spencer malfunctioned.

His brain short-circuited again, completely abandoning the concept of words.

Because all he could think about was the fact that no one should look that good while whispering about FBI superiors.

You noticed immediately.

And, because you were you, you pounced.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, turning to him fully, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Did you just—? Again?”

Spencer blinked rapidly, adjusting his bag strap like that might somehow fix the situation. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your smirk only deepened. “Spencer, I asked you to read lips, not stare at mine.”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring!” he protested quickly, but his voice cracked just slightly, and you knew you had him.

You leaned in again, tilting your head playfully. “Are you sure? Because I think you like my lip gloss a lot.”

Spencer immediately turned red.

“I—I do not—”

And that’s when it hit you.

You had been teasing him for weeks now, enjoying how adorably awkward he got every time you applied your lip gloss in front of him. But why did he get flustered?

Why was he staring at your lips in the first place?

Your smirk softened into something softer, something a little more real.

“You know…” you started, voice quieter now. “You could just ask me out, Spencer.”

His eyes widened. “I—what?”

“You heard me.” You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. “If you like me, you could just… ask me out.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking thoroughly overwhelmed.

“You—you’d say yes?” he asked hesitantly, like he genuinely couldn’t believe it.

You laughed softly. “Spence, I would’ve said yes ages ago.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then—

“Would you, um… like to go out with me?” Spencer blurted, his words rushed but sincere.

You beamed. “Yes, genius. I would.”

Before he could process that, you leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

When you pulled back, you definitely saw the way his breath caught—the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way his gaze flickered down again.

“You like my lip gloss so much,” you teased, tapping his cheek lightly, “now you’ve got an imprint of it.”

Spencer blinked. Once. Twice.

You grabbed your bag, completely casual. “Ready to go?”

He just stared at you, like his brain was still buffering.

You had definitely broken him this time.

Suppressing a laugh, you grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the exit.

Yeah. This was your best idea yet.

[nubecita040]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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