#they sleep together on their last night as roommates | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 2 months ago

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𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested!

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise

“What are you doing?”

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times.

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask.

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands.

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything.

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw.

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip.

“Maybe later.”

“You can’t stand there all night.”

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?”

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast.

“Does it still hurt?”

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin.

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place.

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching.

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting.

Spencer holds your face gently.

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth.

You wake up with a caught breath.

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night.

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again.

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss.

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you.

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush.

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went.

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise.

It’s not there.

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain.

Your head whirs.

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically.

“Hey, Y/N?” he says.

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door.

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures.

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?”

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.”

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.”

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there.

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve.

“Did you go shopping?”

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?”

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin.

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?”

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter.

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts.

“I missed you,” he says.

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?”

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.”

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves.

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream.

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again.

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly.

You can’t look at him. Can’t think.��

What are you doing?

What does it look like I’m doing?

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now...

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.”

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.”

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.”

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been.

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks.

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams. There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?”

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?”

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?”

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line.

“Sure.”

“They were first called oily cakes.”

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.”

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise.

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting.

”Nothing.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.”

“Dude!”

“What?” he asks with a laugh.

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.”

“But there’s something to figure out?”

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat.

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer.

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.”

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.”

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.”

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths.

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay.

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness.

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half.

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again?

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless.

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other.

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing?

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning.

“Y/N?” Spencer asks.

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries.

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed.

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.”

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting.

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say.

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.”

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.”

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.”

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.”

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month.

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.”

How could you pass it up?

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say.

“Do you want to?”

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.”

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says.

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out.

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?”

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun.

“I love it.”

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.”

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze.

How’s your bruise?

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning.

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.”

—

iii. scared of snow

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” you refute.

“You are.”

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it.

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold.

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble.

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone.

“It’s so quiet.”

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.”

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth.

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road.

“What?” you ask.

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says.

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again.

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively.

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all.

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head.

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe.

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen.

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?”

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume.

“Slept fine,” you croak.

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?”

“Nervous?” he asks.

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.”

“Yeah, still on, even JJ.”

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee.

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go.

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously.

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside.

“Come in,” you say.

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.”

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.”

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.”

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.”

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?”

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?”

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.”

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee.

“What?” you whisper.

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says.

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front.

Your fear is daunting.

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this.

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing.

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door.

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold.

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin.

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker.

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back.

“Hi,” you say.

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.”

“Y/N,” you say.

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.”

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead.

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says.

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar.

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim.

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently.

“Caught!”

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says.

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about.

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table.

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush.

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog.

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked.

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult.

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.”

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement.

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, don’t go.”

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?”

“Spencer, what if I throw up?”

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?”

“I don’t want to throw up.”

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.”

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him.

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes.

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner.

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say.

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.”

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together.

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway.

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.”

“You’re awake,” he says.

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.”

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?”

“Like what?” you ask.

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say.

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.”

“It’s remembered, maybe.”

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob.

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?”

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.”

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently.

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.”

“I do love you.”

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?”

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.”

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach.

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet.

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams.

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out.

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse.

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs.

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?”

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.”

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears.

You straighten.

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.”

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given.

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits.

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue.

“I know you know what I mean,” you say.

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.”

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now.

“Well, I like you.”

“What?” you ask, coughing.

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?”

“What?”

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?”

“I kind of thought you knew.”

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face.

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it.

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to.

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly.

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall.

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes.

Just one.

“This is so weird,” you mumble.

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?”

“I had a dream just like this.”

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.”

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.”

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.”

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold.

—

iv. the end

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep.

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use.

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time.

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up.

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line.

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him.

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow.

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle.

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there.

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love.

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet.

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for.

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need.

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…”

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth.

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess.

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.”

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing.

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers.

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly.

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake.

“Are you tired?” you ask him.

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.”

“Thanks,” you mumble.

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out. You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek.

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.”

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.”

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again.

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said:

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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lazyspeedy · 2 years ago

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it’s funny bc he actually did take a polaroid of us lol

#it was two of us and one of me alone 🙃 that was for me but he kept 🙃#and i forgot to ask for them back agian before we had a fallout fight whatever #have u ever had a dude just and tell u that u r the problem lmao #like not like anti hero.mp3 but him put all the blame on u and say u have issues ❤️ but if u wanna sleep together tho 🫣#oh and be condescending to u abt relationships #<< some ppl r polygamous >>#yeah i fucking know that my roommate was poly #anyways he messaged me and i should’ve acted on my racing thoughts last night abt removing him from my socials #why didn’t i block him? idk i was thinking i would appear bitter or something #FUCK #^^

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badbtssmut · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Masterlist!

