#virgin!reader x virgin!Spencer reid

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her�� though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawls from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[reidmarieprentiss]

masterlist ♡

my requests are open! i'm comfortable writing for any sexuality, gender, and/or specified reader preference! my basic model is a fem!reader x male!character because that is how i myself identify and who i am attracted to -- so if you want something else just lmk!! <33

click here for my taglist :)

꩜ -- angst ♡ -- fluff ꕥ -- smut

Spencer Reid

Series

★ Bridges to Belonging ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six (18+) Part Seven (18+)

★ Finding Home Again ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two (18+)

-- -- -- Extras -- Jeans ♡ ꕥ Migraines ꩜ ♡ Bar ♡ Stood Up ꩜

★ i love you ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two

★ Short Shorts & Long Hair ꩜ ♡— Part One Part Two

★ Too Sweet ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two Part Three

★ Make You Feel My Love ꩜ — Part One Part Two Part Three

★ Something Better ꩜ — Part One Part Two

★ Breaking Point ꩜ ♡ — Part One Part Two

★ Too Damn Young ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two

★ Red ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two

★ Lost in Translation ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Prologue Part One Part Two Part Three

One Shots

Whispers in the Dark ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Set 'Em Up, and Knock 'Em Down ꩜ ꕥ

Needy ♡ ꕥ

Capturing the Queen ♡ ꕥ

Sweet & Sour Motivation ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Moving Forward ꩜ ♡

Love in the Club ♡ ꕥ

Lost & Found ꩜ ♡

Strawberry Lemonade ♡

Not Her ꩜ ♡

Ghost of You ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Textual Tension ♡ ꕥ

Hookups & Holdouts ꩜ ♡

Better Late Than Never ♡

Illicit Affairs ꩜ ♡

No More Misunderstandings ♡

Forever & Always ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Blurbs

Silent Echos ꩜

Second Chances and Serendipity ♡

Ink Impressions ♡

Love in the Details ♡

The Hardest Goodbye ꩜

Ride 'Em Cowgirl ♡

Home in Jeans ♡ ꕥ

Car Wash ♡

They Were Never You ꩜ ♡

Rewritten Plans ꩜ ♡

Dare Ya ♡

Cream Cardigan ♡

Picture You ♡

Tummy ꩜ ♡

Home with Migraines ꩜ ♡

Matchmaker ♡

Always You ꩜ ♡

Home From The Bar ♡

Bedroom Eyes ♡

Federal Beach Investigation ♡

Stood Up & Home ꩜

Good Boy ꕥ

The Profile of Attraction ♡

Asks

A Gentle Embrace ♡

Southern Charm ♡

Cinephile ♡

Where We Were Meant To Be ꩜ ♡

Love Doctor ♡

Not Strong Enough ꩜ ♡

Birthday Surprise ♡ ꕥ

Technicalities ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Lucky ꩜ ♡

I Love You, I'm Sorry ꩜ ♡

Languages of Love ♡

Wounds: Physical & Emotional ꩜

Chip Taylor

Something's Gotta Give ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

[hotwritergf]

Thinking about cuffing brat!Spencer's wrists to the headboard of the bed and watching him writhing as he searches for your touch. Denying him of relief you kneel between his legs and put on a show for his eyes only.

Tweaking your nipples and squeezing them, your hand finding its way to your clit causing you to let out the softest moans.

Spencer is in agony, his cock is throbbing, aching. Allowing him a taste of pleasure, you bend down. Your tongue tracing a stripe up his sack and kitty licking over his length. Reaching his tip, he freezes up. Eyes glued shut and his head shaking, cheeks reddening from embarrassment and yanking at his binds. His cock leaks pearlescent beads of cum, flowing out of him like a fountain whilst he squints his eyes closed tighter.

You chuckle, the breath from your laughter against his skin giving his goosebumps and he shivers under the cold metal of his cuffs. Still pulling at them for freedom. He knows he's going only going to be punished more for not asking for permission.

[mggsv]

Like a virgin

gn!reader x spencer reid (18+)

summary: Spencer says he’s ready to have sex so you give him a little practice round to be sure

warnings: virgin!spencer, oral (male receiving), slight sub!spencer

“touched..for the very first time..” you whisper to him softly, pecking his lips as he made a small noise. The car was quiet, you both sat in the parking lot of the office- everyone had left, it’s the weekend, you and Spencer stayed behind once he had something important to tell you.

You and Spencer have been dating since you started really- you clicked well, you teased him a lot, in fact your personalities were hardly alike in some ways. He liked you, you liked him..now it’s been a year with the team. Spencer’s a virgin. You weren’t surprised when he told you that, especially when you tried to have sex a few months in your relationship- however you respected his decision and said you’d wait just like he did.

And now..you both sat in the backseat. Spencer with his eyes closed, face red as small sounds escaped from his perfect lips while you ran your hands up his perfect hips. He was sensitive, you learned, every time your fingers brushed his exposed skin he moaned..so beautifully. Being with him was truly worth the wait.

“I love you Spence.” you murmur into his stomach, your fingers honking into his underwear to pull them down a bit. He was hard and leaking, and slight red. “My beautiful boy..” all you could do was moan at the sight. His cock twitched and you looked up at him for confirmation, “Can I touch you here sweetheart?” he opened his eyes and stared at yours, your heart thumping in your chest, and your sex ready to take all that Spencer had to offer.

“Yes..please.”

you glanced up at him as you moved to kiss the tip of his leaking cock. he groaned, hips moving just a bit. you kissed it again, sucking slightly. your tongue lapped at his precum while you took his cock into your mouth fully. he wasn’t really big- average sized, you were glad. your hands stayed at your boy’s hips, circling them to reassure him.

“It feels good..s-good.” he shudders and closes his eyes again, making you chuckle. your tongue licks along the slight veins on spence’s cock, he couldn’t help but thrust his hips, groaning.

“Do you..want to feel me Spence?” you sit up, and reach down for the condom in his pants pocket. Your shirt sat in the drivers seat with the rest of your clothes, you were naked. He stared at the condom and nodded shyly, “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive..i’m ready.”

[sundrop-writes]

Loverboy

Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader

Summary:

You try your best to make Spencer’s first time a good one. Spencer can’t hold himself back, and makes it an incredibly memorable night for the both of you.

Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 3,100

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: mainly smut/pwp;generally under-negotiated kink; mentions of the social constructs around virginity and the social pressures that men feel based around sex; this is Spencer’s first time having sex and the reader is a lot more experienced; this is not an explicit or pre-planed dom/sub relationship, but there is dom/sub undertones to their interactions; Spencer is more submissive (and bratty/defiant - before becoming compliant) and the reader is more dominant/leading; the reader calls Spencer ‘baby’ and 'brat’; she reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; penetrative sex/penis in vagina sex; mentions of fingering (does not take place during the fic); “just the tip”; unprotected sex - the reader and Spencer agreed to use a condom beforehand but Spencer pushes in without one (the reader secretly loves it, but doesn’t want to tell Spencer because she doesn’t want to feed into his entitled brat attitude and this could be considered dubious consent because he broke her consent regarding using contraception); spanking - the reader spanks Spencer (very mild pain kink); something that could be considered 'premature ejaculation’ (but imo it’s never premature, it’s right on time); creampie kink - they both enjoy Spencer cumming inside of her; mentions of Spencer crying (from overwhelming sensations, not sadness or humiliation); overstimulation (toward Spencer); Spencer fucking into his own cum; I believe that is everything.

A/N: Originally, I had this idea when I was thinking about Lessons For A Genius, but I realized that it didn’t quite fit the tone of that fic, so I decided to write it separately. I hope all you Subby Spencer lovers enjoy it! (Also can you tell that 'just the tip’ is my new fav trope? lmao)

...

“You ready, baby?” You cooed, gently running your hands through Spencer’s hair.

You tried to keep that same soothing, sweet voice that you had been using with him all night, trying your best to keep his nerves at bay. You knew that this was an uneasy time for him - between the social pressure of being a man who had never had sex with a woman before and wanting to ‘impress’ you and his general shyness around other people. You just wanted him to be comfortable and at ease so that he could enjoy himself. Which, of course, was generally the point of having sex. 

When Spencer had asked you to take his virginity, you felt incredibly honored. He was handsome, and despite him being ‘socially awkward’, he was charming. He had his own unique way of flirting, and he did have his choice of beautiful women that he could have fucked instead of you. There had been plenty of gorgeous women from his past, so you were surprised that he was even still a virgin in the first place. 

But when he had been explaining it to you, he had mentioned that the ‘social awkwardness’ had played a big role. The nerves. He had expected that one night, he would simply kiss a woman that he was on a date with, and things would just naturally ‘go from there’. But it never happened like that. He never had that movie romance moment where it fell into place. So instead, he had asked you. 

He told you that he found you intensely attractive, and - the part he hadn’t told you - he had been fantasizing about this for a while. He found everything about you utterly perfect. From the way your clothes hugged your curves to the way you looked dangerous suspects in the eyes and screamed at them without flinching. 

(And stowed away as a deep, dark secret, he had imagined himself in that position many times - handcuffed to an interrogation table, screamed at by you until he was begging for mercy.) (But again, that wasn’t information he was going to just volunteer to give up willingly.) 

So when Spencer laid it all out for you, fidgeting nervously and explaining that he finally wanted to know what sex felt like - you couldn’t deny him. He was too sweet, and too pretty, of course you couldn’t deny him. 

Even though it was something the two of you planned, and you would have simply invited him over to your place for the night, he insisted upon a date night out - taking you to a lavish restaurant first. He said that he wanted to act like a gentleman before taking you to bed. And it was a lovely evening, so there were no complaints on your part. 

You had taken him back to your place, and you had done your best to make him comfortable through the kissing, the groping, and showing him how to ‘satisfy’ you (again, upon his gentlemanly insistence). You were plenty turned on just by being with him, but you quickly found out that he was a swift learner with more than just books and very good with his fingers. 

Now, it was time for the ‘main event’ - at least, the part that would make him feel less much like a virgin, marking that big milestone for him. 

To give him control and make him feel more comfortable, you were on your back with your head on the pillows and he was sitting on his knees between your spread thighs. He had his body pressed pretty much flush against your naked one, savoring the feeling of your warmth. He was almost completely naked himself - save for his very Reid white briefs, barely containing his seemingly very long, hard cock. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it yet - just the outline of it through his underwear, and even tented, it seemed very impressive. 

You really wondered how no one else had snatched him up as a partner yet. 

He was hiding his face in your neck out of shyness. His nervous streak was oddly sweet, but it was something you had been trying to coax out of him all night. Even if you found it entirely adorable and endearing. 

“‘m ready.” He hummed into the skin of your neck. 

This sent pleasant vibrations through you, making you moan lightly as well. You rubbed your hands across the broad of his back, continuing to soothe him, trying to get his stiff muscles to relax. 

“Okay, baby.” You told him. “I’m gonna take these off now, is that okay?” You posed, reaching down to the waistband of his underwear. 

He nodded into your neck, but you weren’t entirely satisfied with that. 

“Please use your words.” You told him. 

It was only after the sentence left your mouth that you realized how ‘scolding’ it sounded. How condescending. 

Oddly enough, it was that tone of voice that made Spencer’s cock jolt, and made him so buttery and compliant in seconds. 