Day 1 to 10

🎃 Naughty but mine; when you misbehave at a house party, your boyfriend Taehyung gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

🎃 Highly inappropriate; you, Taehyung and your best friend and Tae gf’s Aerum are high af one night.

🎃 Babymaker; you want a baby, but you just broke up with your boyfriend... but luckily your friend Jungkook is here to save the day.

🎃 Special preparations; you go to a piercing shop to get a clit piercing but your piercer Jungkook has an interesting way of prepping his clients.

🎃 Silent watch; your bodyguard Jimin is standing right outside your bedroom door when you moan his name as you play with yourself.

🎃 Good at sharing; your boyfriend Jimin invites you over for movie night, however it becomes painfully clear that his roommate Jungkook has a crush on you.

🎃 Their pleasure; your only job is to serve Taehyung and his wife.

🎃 Teach me; you want to learn how to give blowjobs so you ask your best friend’s brother Taehyung to teach you.

🎃 Like old times; in the past, you and your best friend enjoy spending time together by having threesomes, now years later you reconnect and this time she offers her husband Jungkook.

🎃 Strictly business; your boyfriend Taehyung might be a tough and important guy at the office but at home he's just a subby boy who only wants cuddles and finds comfort in your nipples.

Day 10 to 20

🎃 Make me see stars; your friends bring you to a special show starring stripper Jimin, but you get more than a lapdance from him on stage.

🎃 All onboard; when pirate Jungkook wants you, he wants you right now, even if it’s in front of the sailor men on his ship.

🎃 A special class; you bring your best friend Taehyung to a special class. (On pause)

🎃 Told you so; your friends don’t believe you when you brag to them about how Jungkook’s dick makes you see stars, so you show them.

🎃 Waves of pleasure; you meet a blonde hunk named Taehyung at the beach who invites you over to his van for some special alone time.

🎃 Give it to me now; angry about your doctoral thesis, you decide to decompress on your gamer boyfriend Jungkook’ cock.

🎃 Code blue; your friend with benefits Jungkook had a horrible first date so you milk him dry until he forgets all about her.

🎃 Wet deck; on a yacht with the maknae line, you start fucking them— not caring who sees.

🎃 VIP treatment; every concert, Hybe staff search for the sexiest big tits and ass fan, to bring to the green room for a fun time with Taehyung and his friends.

🎃 Seven minutes; Taehyung and Jungkook send you to heaven in a spooky encounter at your neighbour’s Halloween party.

Day 20 to 31

🎃 Knock out; after winning his last fight and being sexless for a week, Jungkook gives his girlfriend the most hardcore fuck ever.

🎃 Please please please; your needy and whiny boyfriend Jungkook begs you to ride him while he cannot stop praising you.

🎃 Sweet revenge; after your husband cheats on you, you decide to take revenge by sleeping with father-in-law jungkook.

🎃 Admit it; your friends get tired of seeing you and Jungkook beat around the bush, so they give you a little push.

🎃 A special party; when your friends organize a surprise bachelorette party you did not expect to get railed by stripper Jungkook.

🎃 She a fan; idol Jungkook takes a girl home and to his surprise, she has the logo of his group tattooed on her arm.

🎃 Mr perfect; you test out the hyper realistic humanoid robot named Jungkook you and your research team have created, it’s all for science, right?

🎃 Lucky girl; you caught the eye of your favorite idol Jungkook and he takes you to a hotel room.

🎃 Halloween party; after being invited by your friend to the 18+ Halloween party in town, you get fucked by three hot guys.

🎃 This is not a drill; your boyfriends are back from military service and you’re eager to catch up what they missed.

🎃 Succubus hotline; one lonely halloween, you try out your luck by calling the succubus hotline, thinking it’s just a silly prank.

#divider by strangergraphics #bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #kinktober #bts kinktober #bts smut story

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togrowoldinv · 2 months ago

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The Retreat

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

When you go on a church retreat, you have a very interesting conversation with Wanda

Note: I have missed writing for this Wanda! Can’t get her out of my head lately. Y’all enjoy this one!

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, sad Wanda, oral and fingering (W receiving), age gap

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

When you were asked to go on a women’s retreat, you immediately wanted to say no. The only reason you even go to church is to appease your parents. But it’s the final retreat of the year and you are expected to attend at least one.

So, you find yourself now waiting by the church bus to load up. You watch as mothers say goodbye to their children and wives kiss their husbands. One family in particular catches your eye.

The Maximoffs. Wanda, the matriarch, is a good friend of your mothers. They just moved to town a few years ago, but have made quite an impression in the town. Her husband travels for work, so Wanda is often found alone at the church service while her twin boys are in class for the children.

You wonder how a man could ever leave a woman like that alone. She is definitely the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Some part of you has been attracted to her since you first laid eyes on her.

Wanda gets on the bus and sits a few seats from you. She gives you a small wave. You put in your headphones to try and drown out the world. The drive only lasts a few hours and soon you’re at the retreat.

You check in and get your room key. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you will have a roommate when you open the door and see there are two beds. You're praying it’s not one of the older ladies or someone in your peer group who you can’t stand.

The prayer is answered when the door latch opens and none other than the one and only Wanda Maximoff walks in.

“Well, hi y/n!” She says. “I didn’t know we were roommates.”

“Hey Mrs. Maximoff. I didn’t either.”

“Oh please call me Wanda. This weekend we are peers, sweetheart,” she says.

She puts her bags on the bed next to the window. Sitting on the bed, she looks around the room. Wanda spots an itinerary on the bedside table.

“Looks like a busy weekend,” she analyzes. “We should get going to the first session.”

“Oh, I was thinking I would just rest tonight,” you reply.

“Nonsense, y/n,” Wanda says. “You came all this way. You might as well try and enjoy it. I know you aren’t feeling the spirit these days, but let me try and do something about that, okay?”

Your pulse quickens. How can she see right through you? Maybe she’s just being nice. Or maybe it’s worse and your mother asked her to look out for you this weekend.

She stands and waits for you to join her. You sigh and follow Wanda out the door.

The first session goes better than you thought it would. At least the food was good and the middling company was made a little better by Wanda’s presence.

When you get back to the room, it is freezing cold in there. You notice Wanda shivering even in her sweatshirt and sweatpants she has on for bed. Still, you both try to go to sleep for the night.

At some point though, you get a feeling someone is watching you while you sleep. Or more accurately, as you try to sleep in the arctic environment. Your eyes flutter open to see Wanda sitting up in her bed.

“What time is it?” You ask her.

“Early,” Wanda replies. Her voice is gravely, and if you think about it too much you might even be turned on by it.

“Are you cold?”

She nods. “The heat isn’t working. I tried, but can’t fix it.”

You roll out of bed and walk to the thermostat on the wall. Wanda follows you and stands close behind you. You can hear her breathing as you investigate the issue.

“Can you fix it?” She asks.

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” you reply. Wanda sighs.

You turn around and Wanda is still very close to you.

“We have one option here,” she begins. “To sleep together.”

“Oh,” you mumble. “We- um-”

“We could snuggle and then our body heat will keep us warmer,” Wanda further explains. “What do you say?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Wanda says.

She leads the way to your bed hoping since it’s the one away from the window it’ll be a little bit warmer. Wanda crawls into the bed and pulls the covers down. She waits for you to join her. You get into the bed cautiously, keeping a little distance between you two.

“Come on closer, baby. I don’t bite,” Wanda says. She grins at herself.

You get closer to her and she wraps an arm around your waist. You drape one of your arms across the pillow and she positions herself with her head between your neck and shoulder. Admittedly, it is warmer with the two of you snuggling together.

Eventually, you both fall into a deep sleep and the snuggling becomes more relaxed. It feels natural when the two of you wake up in the morning still intertwined.

“Good morning,” you say softly, trying not to get lost in her green eyes.

“Good morning,” Wanda says. Her face is close to yours. You can practically see every detail of her perfect face. “We should get ready for the day.”

“Right,” you say, breaking out of your trance. “Of course.”

You two break apart and you miss her warmth already. When you two show up at breakfast, several people are already in the room.

“Wanda! Y/n! Join our table!” The leader of the women’s group calls you both over. “How did you two sleep?”

“Quite well,” Wanda replies. “It was cold, but we made do.”

“Oh, we can have someone look at your heat,” the leader replies.

“Thanks that would be-” you start, but are interrupted.

“That’s alright,” Wanda says, placing a hand on your forearm. “We are okay.”

It's a strange response, but you try not to read into it. She probably just doesn’t want to cause any trouble. The breakfast lecturer starts soon and your attention shifts.

At the end of the day, you and Wanda find yourselves sitting in your room once again. Dinner isn’t for another hour, so you are just waiting around.

“Should we work on our exercises?” Wanda asks, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“The vulnerability exercises we talked about today in the final session,” Wanda explains.

“Oh, sure.”

Wanda smiles. She sits on the edge of her bed and pats the spot next to her.

“I’ll go first,” she says.

“Remind me of the rules,” you ask.

“We reveal something to each other that no one else knows. So that we can release it and let the weight go.”

You nod. You have no idea what Wanda might say. Her life seems perfect.

“Vision left me,” Wanda blurts out quickly.

“What?” You ask in shock. “Wanda, I- what happened?”

You hadn’t seen them interact much, but you never assumed that he wasn’t still in the picture. Just that he had been traveling.

Wanda looks down, playing with the ring on her finger. You can tell she’s holding back tears.

“Wanda, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I'm really sorry.”

“No, it might help if I do,” Wanda says. “Things just got bad. They went from okay, to maybe not so good, to fuck we’re over.”