“You - you can take them off.” He muttered quietly. 

“Good.” You praised him, your voice short and firm. 

You felt yourself very specifically holding back from saying ‘good boy’ in response. 

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and got them down over his ass. The material did get slightly hooked up in the length of his cock, and you tried to take a peek between your two bodies to get a good look at his now exposed dick. But you couldn’t see around him with the way he had his face tucked into your neck. Spencer untangled himself and clumsily got the underwear down over his knees and eventually kicked them off. 

He moaned when he jostled slightly and felt his cock nudge up against the wet heat of your pussy. You let out a hot breath at the feeling, tightly locking your hips in order to keep yourself from bucking forward and rubbing yourself across his cock. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with new sensations. And you didn’t need to tempt yourself with the idea of pushing him over onto his back, shoving his cock inside of you and riding him raw like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. 

This was supposed to be about making his first time good - not about chasing your own selfish desires. 

Feeling curiosity flood him, Spencer finally pulled away from his safe haven tucked beside your head to prop himself up and get a better look. He put a hand on each side of your shoulders, looking down the length of your body to stare at the impressive heat nuzzling up against his cock between your thighs. 

He had become well acquainted with your pussy when he had fingered you, and he already knew what a gorgeous, warm, wet thing it was. But seeing your throbbing wetness right up against his cock, getting to see that natural gloss so carelessly slicking him up - it made him truly realize the wicked reality that he was going to slide his cock into that wet heat. 

He was going to fuck you. 

It was a thought that made his head spin, quite literally made him dizzy with pleasure. He felt temptation so ripe in his veins as he got up on his knees a bit more and the bright pink head of his cock naturally found your entrance, naturally kissing right up against it. He let out a moan as that heat fanned out over his cock, begging to swallow him up. He wanted to be swallowed up by you, wanted to be consumed whole. He bit his lip, knowing it would be wrong to do it without- 

“Hold on, baby, we need a condom.” You told him, trying your best to keep a firm, steady voice as you were overwhelmed with sharp jolts of pleasure.

Feeling the thickness of his cock against you - feeling him right there - it was almost too much for you. You were so tempted to roll your hips up and simply take him inside of you. You were so tempted to have him fuck you raw. 

But it was not what the two of you had agreed upon beforehand. You had to be the logical one - you had to enforce the rules. 

While you reached off to the side, to the box of condoms you had waiting on the nightstand, Spencer continued to stare at your glistening cunt with pure concentration knit over his features. 

He was biting his lip with a near bruising hard quality, his brows knit so tight that he likely could have held a quarter between them. All of it was just so tempting. Feeling the heat coming off you; so different from his hand, so different from humping into his bed desperately at night, so lively, so perfect. The feeling of your perfect wetness coating the tip of his cock. 

Something in his mind was screaming at him:

Just the tip. Just the tip. 

He could press the tip of his cock into you without a condom, just for a moment, and it would be fine. He would know what your pussy felt like on his cock without a condom. And then he would pull it out again and put the condom on and everything would be fine. 

Technically, he wasn’t breaking any rules. 

He heard the foil wrapper crinkling as you tore it apart with your teeth and his need grew even more urgent under his skin. 

Before he even fully made the decision, his hips were surging forward, and he was pushing his cock into you. He let out a throaty whimper as he felt more of that perfect heat and wetness enveloping his cock. He couldn’t have stopped at the tip if he wanted to - he likely couldn’t have stopped the movement of his hips even if someone had a gun to his head. 

He kept pushing more and more of his length inside of you with a heaving, broken groan as he fully sheathed his cock inside of you for the first time. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he felt your raw, wet cunt around him - no barriers, no asides. Just the perfect, unadulterated you. 

“Oh god.” Spencer moaned, bowing his head to rest in your neck again as he began to pant furiously. He was trying to keep himself from fucking into you like an animal mindlessly, just chasing his release. He was trying to simply enjoy the hot, wet, tight vice as it pulsed around his hard cock. 

“Spencer!” You scolded him harshly once again. “What the fuck?!” 

Your pussy throbbed with the fullness, only now truly feeling how big he was, and fuck - he was big. He was stretching your pussy out so good, making you clench around him desperately, unconsciously trying to memorize every single ridge and vein that you could feel. Because of course, without a condom, you could feel every single detail of him, including the underside of his cockhead bumping up against one of those incredible spots inside of you that was almost never touched by any other man. 

As much as you love it, this was bad. You had agreed to use a condom. 

You dropped the condom beside your head out of shock. This had been the last thing you had ever expected him to do. Spencer: someone who had been so timid all night. Someone who had asked permission to touch your breasts just a few hours ago. That very same someone had just pushed into you without a condom, without even asking permission. 

He had somehow morphed into a greedy brat in the span of a few minutes. And as much as that turned you on, you couldn’t encourage that kind of behavior in him, because it would turn him into an entitled monster. Every single instinct inside of you told you that you had to punish him for this, rather than spoiling him. 

He had to learn how to behave. 

“Spencer, you-!” You continued to use that sharp scolding voice, and unconsciously, it only turned him on more. 

His hips flexed forward, trying to push impossibly deeper into you, and you bit your lip, forcibly holding in a moan. 

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered into your neck, his voice entirely pathetic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh-” 

He felt your cunt clench around him, you becoming so turned on by his whimpers of ‘I’m sorry’. You couldn’t help but to love his pathetic sweet compliance. But then, feeling that wet heat tighten around him even more, he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

He pulled his hips back and fucked forward once, and then - that animal thing inside of him took over. And he began fucking you at an even pace, chasing his orgasm inside of you as though you were nothing more than a hot, wet hole for him to fuck. 

“Spencer!” You scolded in a sharp gasp, trying your hardest not to show a pleasurably reaction toward his bratty entitlement and ruthless possession of your body - something he had not yet earned. Not by far. 

“Oh, I’m not sorry!” He moaned louder, lifting his head from your shoulder to give you an utterly filthy grin.

He couldn’t bring himself to be sorry anymore. Not when it felt this good. 

It was one of the most wicked things he had ever done in your presence, and it made you very tempted to reach up and slap him across the face - wanting to slap that grin right off him. You just barely held yourself back from doing so. 

He felt like he had won. At this point, he didn’t even care if it was at your expense. Right now, he was being so truly selfish. 

He was entirely unapologetic in his movements, pounding away at your pussy like it was his own personal toy. He fucked like an entitled boy, like someone with absolutely no regard for his partner’s pleasure - and oddly enough, that only turned you on more. 

It was a dizzying feeling that was only increased by how natural he seemed to be, especially for a first-timer. He was easily keeping up the hard pace, driven only by his pure, selfish need and chasing the heat of your pussy around him, never wanting it to end. 

He hammered his hips into you evenly, becoming sloppy at points, clearly only chasing his own pleasure in a way that drove all of your instincts insane. He absolutely wasn’t performing - he wasn’t fucking you with purpose. He wasn’t trying to make you cum. He was using your body for his own selfish pleasure. He just wanted to get his dick wet like the selfish boy he was. 

There was only one thought on your mind. 

“Filthy brat!” You spat out. 

Spencer couldn’t care less if that was good or bad, even though you hurled it out beside his ear like a cruel insult. He didn’t care if it was an insult - he was still getting to fuck your perfect pussy, he was still feeling you clenching around him as you huffed in his ear. 

All he knew for certain was that you were dripping wetness around him, leaking down over his balls. You were a clenching heat that made him feel like his cock was finally home and he never wanted to leave it. He let out a victorious giggle in between moans as he continued to fuck you. Although you felt an orgasm building in your belly, you felt the overwhelming need to put him in his place. 

You weren’t going to let him get away with this behavior, even if he did have a magnificent cock.

“Dammit, Spencer!” You cursed, bitter annoyance still ripe on your lips. 

Before you could even think too much about it, you reached around his body and sharply spanked the broad of his bare ass cheek. You were desperate to find something that would get him back under your control. It wasn’t even your most powerful swat, seeing as you couldn’t get much heft from the angle of being below him. 

But the hit left a mild sting on your fingers, and caused a nice smack of skin on skin in the room. 

In a second, the sting of the hit across his ass had his hips stuttering in inconsistent waves as he flooded your insides with hot cum. 

You felt a slight wave of disappointment as your orgasm dulled inside your belly, his cock stuttering to a stop and unable to keep up the pace that was driving you there. But then you were boiling with heat once again as you felt his cum leaking out of you around the base of his cock where the two of you were joined - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling. And you loved soaking in the filthy knowledge that he had cum so quickly simply from being spanked. 

He was definitely a brat who liked to be punished. Someone who needed to be put in his place by you. 

You should have been angry with him for foregoing the condom, and cumming inside of you so abruptly. But you couldn’t find much anger there as he bit your shoulder and moaned hoarsely as his orgasm pumped through him. It only lit a bitter fire in your belly, telling you that you were going to keep him, because this turned you on too damn much. 

Spencer moved to pull away as the clenching of your pussy around him became too much. But you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

You moved both your hands to his ass cheeks, digging your nails into the flesh there. You clung onto him hard and made a rough movement, shoving him forward until his cock fucked all the way back into you. You moaned under your breath at this and he let out a tattered gasp at the pure overstimulation. 

“You’re not done yet.” You told him, entirely demanding. “You wanted it so damn bad, brat. So go on. Keep going.” 

Spencer moaned at this. He almost wanted to argue - he was tired, that had been so much for him. 

But as he became dizzy with the feeling of hot pin pricks all over his almost numb, still somehow rock hard cock, he could find no flaws in your logic. He only wanted to say yes. He wanted to live inside your pussy forever. He realized that he never wanted to pull out if you weren’t going to make him. 

He tucked his forehead back into the crook of your neck and began fucking into you roughly once again, battering his hips between the sharp prick of your nails in his ass and the hot pool of his own cum that he had left inside of you. 

���Thank you!” He moaned out. “Thank you, thank you, oh thank you!” 

“You better fucking thank me.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot, and there will not be a sequel or a continuation to it. If you enjoyed it, please comment about the body of work that has been written. If you like my writing style and want to read more about Spencer, definitely check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my other Masterlists to see if something else catches your eye.

[milla984]

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…” 

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

[byersbootyshorts]

Losing Feelings (S.R.)

After Lila kissed him in the pool, Spencer needs help getting over his feelings for her. You help him by giving him everything she never could.

Read part two next

Word Count: 2,291

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: sub!virgin!s1!Spencer, fem!dom!reader, smut, unprotected sex, hand job, praise kink, a ton of pet names, language

we all would've kissed him in that pool let's not lie to ourselves

Spencer was pretty rattled after the whole Lila situation. The entire team had seen him on the front page of a magazine next to the actress being named the ‘Mystery Man’ in her life and they’d teased him for the majority of the flight back to Quantico.

When you finally arrived it was late so most of the team headed straight home to catch up on a few days of sleep. You wanted to follow suit but you’d left some files on your desk before you left for the last case so you quickly went up to the office to grab them.

The elevator dinged and you stepped out into the dark room. Most of the other agents had already gone home, however, you saw the faint glow of a desk lamp shining in the middle of the room. You walked towards the light, your eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness around you. Moving closer to the light you soon realised that it was Spencer, sulking over his desk.