Your eyes go wide. Never have you ever heard Wanda curse like that.

“How long ago was it over?”

“A few months,” Wanda says.

“And you haven’t told anyone?”

She shakes her head. “I just keep saying he’s away on business. The truth is he hasn’t touched me in almost a year.”

“So, that snuggling we did last night was?”

“The first time I’ve remotely been that close to someone in a year.”

“Jesus,” you mumble. She doesn’t even scold you for using the Lord’s name in vain. “Can I hug you?”

You figure she needs human connection now more than ever. She nods and you take Wanda in your arms. She melts against you. Tears fall down her face and soak into your shirt.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly to her. “You’re okay, Wanda.”

“I’m not,” she says through sobs.

“You will be,” you reply. “I’m here for you. My parents are here for you. All of these stupid, annoying women here are on your side too, okay? We won’t let you fall.”

Wanda pulls away some and looks at you. You run your hand through her hair and brush your thumb against her cheek gently. She leans in just enough for you to know what’s about to happen.

“Wanda,” you say. She keeps moving forward. “Mrs. Maximoff.”

That makes her stop. She looks at you with confusion in her eyes.

“I just want you. Do you not want me, baby?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, of course I want you. I just haven’t done the exercise yet.”

“Oh?”

You take your other hand and pull her closer by her hip. Your lips are almost touching.

“My secret is that I really, really want to kiss you right now and fuck you until you forget about your loser ex-husband who never deserved you in the first place,” you say.

Wanda closes the gap between the two of you. Her lips move fervently against yours. You can tell she’s desperate.

“When’s the last time he kissed you like this?” You ask between kisses.

“Never,” she replies.

You smile into her mouth and move to push her back onto the bed. Her legs wrap around your waist as you pin her arms above her head.

“Fuck, Wanda, you are the most beautiful woman alive,” you tell her.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she says. It's her final effort at not letting herself feel as good as he deserves to feel. You move your hands off of her just briefly.

“We should do this, but I'll stop if you really don’t want this,” you tell her.

“No, I- we just can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You put your hands back on her. This time, you go straight for the buttons of her jeans. You kiss down her chest and around her belly. Deftly, you pull down her pants and panties in one fell swoop.

Wanda shivers beneath the feeling of your wet lips against her hips and as you brush your nose lightly against her core.

“Oh, god, y/n,” she whimpers.

“So wet for me, Wanda,” you say. You dive into her core with your tongue. Her folds are intoxicating as you bring her more pleasure than she’s ever felt in her life.

“I need you,” Wanda says. “Please, baby. Please!”

You take Wanda’s clit in your mouth and move your fingers into her in tandem. She is writhing beneath your touch.

“Come for me, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say as you feel her reaching her climax.

“Fuck!” Wanda comes hard against you.

You lick her as she comes down and move up her body slowly. You lie next to her and kiss her cheek softly. The juxtaposition of that soft kiss and what you were just doing between her legs makes her heart flutter.

“Are you okay?” You ask her. She is staring at the ceiling.

“Yes,” she replies. “Thank you for everything.”

“Anytime Wanda,” you say. You ignore the ache between your legs, knowing Wanda needs time to process this. “Should we go to dinner?”

“Oh, I guess so,” she says.

You sit up, but Wanda grabs your arm before you can stand.

“I want to fuck you later, okay?” Wanda says. “I just-”

“Need a minute,” you finish for her.

“Yeah. Thanks for understanding, sweetheart. It’ll be worth the wait I promise.”

Wanda kisses you deeply before she gets off the bed to get cleaned up. You watch as she walks with a new bounce in her step that she didn’t have before.

Maybe this retreat will be interesting after all.

#milf!wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff

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holybibly · 5 months ago

Text

The summer heat seems to be getting unbearable by the day. And there is nothing better than indulging in unholy thoughts during these times.

And here are your unholy thoughts for the day: Your roommate San fucks you in the shower when the tension between you two gets too hot for you to handle.

San was a great roommate—you might even say perfect—if it weren't for one thing: he was so damn sexy. The boy just smouldered with hotness, and on top of that, you had a hard time dealing with his intensity and straightforwardness.

You never thought you'd share an apartment with someone like Choi San; it was like you two were from different universes; he was a famous fighter in the underground arena, and you worked in a fantasy flower shop. You rarely saw him without cuts and bruises and wearing anything more than an inappropriately tight tank top and sweatpants that hung so low on his hips that you could easily see the tattoo on his Apollo belt. San was quite the homeboy too, though; he loved to spend time with you, watching films or having dinner together, which was pure torture for you.

San had absolutely no filter; he could easily comment on how he liked your panties when your skirt was riding up too high or how your nipples were hard from the cold in the house. So, you often blushed in his presence, and as embarrassed as you were to admit it, your pussy was always unseemly wet for him. You were literally dripping.