���Hey, you not heading home?” you asked, causing him to lift his head from whatever he was looking at. He took a moment to register who you were and you realised he had no idea you were even there until you spoke.

“I’m just finishing off some stuff,” Spencer mumbled. You leaned over to see what it was he was sulking over and were surprised when you saw not paper work, but that same magazine. He noticed you looking at it and sighed.

“You know we, uh… I kissed her. In the pool,” he stuttered.

“Wow, good for you Reid,” you remarked. “You gonna call her?”

“Eh, I don’t know. I don’t think I should,” he began. “I kept explaining to her about transference and how she probably only liked me because I was there to protect her.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short.” You rest your hip against his desk. “You saved her life. If she’s not head over heels for you after that then she’s not worth your time.”

Spencer sighed, looking down again at the magazine. He bit his lip anxiously.

“Have you ever crossed professional boundaries with a victim?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t,” you replied bluntly.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” he looked up at you with a concerned expression.

“Spence, it’ll be fine,” you reassured him, placing your hand on top of his. He gave you a defeated smile. You smiled back before going back to what you were actually in the office for.

You walked over to your desk and quickly grabbed the files you planned to take home.

“Goodnight,” Spencer said as you passed his desk again, headed towards the elevator.

You were about to reply when you were hit with a sudden sympathy for Spencer.

“Were you planning on getting the train home?” you asked him. He nodded.

“It’s late. Why don’t I give you a ride?”

“Um, yeah, ok. Thanks,” he said, scrambling to pick up his things. He grabbed his bag and rushed towards you.

The ride to Spencer’s apartment building was quiet. Spencer sat staring out the window. The way his leg was bouncing up and down told you that he was still bothered by what had happened on that case.

“Please stop,” you said, placing your hand on his leg to stop it moving.

“What?” he snapped.

“Why are you beating yourself up over this?” you said, pulling into a parking spot outside Spencer’s building. “A hot actress kissed you in her pool and you’re acting like the world just ended. You know, most guys would be over the moon right now.”

“Yeah, but most guys don’t care that it was just a one time thing,” Spencer complained, turning to face you. “I do care. I don’t- I’ve never even- I’m a-,” he stuttered, but you understood what he was trying to say.

“Oh,” you said, not particularly surprised that the man beside you was a virgin.

“I’m just not sure how to make my feelings for her go away,” Spencer groaned.

“Do you want them to go away?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. You lifted your hand from his leg and grabbed his chin between your finger and thumb, pulling him closer.

“Do you want me to make them go away?” you whispered.

“Yes, please,” Spencer gulped.

You slowly closed the gap between the two of you, gently placing your lips on his. You could tell he was inexperienced by the way his body tensed at your touch. But, eventually, he sank into the kiss. You guided his hand to your waist and ran your own hands through his hair.

Breathlessly, Spencer pulled away from you, his lips red and swollen.

“Come up to my apartment, please,” he whined. You nodded, kissing him again quickly before getting out of the car and letting him lead you to his apartment.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked as he opened the door to his bedroom.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. Then his face fell. “Why? Do you not want me?”

“Of course, I do,” you comforted him, grabbing his hand. “Anyone who doesn’t want you obviously has no taste.”

He smiled and this time he initiated the kiss. You began trailing kisses down his jaw, whispering praises against his skin as you went.

“You’re a genius. You’re beautiful. I think about you all the time.”

“You do?” he interrupted you.

“All the time,” you confirmed.

Spencer involuntarily grinded the bulge that had grown in his pants against you, seeking friction. You rubbed it with one hand and cupped his face with the other.

“Need some help with that?” you asked. Spencer nodded eagerly.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it and pulling down his pants. Spencer quickly pulled off his underwear too, desperate to release his aching dick. You smirked, not expecting him to be the size he was.

“Such a pretty cock,” you said, undoing the buttons of Spencer’s shirt and pulling it off his arms. His breathing quickened at the sound of your praise and you didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.

“Go lie down,” you told him. He did as you asked and you followed him to the bed. You sat down beside him and admired his slight figure.

“Morgan’s right to call you pretty boy,” you said, leaning down to kiss his smooth chest. “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

“I, uh-,” he stammered.

“Tell me you’re a pretty boy and I’ll make you feel good,” you said between kisses.

“I’m a pretty boy,” Spencer whined desperately.

“Good boy,” you told him, slowly sliding your hand down his stomach to his dick. You ran your finger up the shaft, just barely touching it. Spencer bit his lip in an attempt to stifle his moans.

“No, don’t do that, baby boy,” you demanded. “I want to hear your pretty voice.”

Instantly, Spencer let out a high pitched whimper.

“That’s it. That’s what I want to hear.”

From his reactions so far you could tell that praise was the best way to turn Spencer on. So, you continued to stroke his dick and shower him in praise.

“You know what? I don’t think you and Lila would’ve worked, even if you lived closer to each other and didn’t have two of the hardest jobs to have a relationship in.”

“Why’s that?” Spencer whispered breathily, furrowing his brows.

You moved your hand to the top of his cock, rubbing the tip with your thumb as you explained.

“Because she’s an actress. They get off on praise.” You profiled her, which Spencer found incredibly attractive. That, combined with your thumb circling his tip caused precum to drip down his dick.

You continued. “If you two were together, she’d be begging for all the praise. But you wouldn’t want that would you?”

Spencer shook his head, eyes tightly shut.

You began to pump your hand up and down his dick, slow at first, but you sped up with every whine that fell through his lips.

His inexperience meant he didn’t last long and soon he was whimpering something you could only assume was his way of saying his was going to cum.

“That’s ok, baby boy,” you said, not slowing the pace of your hand. His dick twitched and his cum shot from it, covering your hand and his stomach.

“Good boy,” you praised, removing your hand from his cock.

He whimpered at the loss of contact but his mood lifted again at the sight of you licking his cum from your fingers.

“You taste so good, angel,” you said as you bent down to lick the rest of the cum of his stomach.

“Did I make you feel good?” you asked him, wiping your mouth.

“Yes, so good,” he croaked, his voice already hoarse.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

Spencer nodded but you weren’t satisfied.

“I want to hear you say it,” you insisted.

“I want you to make me feel good again. I want to make you feel good. I want you to fuck me,” he rambled.

“Ok, pretty boy, ok.”

You got up from the side of the bed and moved to the bottom of it. Quickly, you threw off your clothes and climbed onto the bottom of the bed. You gently kissed Spencer’s thighs, the sensitivity causing him to shudder.

“So beautiful,” you said, wanting to admire every part of his body.

You moved up his body, sitting yourself just below his dick.

“You’re sure about this,” you checked one last time.

“Yes, fuck, please,” he begged.

Aware that he had never done this before, you slowly and carefully slid him inside you.

“Fuck, that’s good, baby boy,” you hummed.

Spencer groaned loudly at the new sensation your pussy created around his cock.

You waited a while for both you and Spencer to get used to that sensation before you began a slow rhythm up and down on him.

“Lila would’ve been too attention seeking for you, sweetheart,” you continued with your mission of trying to make Spencer lose feelings for Lila, even though you were pretty sure you succeeded in that the minute you laid your lips on his.

“You need someone who can give you all the attention. She expects to be treated like a princess. But that’s what you want; to be treated like a princess, right?” you joked.

But, when he answered, “Yes, that’s what I want,” you realised that he didn’t think you were joking.

“Oh, really, princess,” you laughed. “Well, if that’s what you so desire.”

You rolled your hips deeply so Spencer reached parts of you that no one else ever had. You both moaned loudly. You’re hands travelled to his chest for stability. You ran them up and down it gently, every so often gripping his shoulders.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you’re eyes are?” you smiled, brushing the piece of hair that had fallen in his face back behind his ear.

Spencer shook his head, unable to form words as your movements became faster and sloppier. He shut his eyes, a single tear falling from them from overstimulation.

“No, don’t shut them, princess,” you told him, catching on to the whole ‘princess’ thing. “I want to see them, ok?”

Spencer did as he was told and opened his eyes again.

“That’s a good boy.”

You hadn’t been going long but again Spencer began to become that same whimpering mess he was the last time he needed to cum. He looked up at you with pleading eyes. He probably had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

“Do you need to cum?” you asked.

“Sorry, I thought I could last longer this time,” he apologised.

“Don’t you dare ever apologise for that,” you told him off. “Cum for me, princess. I want to see how pretty you look when you’re writhing beneath me.”

You grinded slowly down on him, the absence of speed making Spencer jut up into you, spilling his cum inside you. His movement pushed him even further in, hitting you in just the right spot for you to reach your orgasm too. You tried your best to be quiet, desperate to hear the beautiful noises that came from Spencer’s mouth.

Spencer shook beneath you, not even attempting to hold back his whines. You stroked his face lovingly as you caught your breath.

“Well done, baby boy. You did so good. You made me feel so good.”

All Spencer could do was moan in response, still too overstimulated to speak.

When you finally composed yourself you climbed off Spencer and walked to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” he asked needily.

Within a few seconds you walked out of the bathroom carrying a towel.

“I’m just going to clean you up, Spence,” you replied.

“Oh,” he smiled to himself. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, princess.”

Once you had him all cleaned up you got back into bed. He immediately nuzzled into you.

“Can you stay here tonight?” he asked in the darkness.

“I’m pretty sure the night’s almost over, pretty boy,” you said, hugging his head where he’d placed it on your chest.

You laced your fingers in his, bringing them up to kiss the back of his hand.

“Such pretty hands,” you admired.

“Are you gonna call every part of me pretty?” he laughed.

“Are you opposed to that?” you questioned.

“Not at all.”

“So, what about Lila? Did I help you lose feelings for her,’ you asked, suddenly remembering how you even got into this situation in the first place.

“Yeah, I think you did,” he replied. “There’s just one problem, though.”

“What’s that.” You gave him a concerned look.

“I think I’ve caught feelings for someone else.”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Vienna (S.R.)

*as always, the gif is not indicative of Reader's appearance.

Summary: Spencer is a bona fide 40-year-old virgin. After a few months of dating Reader, he finally decides he wants to change that. Based on "Vienna" by Billy Joel. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, Spencer POV, established relationship loss of virginity, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex Word Count: 3k

MASTERLIST

I’d often wondered whether my preternatural love for autumn was part of why my life had turned out the way it had. As if my love for late-blooming flowers was built into my biology. Something innate in me that carried with it a promise for a lonely youth.

For a long time, I thought my state of waiting might be fated. Eternal celibacy seemed inevitable. As I watched the years pass by, I’d even started to find some comfort in knowing that there was still a part of me left untouched. Something that could be truly mine in a way things so rarely are.

I was resigned to a life filled to the brim with platonic intimacy. It had been a good life; a happy life. I had a family, albeit not in the ordinary sense of the word. But deep within me, in that 21 ounces that pseudoscience claims to constitute a soul, the longing never ceased. It persisted for nearly forty years.

And then I found her.

She walked into my life with little fanfare. Meeting her felt like finding the answer to an impossible equation after lifetimes of searching.

There had never been a dull moment with her. There was never a lapse in the conversation to permit for any awkward misunderstandings.

The first time that she kissed me, it felt nothing like the times before. It was soft and unassuming, like she were a natural extension of myself.