Things had only gotten worse since he'd started letting you help him with his cuts and bruises from fights. He literally couldn't take his eyes off you, looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive or fuck you right then and there. San was on the verge of grabbing you and fucking your brains out, and you knew he might, if the four broken beds he'd replaced were any indication.

But lately he hadn't brought any girls home, and something about his presence had changed. It felt like he was really hunting you down, circling you like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

He became rougher with you, harsher—you would even say possessive—as if you were his. The tension between the two of you was like the thick air before a storm. You could feel how stifling and electric San's presence in your life had become.

And if it was possible, he became even more shameless. Words, actions, touches—the level of sexuality and vulgarity increased day by day. It got to the point that one evening, while you were cooking dinner, he pressed himself against you from behind, all sweaty and dirty from another workout, wearing only sweatpants, and rubbed his erection against your buttocks.

His hands gripped the counter on either side of you so hard that his knuckles were white, and he breathed into your neck like a dog in heat—wet, hot, and hoarse as he thrust his hips into you. You were so shocked by what was happening that you didn't even know how to react; you just stood there and let him rub against you.

After that incident, you avoided him like the plague, and he didn't like that at all. You still remember the time you stayed late at work and came home after midnight to find San sitting in the middle of your living room in total darkness, staring at you with his feline, predatory gaze.

San had you cornered that night, pinning you between the wall and his body, giving you no chance to escape. He was so damn mean, scolding you until one moment his hand was around your throat and his forehead was pressed against yours. You literally gasped as you felt his other hand slide between your thighs and touch your pussy. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and the last thing you saw was San's smug grin as the door to his bedroom closed.

His games with you continued for weeks, literally driving you mad and depriving you of sleep. Hot images of him fucking you into the mattress or bending you over and fucking you so hard you couldn't walk for days filled your mind. And San stimulated it even more, as he seemed to have decided to give up t-shirts and vests altogether, walking around the house half naked all the time, and it seemed that his underwear had also been thrown out, as you could always see the outline of his semi-hard cock under the soft fabric of his jogging bottoms.

And maybe it would have stayed that way for a while if you hadn't left the bathroom door unlocked while you were taking a shower. You didn't think you'd see San until tomorrow morning; he's had another fight tonight, and as you knew, that usually lasted until dawn, so you didn't even think about locking the door.

The hot water scalded your body, thick steam filled the cramped shower cubicle, fogging the glass, and you were so lost in it all that you didn't even hear the front door close. Your hands slid over your body, smearing the fluffy, fragrant foam of your shower gel until your fingers were on your clit, slowly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You were so sexually frustrated by all of San's actions, and you really hadn't had sex for a while, so you just couldn't resist playing with yourself a little. If only you had noticed the dark figure behind the misty shower wall.

Just as you had inserted a finger into yourself, throwing your head back against the tiled wall and rolling your eyes in pleasure, the shower door swung open with a vengeance, revealing none other than Choi San. You didn't even have time to react because he was instantly beside you in the cramped, wet space of the shower with you. He hadn't even taken his clothes off, his crisp white t-shirt immediately clinging to his body, showing off every muscle of his perfect frame.

You gasped as his palm slapped the tile next to your head, his other hand tugging roughly at your arm, pulling your fingers out of your wet hole with a loud squelching sound. He slowly brought your slimy fingers to his mouth, staring into your eyes before he stuck out his tongue and licked up all your slime.

He moaned softly, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you, his tongue swirling around your fingers, carefully lapping up every drop of your juices.

"Mmm, you're sweet, just the way I like it." San whispered to you, letting go of your hand and grabbing your throat instead, pulling you into a hot, hungry kiss. He fucked your mouth with his tongue instead of kissing you and continued choking you. Your hands gripped his back, feeling all the tense muscles under his thin, wet t-shirt. You moaned into his lips as San emptied your mouth.

When he let you go, your knees buckled, but his arm around your waist held you in place.

"That's it, angel, I've got you, and I'm going to fuck you so good you'll never want to get off my cock again."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #san smut #choi san smut #choi san x reader

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b3ach-bunn7 · 5 days ago

Text

READ YOUR MIND

You're roommate and her boyfriend are incredibly loud, so you decide to spend the night at your hot friend Jason's house.

fluff, college!au, confessions, one bed trope

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It takes about twenty minutes of internal conflict before you find yourself outside Jason’s dorm room.

You feel stupid. It’s not like you haven’t been in Jason’s room before. You guys were friends. He’d slept on your couch after a movie night gone too long, you’d stayed up for hours writing essays together on his bedroom floor. This was nothing weird, nothing new.

But for whatever reason, today it feels different.

It might be the fact that you’re seeing him differently. You’re not sure when, but the line between friend and something else has started to blur. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the strong slope of his jaw, the fact that he was probably strong and muscular enough to throw you over his shoulder. How funny he was, how kind he was. The fact he studied English, how smart he was at it. It’s really no one's fault but his own. You’re surprised you’d lasted this long without crushing on him, anyway. And maybe the way his eyes lingered a little too long on your own. Innocent touches felt like something else, a hand holding your hips as he stepped behind you, a thigh against your own as you sat in impossibly tight lecture halls.

Whatever. There’s no point looking at it like that. You love your friendship with him too much to let a little crush ruin it.

If you were in any other situation, you wouldn’t be here. But it’s late and you know of all your friends Jason’s the most likely to be awake. You don’t want to bother him but you can't spend another night third-wheeling with your roommate and her boyfriend. That, and the fact that it gets particularly loud whenever you come to sleep.

After a deep breath to steel yourself, you knock on the door. It takes only a few seconds before it swings wide open.

And God, you take back everything you just said. Because he's wearing a pair of grey sweats, and an old band shirt that is showing off his delicious arms, and you don’t know if you can blame the fact it’s nearly midnight on the thoughts running through your head. His movements are slow, sleepy, as he blinks at you confused.

He pushes his glasses up his head, tufts of brown hair falling over his face. “Oh. Hey. Is- Are you okay?”

“Oh god, did I wake you?”

“Nah, you’re good.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

It takes a second before the words come out of your mouth. “I- Lily. She has- She has her boyfriend round, and I don’t sleep very well when he’s there.” You laugh awkwardly, scratching your arm.

You hold up the books and paper you brought with you. “You mind if I crash here tonight? I bought stuff to keep me busy, so I’ll be out of your hair.”

Jason smiles easily, pushing the door open further. “Of course, yeah.”

You step in, thanking him as he grabs the stuff out of your hand and puts them on his front table. His dorm is so boyish. Him and his roommate, an eccentric boy everybody called Gar, were not the best at interior design. Their couches are dark grey with red pillows, jarring against the white carpet you’d bought them as a housewarming gift. The kitchen was an amalgamation of whatever plates and mugs they’d found at thrift stores, their fridge filled with pictures from Gar’s old polaroid camera. It was cute and very them, and a warm place to sleep that wasn’t accompanied by the sound of your roommate and her boyfriend doing whatever the hell they got up to alone.

“Thanks again. I can’t stand another night with those two.”

Jason snorts a laugh, sitting down on the couch. “It can’t be that bad. They’re nice people.”

“Yeah, sure. But all they do is remind me of how painfully single I am.” You huff, sitting beside him.

He’s close enough that you can smell the expensive cologne he wears. He’s shown you it once, a fancy glass bottle. He’s spritzed it on your wrist and the smell lasted all day. He nods at your words, and you turn your head towards the TV to avoid his gaze.

“That guy you saw last week didn’t work out?”

Your eyebrows furrow. Honestly, the date had been crap, and you’d forgotten about him the second you’d gone home. You’re surprised he remembers. You tell Jason about all of your romantic adventures, hoping it will have some effect on your feelings for him. It hasn't been very successful so far. And while Jason looks disinterested as he asks you, eyes focused on the movie on screen, his leg taps up and down, and he looks a little restless. You think about lying for a split second, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You scoff. “I haven’t spoken to him since. He was boring. And stupid.”

Jason laughs, his eyes crinkling. “That’s rude!”

“He couldn’t hold one conversation with me! Like, I asked him what his favourite book was and he said Diary of a Wimpy Kid. We are nineteen years old!” You whine, hands covering your face as Jason cackles next to you.

“So that’s all women want. A man who reads?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice and you roll your eyes.

“Well, duh. I am studying English after all. I’d like to be able to hold a conversation with him about what I do.”

“That’s a fair dealbreaker, I'll be honest.” Jason hums, resting his arm on the back of the couch, brushing your back slightly. “Is that all you’re looking for in a man?”

The TV blares quietly in the background. Some random show on the food network where the contestant currently on screen looks like they're about to drop the tiered cake in their hands. His question rings out in the room, and you know you only have a few seconds before your silence is considered awkward. But you can’t help but think his question is so suggestive. Does he want to know why out of innocent curiosity? Or does he want to know out of something else?

“Well. Obviously not.” You finally say, bringing your knees up to your chest. “But English comprehension would be nice.”

Jason snorts a laugh. “That being said. He has to be funny. And tall, at least taller than me. And he needs to be smart. And fit. Like, physically.”

Jason watches you with a small smile on his face, nodding, like he knows you're just trying to describe him in a roundabout way. You laugh, a little nervous under his gaze. You reach across the couch and grab the remote.Your arm brushes against his leg and the contact is fleeting but it makes your skin burn.

“And all these guys at uni, and you haven’t found one who fits?”