If one must fall into love, she caught me before my brain could even comprehend it was happening. There was no nauseating sunken stomach, no breathless anxiety of whether or not I was making a mistake.

The first night we were alone, she’d held my face in the dim light. I thought then that my lifetime of waiting had finally come to pass.

She’d only needed a moment of vulnerability to read my soul with the highest proficiency.

With an unrivaled tenderness, she’d told me that she had sensed my innocence the first day we met. That night, and every opportunity since, she had assured me that her love was not conditioned on a physical intimacy. Our life would be beautiful regardless of what it looked like, and she saw no need to fuss over something as simple as sex.

Her assurances had been unnecessary. It had hardly been a month before I found myself eager to give away what I’d once held dear.

Even without a faultless memory, I would always remember the first time she touched me without inhibition. I would forever cherish each of the times that I found myself through an exploration of her.

I had always heard the time-old adage, ‘when it’s right, you’ll know,’ and the skeptic in me doubted whether it could be true for someone like me.

But it was. Because that night, I knew. The same as I knew that the sky appears blue when it is closer to violet and that the color of grass depends on a multitude of factors, I knew that my waiting had come to an end.

I knew because it felt right when she walked into my room with faded lipstick and yet another wonderful memory. That quiet moment felt as fated as the first time I met her. That heaviness in my chest lifted when she turned to look at me, as if my soul had finally found its other half.

I approached her without words because they felt so unnecessary. I wrapped my arms around her instead, pulling her back against my chest and reveling in the warmth she provided.

She placed her hands over mine and fell back against me like a weary traveler who’d finally found their way home. I thought to myself that falling in love should always feel that way.

My lips found their way to her neck with a similar familiarity. I littered her with kisses, forever seeking the satisfaction of her sighs. I listened to each full inhale and felt the way her body moved with the breath.

The smell of her perfume would fill my lungs better than oxygen ever could. But as her skin grew feverish, so too did my lips. Chaste pecks turned to open mouthed kisses that were better spent on her.

I pulled away but lingered. I pressed my cheek against her jaw and my breath shook with excitement.

“I don’t want to wait forever,” I whispered into her ear, “I want you.”

She turned her head ever so slightly, pressing our cheeks together until I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. Before my lips could make it, though, she spoke the words I knew to be true but always loved to hear.

“You have me,” she said.

I believed her. I felt my belonging in the literal and metaphorical sense. I lifted a hand and pressed it against her chest to feel the soft thrumming of her heart.

Carefully, and taking the time to linger, my hands began removing her clothing. I took my time in a way I rarely ever did. Because was the kind of masterpiece that needed to be appreciated for every freckle and scar. Each perceived imperfection was nothing but the history of her, the proof of a life well-lived.

Her experience bled through to her behavior when she was bare. Although she still had her bashful moments, it didn’t take much persuading for her to drop her arms and turn to face me.

I stared with my usual awestruck expression. My eyes roamed along with my hands. They ended on either side of her smile, which was broken by laughter.

“Your turn,” she giggled.

My heart threatened to stop. Not because of nerves or insecurity, but because she looked so impossibly beautiful, and she was mine.

Her fingers were delicate but quick to undo my shirt. I wondered how it could be that someone could touch me without my needing to recoil.

I leaned into her touch, only slightly, and I sighed with relief when she finally released the pressure around my waist.

She didn’t take anything off. Instead, she slid her fingers underneath the loosened clothing. She explored skin that was normally hidden with an undeniable affection.

She looked at me much the same.

“We don’t have to do this,” she offered. Her voice was so gentle that scarred skin still broke into goosebumps at the sound of it.

I answered her offer by taking it upon myself to remove my clothing. Each piece that fell to the ground felt like the end of something.

Looking at her felt like a beginning.

Whether it was my fear of inadequacy or just the usual, simple overwhelming love I felt for her, I didn’t let her stare. Instead, I pulled her closer until our bare chests touched. Also between us was the evidence of my desire, burning hot and aching to be held by her.

A shaky breath slipped through her lips before I kissed her. I kissed her again, harder, and more insistent than ever before.

She laughed. I did, too.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in all of creation,” I murmured absentmindedly against her lips.

Still smiling, she grabbed hold of one of my hands before she pulled away from me. At first, I thought she was leading us to the bed. But then she spun around on her foot, displaying the entirety of her naked body for my adoration.

“You’d better take a closer look, then,” she said.

“I could never forget,” I reminded.

She knew that, though. That’s why she tempted me the way she did, so that I would remember perfectly how we looked in that moment.

I would see the motion in her body just before I pushed her back against my bed. I served witness to the way she made herself comfortable in a matter of seconds. Her body writhed with anticipation, her skin a perfect contrast to the sheets beneath her.

She was so beautiful in her vulnerability. I could tell she felt the same simply by the way that she looked at me.

As I climbed atop her, I tried to stop my arms from shaking. Her hand reached up to cup my cheek. I nearly fell limp in her embrace. I stumbled forward still, falling onto my forearm so that I could free a hand to feel her.

My hand slid between her open legs at the same time she reached between us. Her fingers felt scorching around the base of me. I imagine mine felt equally paralyzing as they dipped between slick folds.

We groaned in tandem at the sensation. The anticipation heightened with our quickened breath. She was already practically sobbing as I dragged my fingers down warm walls and imagined once more what it would feel like to be welcomed into her fullest embrace.

I was surprised to find how much her hand fumbled, how unpracticed she seemed when faced with my ultimate submission.

Dare I say, she almost seemed nervous. Yet I would never be anywhere near dissatisfaction. I was quite the opposite, already aching for the release that only she could give me.

“Do you want to do this?”

I was surprised to hear the question uttered in my own voice.

But I was so happy to hear her answer, “Yes.”

Then, with a lovesick smile that would always seem too good to be true, she teased, “I’m ready when you are.” 

I returned it with a taunt of my own. I withdrew my fingers and spread the remnants of her desire over her heat.

“I can tell.”

Like always, she accepted it with grace, and her own clever retort.

“I guess there really is something to that genius thing after all.”

But when the jokes were over, I was lost in the wonder once more. My whole body felt aflame with lust and lover for her the very moment that her legs fell further open.

I looked down at the way her chest heaved and her stomach tensed. Her back was arching like every part of her sought closeness.

As if her body had been begging: I love you, let me shelter you.

She must have seen how foreign the feeling was to me, because as soon as I felt the familiar warmth of tears gathering in my eyes, her grip turned gentle. One leg hooked around my waist and pulled me closer until I could feel the velvety slickness against the head of my cock.

“How about I help you with this part?” she offered.

I lowered my hand to join hers before I replied, “Together.”

“Together,” she promised.

True to her word, she helped guide me to her entrance before her hand slipped away. It found me again shortly thereafter when both of her arms were thrown around my shoulders.

I pushed forward to find a slight resistance. My breath caught in my throat, my whole body halting without any command.

“Keep going,” she said breathlessly, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I explained.

She silenced any further protest by rooting her hands in my hair and pulling me in for a kiss. My hips fell forward from the momentum, sinking a few more inches into the blinding, blissful heat of her.

I tried to accommodate the feeling of her the same way her body tried to make room for me. Each twitch of my cock was returned with her walls closing in on me. Every one of her limbs begged for more of me, and I wanted so badly to give it.

But I was still bashful, still frightened by the possibility of hurting her somehow.

She ended the kiss prematurely. Before she could speak, she whimpered. Her eyes opened to reveal mirrors into myself. A vulnerability, a belonging beyond the physical.

Her body begged me, and I answered. I pressed forward, sinking into her inch by inch until there was nothing more to give. I reveled in the soft sounds of her pleasure, the way her whimpers turned to wanton moans.

“I love you through infinity,” I whispered against her lips.

“I love you, too,” she returned dreamily.

Her body was pulsing around me with a burning heat and unrivaled softness. I felt the shelter of her, the vulnerability of her embrace. There was no greater reward than the knowing that she allowed me, begged for me to claim the empty space in her body.

“You are…”

I struggled to find the words to explain the thought.

She found them for me.

“Yours,” she slurred, “I’m yours, Spencer.”

My hips moved without thought. They bucked forward and caused moans to spill from both our lips.

I became greedy quickly. I desperately sought to hear her again, to experience again the novel wonder that was her body. I pulled my hips back and focused on the way her walls clenched tighter, begging me to stay.

I returned to them immediately. I thrusted forward, faster than before and with enough force to set her body in motion.

Her mouth was open, alternating between simple, wonderful sounds and a lack of them altogether. The twisted tension, the unmuted pleasure of half-lidded eyes and flushed lips, it made me realize how badly I’d craved this experience all my life.

Again, my hips crashed into hers. I fucked her harder and took pride in the way her nails dug into my skin. I wanted her to claim me with the same animalistic nature that I displayed.

“I’ve waited my whole life for you,” I told her between brutal thrusts.

Like always, she understood the meaning behind the words. She could feel the decades of yearning with every motion. Each time that I bottomed out inside her, she would praise me, worship me, love me.

I didn’t expect her to respond with anything more than her body. It spoke so eloquently. Her back arched and her nails dragged down my shoulders as she struggled to keep hold.

To relieve her of the need, I straightened my back and sat up. With both hands, I pulled her hips up to meet mine.

“Fuck!” she squeaked.

I understood what she’d meant. The new angle felt entirely different, impossibly better than the one from mere seconds before.

“Are you alright?” I asked, anyway.

“Yes,” she said with a quick nod, “Yes, you’re perfect.”

My long dormant ego swelled at the praise. It turned my lips into a smirk and made my hands pull her even closer.

I watched with rapt attention as I pulled out of her. It seemed so intimate—was so intimate—that I couldn’t break away. Fascinated by the way her body accepted me, I continued to watch where we joined as I pulled her hips back to me. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” I groaned.

So elegant, so submissive and pliant as I filled her with the full length of my desire.

“You do, too,” she giggled.

I looked up to see her, and, immediately, I missed her. Without even taking the time to readjust her hips, I moved forward until our lips met.

She gasped at the pleasurable pain when I found a new depth of her. She swallowed my moans the same way her heat accepted me.

It was all so new, so overwhelming and invigorating that I couldn’t stop myself. My movements became sloppy and insistent. Her body folded beneath mine at the same time her arms fell on the bed. She gripped the sheets with a vengeance.

Open and wanting, her chest heaved, and her small voice managed to call my name.

“Do it, Spencer,” she pleaded with her everything, “Come for me.”

Without a single hesitation, I did. Unaware of how close I’d even come; I gave one more unrelenting thrust before I was hit with a truly staggering wave of pleasure.

As I emptied myself inside of her, the warmth pooled around what was an already burning heat. Each pulse came with bucking hips. Every time, her body tightened around me and prolonged the pleasure.

“I love you,” I chanted while the world felt far away.

She had never felt closer.

“I love you,” we said together just as I fell limp in her arms.

Breathless and with fast-beating hearts, I melted into her embrace without regret. I felt the sticky warmth as it filled every particle that remained between our joined bodies.

It was the most heavenly bliss, to feel so thoroughly loved.

Yet she was the one to say it first.

“Thank you,” she slurred.

“It was my pleasure,” I chuckled back. I’d meant it literally and in the traditional, colloquial sense.

The kindness continued when she was finally able to move again. She didn’t go far. Instead, she wrapped lazy arms around me and tilted her head back so that I could nuzzle further against her shoulder.

“Was it worth the wait?” she asked cheekily.

But I noticed the way her voice still shook. She would blame the exhaustion, but I could tell that she was nervous.

There was no reason for her to be. Regret was the furthest thing from my thoughts.

“Yes, it was,” I assured her.

Then, because she deserved to hear it and because it was the undeniable truth, I explained, “It had to be you. It would have always been you.”

“Are you saying I was meant to be yours?” she giggled.

“No,” I corrected with a smile, “I’m saying I was meant to be yours.”

“Split the difference?” she offered.

“Not a chance,” I scoffed.

“Fine,” she sighed happily. “I guess you’re mine.”

And I took comfort in knowing that everything was finally, exactly how it was meant to be.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

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Thanks for reading!

[multifandomlover01]

The Seduction of One Spencer Reid

For cmkinkbingo2024

Square filled: Virginity/Celibacy

Season 1!Spencer Reid x reader (not afab specific?)

WC: 2654

Warnings: 18+ MDNI - sexual themes - sexualization of virginity, sxualization of Spencer, sexualization of Spencer’s virginity, discussion of virginity (and later sex is discussed), flirting (including touching), attempt to seduce him (which is successful), maybe reader is a little too pushy, Spencer may be a bit uncomfortable, naked people touching, kissing each other

Summary: reader suspects Spencer is a virgin and seeks to be the first woman who beds him

Gif cred: heartsloving

(Gif accurate to season 1 timeline placement)

Spencer had to be a virgin. He just had to be (or at least that’s what you figured). Sure, he probably knew about sex, he read so much it was impossible for him to know nothing. But you doubted that he had any actual sexual experience so far.

The poor bastard was cursed with being painfully pretty but also just as painfully shy. He couldn’t flirt successfully with a girl if his life depended on it. Luckily for him and for you…he didn’t have to. You’d already set your sights on him. All you had to do was seduce him (something you were expecting was not going to be very hard to do).

One day, you wore a blouse that accentuated your breasts and unbuttoned a couple of buttons. You also wore a bra that covered your breasts (less) at a lower point than the ones you usually did. You also wore slacks that fit you just right.

You were usually fairly modest or conservative in your work wear (as that’s what was expected of you). You hoped Hotch or Gideon (or Morgan) would not say anything about it. You wore this for Spencer and Spencer alone. You had been very subtly flirting with him up until this point. You didn’t want to scare him off so you knew you couldn’t do too much. All you’d done so far was smile at him a lot, listen intently and engage with him even more so than usual when he rambled.

You could tell he liked you. You were nice and kind to him. You listened to him when he talked, you complimented him. You two naturally got along very well. So knowing he already liked you, you knew the blouse and slacks would catch his attention.

And indeed they did. As soon as you walked into the bullpen, his eyes lifted from his desk to look at you. He immediately averted his gaze before glancing back at you every so often. You made sure to deny him your attention right now as you made your way to your desk. But you could tell from your peripheral vision that his eyes stayed on you.

You smirked slightly as you sat down at your desk. Tomorrow, you thought, you’d wear a skirt or maybe even a dress. That would really get to him.

In the kitchen area getting coffee, he noticeably stiffens when you slide up next to him. He does not meet your eyes as you reach for your mug in the cabinet. He is looking down at his own, trying not to stare.

“Good morning.” You greet him with a smile as you go to make your cup of coffee (he’d already made his and was putting sugar in it).

“M-Morning.” He smiled back as he nodded.

“You have enough sugar there?” You chuckle as you point to his mug.

“What? Oh!” He looks down. He’d been so distracted by you that he’d put way too much in (even more than he usually did).

“How are you this morning?” You ask as you take the sugar from him to use yourself. Your fingers brush against his hand as you take it from him. If his cheeks were tinged pink before, they were definitely flushed now. You think he looks very cute.

He hasn’t answered your question yet. He’d just been staring dumbfounded at you. His gaze drifts from your face to your neck and finally to your chest. You aren’t showing a whole lot of cleavage but it’s definitely more than you usually show. And it’s absolutely having the desired effect.

“Spencer.” You say in a sing-song voice. “Are you gonna answer my question?”

“I’m sorry, what?” He blinks a few times as he refocused on your eyes. Which he’d gotten lost in more than once so maybe trying to focus on them wasn’t the best idea.

“I asked you a question. You haven’t answered it.” You smile as you tilt your head.

“Oh I uh um…I’m sorry. Wh-what was the question?”

“I asked you how you were this morning.”

“Oh um…good. I’m good.” He smiles and nods.

“Yeah? That’s good.” You smile back at him. “You look a little flushed. Are you feeling ok?”

“Hmm? Oh uh y-yeah…I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You take a step forward.

He takes a step back. You take another step forward. He takes another step back but hits the wall.

“I just wanna check your forehead, silly. What’re you running away from, hmm?” You tease lightly as you grasp his wrist lightly in one hand while you raise your other hand to his forehead, feeling it and then his cheeks.

“Why…you are a bit warm. Are you sure you’re feeling well?” You ask, slightly feigning concern as you squeeze his wrist a bit, caress his cheek with the back of your hand and press him into the wall just a bit.

He nods. “Um…mhm. I’m sure.” He says softly as he looks into your eyes, his voice wavering a bit. He’s trying to see why you’re acting the way you are. After all, you’ve never gotten…this close to him before. He’s sure you can hear his heart thumping in his chest (your chest is practically pressed against him). He knows you can feel how warm he is and he wonders if you can also feel the thin layer of sweat that’s appeared on his face and neck.

You lean in just a bit closer to him. “You’re sweating too.” You whisper softly.

“I-I’m fine, I swear!” He stammers.

“I don’t think you are. You’ve either got a fever or a woman you’re not related to has never been this close to you before.”

“What? I’ve uh I’ve been close to…to a woman before.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“No.” You shake your head. “You haven’t.”

“Yes I have.” He insists.

“If you had…you wouldn’t be so flushed and sweating. If you feel fine and have no fever…are you nervous, then? Having a woman so close to you? Does it excite you?” You raise a hand and trail a finger down his nose, tapping it once you get to the end.

“I…I don’t really think this is the right place for this.” His gaze was on your hand before it flirts back to your eyes.

“But you like it? Me being this close to you?” You look back into his eyes, voice still soft.

He nods. “Mhm…I do. A…A lot, actually.”

“Good. Now…how would you feel if I wore a maxi skirt or a dress tomorrow, hmm?”

“Oh, I’d…I’d love that.” He chuckles, smiling. “You’re gonna look so…so um…beautiful. N-not that you don’t now or that you don’t always because you definitely do.”

“You think that I’d ever think you’d think I was ugly? You’re far too much of a gentleman to think that about a female coworker. You definitely wouldn’t say it even if you thought it.”

“I…I don’t think it. I think…that you’re…very beautiful and I really can’t believe that you’re um…so close to me.”

“Yeah? You think I’m beautiful.”

“Very.”

“How does it feel to have a very beautiful woman so close to you, Spencer?” You whisper, your warm breath fanning across his face.

“Exciting…like you said. E-Especially considering we’re at work. I never understood the thrill of doing things in public that I’ve heard and read people have but now I uh I think I get it.”

“You silly goose…I’m not going to do anything to you here. That comes later.” You wink at him.

“L-Later?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Wh-what comes…later?”

“Don’t you know…genius?” You tease lightly. “Don’t you read?”

“Of course I read. I just…you can’t be…implying what I think you’re implying.”

“Oh? Why can’t I?”

He looks into your eyes for a few seconds and sees that you’re sincere.

“You’d really want…that with me?”

“Of course I would. You’re kind, sweet, handsome. Why wouldn’t I want to do that with you?” You raise a hand again to trail a finger over his cheek.

“Well it’s just I uh I’ve never…” he trails off as he averts his gaze.

“Never…what?”

“Never…you know…”

“You’ve never…been with a woman before?”

“No. I haven’t. My teen years were not spent amongst people of my age.”

“You were amongst people older than you.”

“A 12 year old amongst 16, 17, and 18 year olds isn’t the best environment for a healthy sexual development.”

“And a 14 year old amongst college aged students didn’t help either, I’m guessing.”

“No. It didn’t. I’m 24 now, a working adult and still I’ve never…” he frowns.

“Hey, that’s ok.” You caress his cheek with the back of your hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I promise.”

“Really?” His eyes started to water slightly.

“Yes, really. When do you think I lost mine, hmm?”

“Oh I uh I dunno. That seems…rude to speculate about.”

You chuckle. “You’re sweet. But I’m asking you now. It’s ok to answer.” You assure him.

“Well…based on the average…17?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Younger?” His eyebrows lift.

You chuckle again. “No. Older.”

“18?” He ups it one year.

“No.” You shake your head.

“21?” He ups it two years.

“No again.” You smile.

“When, then?”

“When I was 24.”

“Really?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Wow…I would’ve guessed sooner.”

“Oh? Why is that?” You tilt your head.

“Well it’s just…you’re such a beautiful woman, I would’ve thought that you’d have lost it earlier.”

“Well I didn’t.” You shrug.

“May I ask…why?”

“Maybe I was just waiting for the right time…the right guy.”

“And was it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It wasn’t, unfortunately. I’m still waiting for that special someone. Because he most certainly wasn’t it.”

“Oh…well I’m sorry. You um…you deserve someone who appreciates you and will treat you right.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“That’s a good point. Everyone does. But my point was…that I’d treat you right.”

“I know that, love.” You caress his cheek with the backs of two of your fingers.

“I’ve never really been in a relationship with a woman before but…I’d be honored if I was able to be with you.”

“Do you want to be?” You ask curiously.

He swallowed thickly. “Honestly? Yes. I’ve thought about…what it would be like…to be with you.”

“Really? You have?” You smile at him.

“Yes.” He nods. “Is that…weird?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t think so. I’ve thought the same, actually.”

“Really? You have?” He smiles back at you.

“Mhm.” You nod. “I have.”

“So…you’d entertain the thought of being with me?”

“I’ll do more than that.”

“Even if I’m not…experienced.”

“Especially because you’re inexperienced. I want to be your first. I want to see you experience pleasure by a woman’s hand for the first time. I want it to be by my hand.”

“Oh…I’d love that very much. Thank you.” He chuckled softly as he smiled.

“Don’t worry…you’ll be in very capable hands, dear.”

“I…don’t doubt that.”

“So…you’ll let me be your first?”

“Absolutely.” His eyes sparkle with affection.

-

And so that’s how you found yourself naked on Spencer’s bed with his hands on your waist. He was holding you so gently. It makes you chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so scared. I’m not going to break very easily.” You smile at him.

“I know that. But I just think that my first time with a woman should be…gentle.”

“I shouldn’t expect anything else from you, I suppose.” You raise a hand to touch his cheek with the back of it.

“Is that…disappointing?”

“Just because something is predictable, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s disappointing.” You caress his cheek with the back of your hand. “Sometimes you’re disappointed if what you expect to happen doesn’t.”

“And what do you expect to happen?” He asks you softly.

“Sex.” You shrug.

“But what if I’m…bad?”