His voice is lower when he speaks again, and when you look at him he’s looking at you so intensely. And it’s then you notice that the two of you are sitting quite close on the couch, considering it's one big enough to fit about four people.

“Well. Yes. I- Maybe.”

He just nods again. You take a quick breath in, quickly grabbing your book from the table. “Did you finish the essay for next week?”

Jason groans, leaning his head back on the couch. “Fuck. No. I completely forgot.”

You wave your own essay in the air. “Well. I was gonna ask you to read over mine, but. Nevermind then.” You sigh dramatically.

“Shut up. Lemme read.” He takes it out of your hand, slipping his glasses back on his face. They’re thick rimmed lenses that make him look older than he is and you love them.

You watch him as he reads, fingers playing with his bottom lip as his eyes skim over your work. Some part of you feels the tiniest bit self-conscious, because he is a hundred times smarter than you, but you know he’d never make it feel that way. Jason suddenly looks up and his eyes meet yours. You smile, face heating, as he raises an eyebrow.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

You tap the edge of your paper. “Good?”

“Great. Can you write mine too?”

You snort. “You wish.” Jason pouts and drops your paper back on the table.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it tomorrow. Right now I’m hungry.”

You sit up immediately at that. “Yes. Let’s order food.”

Jason looks back at his kitchen. “I shouldn’t. I’ve eaten takeaway every night this week, I think. It’s also,” he quickly glances at his watch, “barely half twelve. What’s even open right now?”

You groan, shaking his shoulder. “Jason, don’t be responsible! I’m here, this is like a sleepover. We need to eat something junk-foody.”

Jason just frowns. You flick the centre of his glasses and he tuts. “Hey.”

“I’ll even pay! It’s on me.” You nod and pull out your phone. You’re opening UberEats before he can protest again.

“See. Burger King is open. We love Burger King!”

“We do?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“A whopper.”

You spend the next ten minutes deciding and then the next thirty waiting anxiously for your food. The thing with Jason, and probably the reason you like him the most, is that you can talk to him about anything. Tonight, it’s his brother Dick’s birthday party. He leans in to show you the picture on his phone, and you try not to laugh at how unhappy he looks to be photographed.

When the doorbell rings Jason runs to grab the food, before bringing it back to the two of you. It takes another twenty minutes for the two of you to finish eating, old episodes of Friends humming in the background. Sleep circles your limbs and you yawn, sipping on blue slushy that had come with your order. It’s entirely too sweet and stains your tongue blue but you keep drinking it anyway.

“I don’t know. Bruce is always asking me to come over, but. Things are still weird.”

You nod. “Yeah, I get it. But it’s good you’re trying. I-“

You're cut off suddenly by Jason yelling and pointing at your arm. You screech, dropping your slush and shooting off the couch.

“What! Oh my god, what is it?” You yell, hands rubbing at your sleeves.

“You-“ Jason tries to speak but his words are cut off by a laugh. “It was just a little bug.”

“Jason. That is not funny! You freaked me out, look!” You whine, pointing at the now spilt slushy all over your hoodie.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, sorry.”

He gets up and grabs some tissues and you furiously dab at your hoodie. The couch is also now blue, and you frown. “There goes my bed, too. Guess I’m sleeping on your bedroom floor today.”

Jason perks up where he’s blotting the couch. He frowns, thinking for a moment. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, what? Take my bed.”

Your hands drop to your sides. “Well what about you?”

“I’ll take the floor. It’s my fault you split this, anyway.”

“It’s your bed. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

“Well, it’s my dorm so. I think I’ll have the final say, sweetheart.” He teases.

You bite your bottom lip, thinking, and toss the used tissues on the table. “Why don’t we just sleep together?”

The tips of Jason’s ears turn a dark red and he looks a little shell-shocked at your words, before it’s replaced by a smirk. Your face flushes too, and you quickly shake your head.

“I- Not like that, I meant- Stop laughing.” You snap. But the sight of him laughing behind his hand makes you giggle a little too.

“I just mean, like. I don’t mind sleeping in the bed with you. I just- I don’t think there’s any point in one of us sleeping on the floor, if there’s a perfectly good bed that can fit us both, you know?”

You’re well aware that you’re rambling, and the way he tilts his head and smiles at you is not helping. He gives the couch one last wipe and stands.

“Alright. That’s cool with me if it’s cool with you. I can also get you something else to wear.” He gestures at your now blue hoodie and you smile gratefully.

You’ve been in Jason’s room once or twice, to grab something or take a call. But this time it’s different, because you’re looking at his bed and you’re going to be in it in about five minutes. You ignore the band posters plastered on his walls, the messy stacks of books all over his floor. You sit gingerly on the edge of the mattress and wait. He comes in only a moment later. He starts rummaging through his drawers and you just watch. He glances at you over his shoulder and shakes his head, huffing a laugh.

“Stop staring. You’re making me nervous.” He whispers.