“You won’t be. I promise. My only expectation is that you be you. After all…you don’t know how to be anyone else, right? Nor should you feel the need to be.”

“So I just have to…be myself?”

“That’s all. I promise.”

“Ok…good. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Good. That was the intention. You don’t need to be so nervous, ok? I promise that you are enough as you are.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“So um…what do we do now?”

“Well…” your hands run up his chest. “Now…we make love to each other. Now you get to feel a woman touch you…intimately…for the very first time.”

Your hands run over his neck.

“Oh yes please. I’d like that very much.”

“Alright then, hon.”

You lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled softly. “Oh…”

You continue to press soft kisses to his face. “Mmm…you like that, Spence?”

“I love it. You’re being…so sweet.”

“What’d you expect? That I’d immediately jump on you in a frenzied act of passion?” You chuckle.

“I dunno…maybe…” He murmurs.

“Have you been reading too many shitty romance novels, perhaps? Those things aren’t realistic in the slightest. You have to take your time, go slow. Trust me. It lets things build up.”

“I don’t think…that I’ll need very much build up.” He murmurs.

“Hey. That’s ok. As long as it’s enjoyable for the both of us. Oh, that’s another thing…don’t worry too much about well um…getting each other off, ok? That’s not the most important thing, you know.”

“But I thought…that was the goal.” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“You wanna know a secret?” You whisper softly, your warm breath fanning against his face.

He nods. “Anything that would help me understand.”

“The goal should be connecting and bonding with your partner.”

He contemplates this. “I suppose…that that makes sense. Chemicals and hormones produced and released during sex can help bring about a sense of connection.”

“See? The science backs that up. While orgasms definitely can contribute to that feeling of connection…for your first time, I think it would be best to just focus on doing what makes each other feel good. I know that brilliant brain of yours will latch very hard onto the idea of giving me an orgasm and it could ruin the experience for us. I want your first time to be stress free.”

“Thank you…I really appreciate how…considerate you’re being.” He smiles.

“Mhm…now…how about we stop talking and start kissing.”

“I think that I’d like that very much.”

You press your lips to his, applying a bit of pressure but not too much so it wasn’t overwhelming to him. Even if you wanted to devour him, you needed to contain yourself. You needed to be considerate. You really did care about him and about making his first time a memorable one.

He presses into the kiss, his hands brushing up your waist, feeling the soft skin there. He had to contain himself as well. He wanted to explore every inch of your body. But he had to go slow. He didn’t want to ruin things by going too fast.

Your fingers grip his hair at the back of his neck. This causes him to shudder and whimper slightly. Your lips part slightly and your tongue pokes at the seam of his lips. He parts his lips and allows your tongue to enter his mouth and brush against his tongue.

Spencer would’ve thought that he’d be disgusted by having another person’s mouth on his like this…by having another person’s tongue pressed against his but his lustful need to feel you supersedes his aversion to such intimacy. He craves it. He craves you.

His hands grasp your sides. A moan from him is muffled by your mouth on his. The kiss breaks and you are both breathless (him more than you).

“Please…I need…more…” He rasps, his hot breath fanning against your lips.

“And you’ll get more…so much more, hon.” You thread your fingers through his hair. “Are you ready to lie with a woman for the first time?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“We…are going to have so much fun.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part one part two part three

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you���d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

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[ihavemanyhusbands]

Let Me See You (SMUT 18+)

(Virgin!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Spencer and you have been together for a couple of weeks, keeping things chaste. Until one day, he asks to see all of you.

WC: 2.1k words

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), nudity obviously, virgin spencer doing his explorations, fingering, use of the c word, lmk if I'm missing anything!

A/N: I think this is part one of a two part mini-series of Virgin!Spencer. So this is around like season 1/2. Hope you enjoy!! :D

You could read him like a book at this point. 

His brows would furrow and his nose would scrunch up a little when he was lost in thought. His lack of eye contact and the firm set of his mouth when he was uncomfortable. The way the muscle of his jaw ticked whenever he was about to kiss you, still nervous.

You and Spencer Reid had been dating for a couple of weeks now, but you’d had eyes only for him for longer than that. Really, it was hard not to become enamored, even at first sight.

He was cut from the finest marble, so beautiful he could be in a museum. He had a long, elegant neck and a chiseled, perfect jaw. High cheekbones and a fine nose, doe-eyed and full lipped. If there were a temple erected for him, you’d be a devout follower.

Of course, you were surprised — but over the moon — when he showed interest in you. He himself was surprised to find out you were into him, not having read the signs, even if you thought you were incredibly obvious.

He was shy, so sometimes it was up to you to make the first move. Morgan and some of his other team members also had to nudge him in the right direction, since he wasn’t always sure what to do. 

There were a lot of things he was experiencing for the first time with you, so you were more than fine with taking things slow. The two of you hadn’t done much beyond kissing — the subject of sex hadn’t even been broached, really — but every time he seemed to get a little bit bolder. 

Until one day, when the two of you were reading together in the living room, he said. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Spence,” you answered absently, running your fingers through his hair.

His head was on your lap, which was his favorite spot to rest it on, so you knew it was something serious when he suddenly sat up. He cleared his throat, gazing down at his long fingers drumming on his legs.

You tilted your head to one side curiously, unsure of why he was nervous. 

“I-I’ve just been thinking a lot and…I wasn’t really sure how to bring this up, but as you can see, I’ve been trying to gather the courage…” he licked his lips, letting out an awkward chuckle. 

“It’s okay, honey, you can tell me,” you coaxed with a small smile.

“I, um, I was wondering if I… could see you,” he finally looked at you, his eyes wide and earnest.

“See me?” You frowned.

He nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes flicked down your body and then back to your face. “Like, all of you…”

“Oh,” your eyes widened a little in realization. 

You’d spent a lot of time looking at him — always clothed, of course — but the idea that he wanted to gaze upon you, utterly bared and exposed, was suddenly kind of frightening. Would he like what he saw? What if he changed his mind about you?

He could read the panic in your face, so he took your hands in his in an attempt to calm you. “We-we don’t have to, it was just a thought. I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

You let go of one of his hands to tuck a strand of his honey brown hair behind his ear, moving to cup his cheek. He brought your free hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, and you melted a little.

He was so sweet, so considerate, that some of your fears dissipated. Spencer always knew how to make you feel safe, and you trusted his word implicitly. You wanted to give him anything he wanted, nerves be damned.

“Yes, you can,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “Under one condition.”

“What’s that?” He breathed.

“You have to undress me yourself.”

You smirked, internally combusting at how cute he looked blushing so fiercely. He seemed entirely stunned for a moment, hand squeezing yours.

“Think you can handle that?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said all too quickly, licking his lips.

So you stood up, his hand still in yours, and led him to his bedroom, where the light was softer, almost dreamlike. You let go and turned to face him, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted sheepishly.

“How about a kiss?” You prompted, taking a step forward and tilting your head back in anticipation.

He closed the distance between the two of you, hands cupping your face as he dipped down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss, one that seemed very tentative. But when your tongue traced his bottom lip, he opened his mouth to grant you access, a low moan escaping him in the process. Your tongue tangled with his and you felt his hands slide down from your face to your shoulders.

Ever so slowly, he slid your sweater down your arms, his fingers barely grazing your skin. You shuddered at the small contact, breaking away from his lips to pepper kisses along his jaw. You reached that spot you knew he liked, right behind his ear, and it was his time to shudder, his breath hitching.

He straightened a little in order to look at you, eyes glazed over with lust, his pupils blown wide. His lips were a little puffier from the kiss, cheeks pink. He looked like an angel at that moment. 

“May I?” Spencer gestured to your thin blouse, fingers close to the hem already. 

You nodded, lifting your arms to help him out. Once it was off, his eyes were fixed on your heaving chest. They trailed the swell of your breasts, still encased in a lacy pink bra. His nostrils flared as he let out a long sigh. His hands fisted at his sides, like he was holding himself back. 

“Do you want to touch me, Spence?” You asked breathlessly.

“More than anything,” he admitted. “But I-I just want to admire you first.”

Admire. He said it like you were something to revere and marvel at. Like you were his own piece of art. You felt warmth spread throughout you, pooling in your belly and lower.

Your pants came off next, with you lifting each leg to step out of them. Your matching panties — which were nothing too outlandish, made of cotton and lace with a little bow at the front — almost made him fall to his knees. 

“Almost there,” you teased, biting your lower lip.

“It’s like unwrapping a present,” he let out a nervous little chuckle, which made you smile and playfully roll your eyes.

Next thing you knew, he stepped closer and reached around you, hands shaking as he unclasped your bra. It fell unceremoniously to the floor. This time he actually kneeled in front of you as he slid your underwear off of you at a snail’s pace.

And so you were bare, with him looking up at you completely awestruck. You reached down to caress his cheek tenderly, your heart thundering your chest. He shifted a little, and your eyes trailed downward to see a prominent bulge in his pants.

“Y-you’re beautiful,” he stuttered. “Utterly breathtaking.”

“Touch me,” you pleaded in a whisper, unable to take it any longer. 

He didn’t hesitate to comply. He started with your calves, his touch featherlike against your burning skin. He traced the little scar above your knee you got as a child learning how to ride a bike. Then he started the journey upward inside your thighs, moving outward as he got close to an especially sensitive spot. 

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or if he was truly biding his time. Either way, what sweet torture. Especially as he planted a soft kiss just below your belly button, causing you to gasp.

“Your skin is so soft,” He sighed, already in too deep.

He stood, immediately dipping down to capture your lips in an insistent kiss. He surprised you by taking the lead, pressing you tight to his woefully clothed body. You wished you could feel his skin against yours, but that would have to wait for the time being. You could feel his erection against your stomach, demanding attention. But Spencer seemed to only want to focus on exploring you, finding pleasure in it.

Almost involuntarily, you rubbed your thighs together, seeking friction to ease your aching. He moved to kiss the corner of your lips, trailing his lips down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. You clasped his arms for dear life, eyes fluttering closed as you got lost in the sensation of his mouth.

“I like these,” he rasped, noticing those three small beauty marks on your breasts, which were aligned in a crude, lineless triangle. “Like a constellation.”

You ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small whimper as he bent to kiss the skin there. Then another one on your sternum, just between your breasts. It was then he noticed that your nipples were two hard peaks, also in need of attention. 

“Are these sensitive?” He asked, and you answered his question with a hiss as he brushed his thumb over one of them.

“Don’t be a tease!” You whined, pushing your chest forward.

“S-sorry baby, I’m not trying to tease,” he promised, hands finally cupping your breasts.

He gently squeezed them, utterly captivated. You could tell by the way he licked his lips that he wanted to put his mouth on them. So, you reached up to weave your fingers into his hair and brought his head down. He kneeled once more and eagerly, he captured one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it.

Pleasure seized you, the look on your face almost rapturous. But still, like the greedy creature you were, you took hold of one of his hands and brought it down to the molten heat of your cunt. In his sharp intake of breath, his teeth lightly grazed your sensitive skin. Your hips bucked against his hand, coating his fingers in your arousal.

“Y-you’re so wet, and-and so warm,” he sighed, almost in disbelief. “Can I keep touching you here?”