“Man up.”

He throws a hoodie at you and you catch it. “You know where the bathroom is.”

You walk into the toilet and quickly get changed. You leave your old hoodie in the hamper. Jason’s one is bigger and smells like him, and you don’t see yourself giving this back anytime soon. You give yourself a quick once over in the mirror, fixing your hair and wiping mascara from under your eyes, before you head back to Jason’s room.

When you come back, Jason’s already in bed, doing something on his phone. You linger in the doorway and he looks up.

“You want a formal invitation?”

You roll your eyes and shuffle your way over. You gingerly lift up the sheets and climb in. You are so painfully aware of how close he is, your shoulders brushing as he puts his phone to the side and lays down properly. The room is silent other than the two of you breathing. Just when you're about to speak, he beats you to it.

“Night.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.”

You’re not crazy, right? This is weird. Maybe if it was Victor’s room. A boy friend who was completely platonic, it wouldn't mean anything. But you’ve felt the tension between you and Jason, the subtle flirting, the lingering touches. You know that whatever is happening between you guys is not just friendship. And you have no idea if it's just you, because Jason is breathing so evenly you think he’s fallen asleep already.

You shuffle a little in the sheets, uncomfortable. They smell like Jason and it’s not helping to calm your thoughts down. You turn around to lay on your side, and when you do, you’re met with a face right in front of you, looking back.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and this close, you can make out the spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the grey hairs he’s growing at 20 that he always complains about. His eyelashes are so long, and you smile sleepily.

“Hi.”

He smiles too. “Hi.”

“I can’t sleep.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut. “Those burgers woke me up.”

Silence. You don't get a reply. You open your eyes again and Jason is just staring.

“Is there another bug on my face?” You joke. But he doesn't laugh.

“No. You just look so pretty right now.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Jason looks like he’s telling you the time of day, so casual. He lifts up his hand slightly, and brushes a strand of your hair from out your face.

“I- Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything again. You don’t know what to say. A silence settles over the room again. The two of you just look at each other. And just when you’re about to break it, he sits up so fast it makes you jump.

“Jason, what-”

“I can’t do this, I-”

You eyebrows furrow and you sit up, watching Jason flick on the lamp on his bedside table. The room is enveloped in a soft warm light, and his hair is tousled a little, his shirt wrinkled from how quickly he got up.

“What is going on right now?” “Did you know Gar isn’t home?” He says.

You say yes, because the fact you can’t hear him yelling at COD or something else, and the fcat he didn’t come say hi, is enough clue that he’s not home.

“Right, so. When I made you spill your slushy, which was an accident by the way, I could’ve easily just let you stay in there. He wouldn’t care.”

“Okay.” You say slowly.

“And. I didn’t. Because I knew that you wouldn’t let me sleep on the floor and i wouldn’t either, and then we’d be in this position, and I’d finally get the chance to fucking tell you how i feel.”

“How- How you feel?”

“Yes. And then I pussied out and I just said goodnight, and. And then you looked at me, and, fuck. I can’t take it anymore.”

And then Jason turns to look at you, and he looks so desperate as he grabs your hands, his skin calloused as he tightens his grip.

“I like you. A lot. And, you know, I’d like to think I'm pretty smart, but I know I am horrible when it comes to people, at feelings. So I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that.”

This is a dream. There’s no way this is real, that the Jason Todd, biceps and all, is confessing to you on his bed. You want to pinch yourself because the way his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand is making your heart squeeze in your chest.

You watch those pretty brown eyes furrow slightly at your silence.

“I- If you don’t feel the same way, I-”

You don’t think before you reach forward, palms grabbing his jaw and pulling him forward so you can press a kiss to his lips. And he barely waits a second before his eyes flutter closed, hands tangling in your hair to pull you impossibly closer. Your arms slide down to curve around his neck and you toy with the hair on the nape of his neck, and he groans. You finally let go and he leans his forehead on yours, kissing your nose, your cheek.

“I like you too, by the way. If the kiss wasn’t tell enough.”

He grins, boyish and handsome, and you want to kiss him again.

He sighs happily, hands slipping up the edge of his hoodie, eyes waiting for your nod of approval. When he gets it, he smiles again, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“God, thank fuck for Lily and her boyfriend

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nia try not to write a college au mission impossible... I LOVEE JASON TODD! In my head any alternate universe hes not emo so i write him nice and cute.

thanks to all who voted in the poll! im gonna make my way through all the guys on that list so look out for it! next up will be shinsou because of a very nice commenter ;P i hope u all enjoy this, leave any fic ideas in my ask box!

#fluff #oneshot #b3ach bunn7 #jason todd oneshot #jason todd x reader #jason todd #batfam #dc comics #dc universe #batman #jason todd x y/n #jason todd red hood #jason todd reader #red hood x reader #red hood

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm.

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless.

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

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