You nodded enthusiastically, unable to utter a word. His fingers continued to explore, beginning to familiarize himself with the silken feeling of you. His mouth latched on to your other breast, free hand gliding up past your ribs to cup the other one.

When his fingers reached your clit, he tentatively applied some pressure and began to stroke it in slow circles. “Does that feel good?” He asked, gazing up at you once more.

You gripped his shoulders with a shuddery moan. “You’ve been doing r-research or something?” 

He blushed, smiling demurely. “Maybe…”

You wanted to chuckle, not entirely surprised at this, but your amusement melted away as he continued his ministrations. He needed only to look at the expression on your face to know that you were beginning to get close to your peak. In that moment, in his mind, there would be no greater form of worship than to have you unravel at his mercy.

“Can I… make you cum?” he asked, unused to using such crude language.

Once more, you nodded, hips already bucking. He used your movements to his advantage, his fingers easily gliding through your folds. With his palm, he applied some more pressure to your clit as the tip of one of his fingers teased your entrance. He captured one of your nipples, using his teeth once more, just as his middle finger fully sank in. Your movements became rushed and sloppy, chasing your high.

Until suddenly, the tight coil in your stomach unraveled, and you became a pillar of flame. Your mouth went slack, your body rigid and jerking, eyes rolling to the back of your head. His name fell from your lips like a soft prayer. Spencer’s free hand held your hip tightly, keeping you anchored as you rode out your orgasm.

Mere moments later, you collapsed on the bed, panting heavily, pulling him down with you. He kissed your temple, gazing adoringly at your flushed features. You noticed there was a wet stain in his pants, which he looked embarrassed about, but you caressed his face tenderly. 

“It’s okay, darling mine,” you assured him, and his features softened some. “Next time, if you let me, I’ll take care of you. I want you to feel good, too…”

And that was a promise you intended to keep.

[mggsv]

hey!! could I request smut with gnc reader (afab) and spencer? basically it’s the reader’s first time bc they’ve had lots of dysphoria in the past and spencer is just super gentle and loving but also gets dirty af as they get into it! and reader has a praise kink!

thank youuu!! :):)

His green sweater

afab!reader x spencer reid (18+)

warnings: first time!, talks of body discomfort and dysphoria, talks of past sex acts, slight aggressive spencer, eventual smut, praise, oral (reader receiving), sassy reid (inappropriate words)

“I can’t- fucking breathe Spence.” you grunt, taking the binder off. You throw it at your lover huffing as you stood naked in front of his equally naked body.

He frowns, nervous hands itching towards his thighs. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable baby..” You shake your head, taking a small breather. “I’m fine i just- it’s different than..usual.” you swallow and move to cover your chest. You felt yourself sinking into a small headspace, feeling self conscious. “Baby..?” You hear Spencer’s soft voice call out to you. “Spence i’m fine-“

“You’re not.” He was closer now, you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. His nervous hands touched your bare shoulders making you shudder as he pulled you into his embrace. “You’re..very beautiful. I want to do this but only if you’re comfortable with it.” He murmurs, kissing the side of your head. Still you kept your eyes closed, arms tightly shielding your chest.

You feel Spencer pull away, followed by something being pulled over your head. Warm and slightly fuzzy on the inside. “Slide your arms in, i won’t look okay?” he says. You peel your eyes open to see green. A sweater. You pull it over the rest of your top half seeing that it stops right above your sex. “Spence?” you look down at the green sweater in confusion. He turns back around and smiles. “I uh- i figured that since you’ve had your daily limit of the binder that something else could keep its place for a while. I remember you used to always wear sweaters when we first met.” He opened his arms out for you, but you only stared at him with wide eyes. His green sweater- He made sure you’re comfortable. Fuck you loved Spencer Reid so much.

“Okay..i’m fine.” you cough and let him pull you into his arms, straddling his lap. “Let’s uh, let’s have sex..? How do i-“ he chuckles and kisses your nose. You shy away in embarrassment. It was already a disaster. You don’t know how to ask for sex. You’ve done..things with Spencer but it was never the big stuff, so when he laid you down and spread your legs the only thing going through your mind was how much would go inside of you.

He kissed your thighs lovingly, staring up at you with his eyes low. He hummed softly, tongue darting out to lick after every kiss. You squeezed your hole as he got closer and closer to your wet sex. “You’re absolutely beautiful baby.” He breathes, taking in sight of you. You were flushed, legs open and wet with Spencer’s tongue. That sweater however, stayed where it was and you were all the more comfortable. “So beautiful..god what am i gonna do with you?” He whispers, making you whimper. Your legs shifted to close but he placed a hand on your inner thigh. His thumb rubs over your sex slowly, picking up on just how wet you were. “Fuck..” he breathes.

You stared half lid at the ceiling, back slightly arching as his finger slipped inside of you. It went in with ease, Spencer’s fingered you before… “Spence..” you moan, “more please.” He pressed deep into your sex, another finger slipping in to stretch you. Spencer watched your lips part as another moan slipped out. You shuddered at the feeling of his fingers pressing that spot deep inside of you, it went even further at the thought of his thick cock filling you..and pressing it instead. You could feel yourself squeezing around Spencer’s fingers, but that didn’t stop him from adding another. “So beautiful..” he whispers. You groan softly, hand clutching the hem of his green sweater.

Spencer’s other hand finds your sensitive bud, giving it a few strokes before his tongue is on you. “Shit-“ you gasp. He lapped at your wet cunt while his fingers fucked you open. “You’re going to take me so well, i just know it.” He hums, taking your bud between his lips to suck while his fingers fucked you faster. “Spence..” you moan, feeling your stomach warm. You shudder, trying to close your legs. “I’ll cum please-“

“Cum for me then.” He raises a brow at you, though you couldn’t see it. It made you smack his head in return. Your eyes rolled slightly, back arching even more as he tried to hold you down and eat you just the way you liked. “i’m..” you whimper, hips twitching as you came. He pulls his fingers out, but he kept devouring you. Your legs shook just a bit, his tongue flicking over your sensitive bud.

“Do you..want to continue?” He says softly to you. Spencer hovers above your body (not before licking his fingers clean however). His hair fanned over your face. You make out his concerned eyes and smile. “Mhm..” you reach up to bring his face down to kiss his lips.

It wasn’t long before Spencer had you beneath him. The way he whispered praises into your ear, taking him inch by inch felt like a fever dream.

“Big-“ you gasp, hand scratching at Spencer’s back as his cock slid into you. Your legs were around his waist as he held you in his arms best he could. Spencer fucked into you slowly, not even going in all the way. You didn’t miss how sweetly he whispered to you- how he talked your through it. How he held your hand..how he kissed your tears away.

“You’re doing such a good job baby.” He coos, “So good..taking me like this.” You feel your hips beginning to rock with his, your hole relaxing against his cock. You moan as he slips further inside of you, hands finding anything to hold on to- scratching his back, pulling his hair- anything, to hold onto while he fucked you.

[tjwritesfanfics]

I adore virgin spencer

MORE VIRGIN SPENCERRRRR

from the start | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's a nervous mess in your bed, but you like it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: puppy bf!spencer, virgin!spencer, early seasons!spencer, hookup, friends with benefits(?), dominant fem!reader, gratuitous use of petnames (baby, darling, etc. but it wouldn't be a minnie special without petnames), praise kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

a/n: a weird dream of mine turned into a spencer self-insert (jk) so I wrote 1.7k words just to fuel my delusion. this is also a little birthday gift from me to all of you! i've hit 1000 followers (!!!!) on this little spencer blog of mine and i am so so grateful so the only thing i can do is write spencer smut to celebrate! also this lovely anon asked for virgin spencer and I literally cannot refuse (also crossposted to ao3)

You aren’t complaining, ending up in bed with Spencer Reid again. 

You’d met at a bar, the usually shy genius (according to his friends) coming out of his shell to talk to you, and it had ended in a couple of drinks and you making out with him against the wall in the back of the bar. 

You’d brought him home, fully expecting to fuck him. You’d gotten him into your bed when he’d confessed he’d never done anything like this before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him you could tell. Instead, you’d given him a blowjob before he fell asleep in your bed after a long week on a case. The next morning he’d bashfully woken up to breakfast, and a promise that you’d like to see him again.

“It’ll be less intimidating like this,” you pet his cheek softly, before you turn over onto your hands and knees. You notice that Spencer doesn’t move, so you turn your head to look at him. 

Spencer frowns. “I thought– I wanted to see your face.”

“You’re sweet, darling,” you chuckle. “Come on. I promise this will be easier on you for your first time. You know what to do?” 

Spencer hums, his eyes shyly looking to your rear now. You’re on display for him, thick thighs framing the wetness of your pussy. You know he can’t take his eyes off you, his inexperience obvious and extremely arousing.

Spencer had been a bumbling mess as you’d kissed him, as you’d undressed each other, his hands trembling through it. “You know you can touch me, right?” You tease, and Spencer whines rather petulantly. “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Spencer’s large hands are on you, gentle on your skin. His hands pet you rather sweetly, over your hips and thighs, before he feels the softness of your ass under his palms. You hear his shallow breathing, and feel his thumbs spread you open. His breath hitches. 

You don’t say anything, patient as you let him explore your body. He touches you with an avid curiosity, like he wants to find out about everything that makes you tick, like he wants to commit the lines and curves of your body to memory. 

His movements slow like syrup, his touch moves to your cunt, sticky with your slick. His fingers slide over your pussy; along your folds, over your leaking hole. “I’m going to…” Spencer trails off, as he presses his index finger gently to your entrance. 

You moan as your head drops between your shoulders, with Spencer sliding a curious finger inside of you. He feels around, and it feels more like a medical exam than foreplay, but Spencer’s lack of experience still turns you on extremely. Spencer’s voice is strained. “You feel so warm. You’re so tight.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m not sure if you’re goin​​g to be able to fit,” you tease playfully, smiling as you look back at him. “You’re going to have to make it fit, won’t you?”

Spencer’s eyes are wide, and he swallows nervously. “Yes– Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh, you’re so cute– Oh!” You gasp as Spencer’s finger presses into you insistently, nudging against your spongy walls, against the spot that makes you lose your mind. “Mm, right there, fuck–”

Being eager to please, Spencer does exactly that – he keeps fingering you, slow and steady, and waits for your approval. You’re basically melting as he fucks you on his fingers, and you only remember you have a bigger plan until he whimpers. “Hmm, baby?”

“I want to- I wanna taste you,” Spencer says, and you moan as his thumb nudges at your clit.

“You- You sure you can last long enough for foreplay?” You jab, but you shudder in a moan as Spencer rubs at your swollen clit with more intention, pleased with the way he takes you apart.  

Spencer scoffs. “I think I should ask you the same.”

“Eat me out, Spencer,” you demand. Spencer just gets his head between your thighs. 

You feel his mouth on your cunt, kissing you sweetly, moaning as he tastes you. His lips are soft and plush on your skin, his lower lip massaging at your clit as he eats you out. His tongue slides over your folds, wet noises coming from his mouth as he takes his time tasting you. 

“You’re stupidly good at this,” you moan, your face buried in his pillows as you’re barely able to keep yourself propped up. The pleasure Spencer gives you courses through your veins, electric from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You think you hear Spencer mumble a thank you, and the vibrations only make you moan even louder. 

You want to come right now, but you know it’ll be so much sweeter to orgasm when Spencer’s buried inside of you. You don’t know if he’ll be able to handle it, the hypersensitive, easily overwhelmed genius in your bed simply might lose his mind fucking you.

“Spencer, baby,” you coo. “Wanna- Need you to fuck me now, darling.”

A high whine leaves Spencer’s throat, and he’s quick to pull away from you, as fast as he’d put his mouth on you earlier. “Please! Please, I need to–”

You giggle, beckoning him to come closer to you. He leans over your frame until his face is close to yours, and you kiss him sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips, but Spencer is giddy as he kisses you back. He tries to trail after you as you pull away, and the sight is both adorable and extremely arousing. 

“You gonna fuck me good, baby?” You smile, feeling the hardness of his length pressed against your ass. 

“Yes– Yes, ma’am,” Spencer stammers, swallowing his anxieties. “Can- Can I?” 

“Please, baby,” you groan, your hand reaching behind you to grab Spencer’s cock. He whimpers as you tug as it roughly, your movements haphazard due to the angle, but you’re lining him up with your hole. “You know what to do.”

It doesn’t take much effort for Spencer to press his cock into you. There’s uncertainty in his movements, but it feels like heaven as your cunt practically swallows him in. He fills you up so perfectly, his thickness rubbing against your walls in just the right way until he’s buried to the hilt, his bony hips pressed against the fat of your ass. “Oh! That feels good, baby.”

You clench around him, relishing the feeling, and then you hear a pathetic little whine from Spencer. “Hurts,” he says, in a weak, wet voice, and you want to both coo at him and fuck his brains out. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you soothe. “I’ll make it feel better, yeah?” 

“Please,” Spencer whimpers. “Need you.”

You lift yourself off of Spencer for a moment, pulling yourself off his cock before sinking back down on him. Spencer is big, not even knowing what he’s been gifted with when you had seen him for the first time. He fits so well inside of you, feeling so perfect as you fuck yourself on him. 

You would ask how he’s doing, but whimpers and moans liberally fall from his lips, and he’s holding onto your hips with a death grip, like he’ll lose all sense of himself if he isn’t holding onto you. His nails dig into your flesh, a delicious bite of pain through the pleasure of it all. 

“Pretty boy,” you groan. “You fill me up so good, holy fuck, oh my God–”

Spencer moans so loud your ears ring. “Feels good, so good, please–” 

“Fuck me, baby,” you gasp, your hips slowing on him. He chases after you like he can’t control himself, as he starts to thrust into you. “Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck.”

Spencer whines again, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks into you. His hips slap against your ass hurriedly, eagerly, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. “Fuck, oh, God–”

“You’re so deep inside of me, baby,” you groan, barely able to keep your voice steady. You reach for his hand, guiding it to splay out against your lower stomach, where his cock bulges with every thrust. He practically sobs. “You feel so good, darling.”

“Think– I’m gonna– Hhrghh– I’m not gonna last long,” Spencer finally gets the thought out, his genius clearly and understandably slashed when he’s buried in warm, wet pussy. You feel kind of proud of that. 

“Cum, baby,” you groan, not unaffected by Spencer’s eager, frantic fucking. “Inside of me.”

He lets out a pathetic little sob, one that turns you to no end, and then you feel Spencer coming inside, his load hot and messy as it paints your walls, filling you up. You clench around him at the feeling, so heady and overwhelming, and Spencer’s little whine at the pressure has you orgasming too. It’s a new kind of high, a perfect storm of pleasure filling every bone in your body. 

Spencer is warm and heavy as he half-falls on top of you, a sweetness to his movements as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you but begins to soften. Your arms and legs feel like jelly, but you manage to coax him to lay down. His arms sling around your waist to hold you, and the position is surprisingly intimate. 

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly. You turn around in his grasp, letting Spencer’s cock slip out of you. He whines a little, but smiles when you look up at him. Spencer repeats, sounding more earnest. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, baby,” you say, smiling, and lean forward to kiss him. It’s sweet, no heat behind it as you press your lips to his. Spencer seems to appreciate the affection, his thumb tracing little circles into your hip. “You were really good. Was that good for you too?”

“Couldn’t you tell from how fast and how hard I came?” Spencer laughs, seeming a bit shy. 

You coo, your hand cupping his cheek. “Even if you did, it was extremely endearing.”

“I think you just like corrupting me or something,” Spencer smiles, quirking his eyebrow.

You shrug, a teasing grin on your lips. “Maybe I do.”

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[endearng]

Third time's the charm

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: During one of your movie nights with Spencer, you decide to, once again, take the lead. Or, you got cockblocked so often that you almost thought it wouldn't happen. WC: 3.1k Warnings: smut (nipple play and dry humping); reader thinks spencer might be asexual but he's just a shy puppy; they are desperate for each other; "ruined" movie night; virgin!Spencer my beloved. (I guess that's it. If I forgot something, please let me know!) A/N: Aaaand here it is! I didn't think I'd write smut so soon, hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it's actually a sequel to Dearest friend, but can be read as a stand-alone. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 Masterlist

"It’s nice we finally have some time for each other," you hummed in agreement. "Thanks for coming over," Spencer said.

"You don't have to thank me," you said, sitting down on his couch after placing the drinks you chose from his fridge on the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you confessed. It got him blushing.

Spencer started one of your movies. It was your choice: you usually took turns picking out a movie to watch together whenever you had the chance, since neither of you were keen of going out that often and you didn't have much time outside of work. It was a fun opportunity to know more of each other through your personal taste, since he often chose foreign films about humanities and you, well, you made him watch Easy A, which got him talking about Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

After the movies, you would talk to each other about it, maybe mentioning a personal experience that you remembered thanks to a particular scene or a character's arch. Maybe you would kiss.

Which was a problem. Well, not a problem, but, you see, you didn't have much time together other than going to each other's houses and out on a few dates, which were your favorite: Spencer often found the most beautiful, cozy places to take you, like coffee shops, museums, bookshops and libraries, followed by a nice dinner at a local restaurant. It was during one of those dates that something gave him the nerve to touch your hand. Holding hands quickly escalated to having his hands around you at all times possible, and it got to the point where you nearly had to peel off of him when he got too comfortable and you sadly had to leave to do something. These moments of physical touch were making you go insane, thinking about making a bolder move on him, but you thought that maybe he wasn't ready. Plus the fact that you seemed to be interrupted whenever things got too heated.

If you had a nickel for everytime you and Spencer had to stop right before you got intimate (in any way, really), you'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice. It was like the universe (more like Hotch and the gore that surrounded the team) were set on a mission for you to never have sex again. Besides that, more extreme thoughts plagued your mind and told you that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. It often made you go home feeling a little bit insecure.

You knew that it was better to assume, but you were only human. After some pep talk with yourself on the way to his place, you convinced yourself that you would have to have this conversation with him, sooner or later. You thought so hard about this that you even came up with the possibility that he was asexual — you were fine with it if he was, obviously, because being with him made you feel whole. Still, you wanted, you needed to get this off your chest before you exploded with assumptions and unrequited feelings. Unrequited desire.

You decided to try to be subtle. Scratching the back of his head with your nails lovingly, you both watched the movie. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at you. You could see the goosebumps on his arm, that must have been the trigger for the question coming out of his lips. You gave him a soft smile.

"It's called affection, pretty boy," you kissed the tip of his nose. "And I don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

You kissed his left cheek when he turned to look at the TV screen.

Then, you turned his head gently to kiss the right one. He glanced between your eyes and your lips, so of fucking course you were about to kiss him, but you decided to tease him a little and pecked the tip of his nose and gently kissed his forehead instead. He breathed out a laugh. Ticklish. It made you wonder where else he would be sensitive.

Stop, you slut of a brain.

When you were about to kiss his lips, you withdrew your face from his, smooching his cheek instead. He sighed, oblivious to your real intentions, impatient and utterly, stupidly in love with you.

Oops. There goes your heart. Out the window. Taking your judgment with it.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do something?"

"Yes," he answered. "You know can do anything, baby."

"This is a very dangerous thing to say to a girl who has the feelings I have for you," you said, grinning. His expression morphed into one that almost looked like sheer panick.

You slowly moved to straddle his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to, his legs trapped between yours. You sat yourself on the top of his thighs. He watched every movement feeling like the world stopped and there were the both of you, moving in slow motion, movie long forgotten behind you. His breath hitched when he came to his senses and noticed the position you were in, now that you've done what you had. "Is this okay? It's more comfortable than kissing you like… well, that," you laughed softly.

"Yes. I-It's perfect," he breathed out, hands finding your waist.

You lips finally met his in a kiss that had both of you sighing. You found out that Spencer was a really good kisser — and you were proud to be the one with whom he practiced kissing to perfection —, your lips easily falling into a passionate rhythm. Gasping for air, you pecked him on those perfect lips that were red and puffy from all the assaulting you were doing, but he quickly pulled you in for another, this time, sloppier than ever, encouraged by your own boldness. He was french kissing you. Fairly used to it, but not with the intensity of it, you groaned in welcomed surprise, hands finding the nape of his neck and getting a grip on them, not so gently as you normally did. You pulled his hair down, breaking the kiss, lips tingling and lungs screaming for air. He smirked, feeling smug at the state he left you in.

You rose slightly from his lap, still holding his head and looking straight into his eyes. By holding yourself slightly above him, the pendant of your necklace grazed his chin, like he had imagined many times after watching you fiddle with it. God, it was finally coming true, having you in his arms and intending to let you do whatever you wanted to him and him only, the way that it should be ever since the day you met. You nearly made him go insane, pulling you closer to his body than you ever were, acting like a desperate madman. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, more feverishly than before, trying to tell him through that kiss that you were his. Biting his lower lip and earning a fucking moan, you sat yourself down on him again. You felt his bulge against your clothed core and the light contact made you feel lightheaded.

You were so caught up on him that it almost made you forget you needed to talk to him first. Unfortunately, as you tried to catch your breath and to find the right words to speak, Spencer felt his insecurities creeping up on him. Despite knowing it would be best to talk to you, he felt like voicing it out loud would push you away from him — which he didn't want. He was very comfortable with the indecent small distance between your bodies.

He was fidgety. You knew you needed to address this because your boyfriend wasn't the best at voicing his needs — you remember and giggled internally at how you had been the one to knock on Spencer's door asking him to put an end to your suffering by telling him how you felt. Heh. Kudos to you.

"I wanted to talk about this with you," you murmured, now feeling his kisses peppering the skin of your neck. You knew how much he was hiding from you because he wouldn't stop moving and it was very distracting, but if you didn't speak, it would be the end of you. "I'd ask if you were okay with me and you like this, about taking further steps, shit." You moaned when he fucking bit you and kissed you right after.

He pulled away from you, hands flying up to the back of your head. Foreheads touching, eyes locked in yours. "I want it. I want you, I mean. Been wanting you for some time now—a very long time, yes." He strongly shut his eyes closed, most likely working up the courage to say something. "But I don't want to... disappoint you," he finished, sounding insecure.

Not on your watch.

"Me too, Spence. God, I want you so bad," you answered, unable to look away from him, who now looked down, paying close attention to the rising and falling of your chest. "Hey, look at me, please," you pleaded. His eyes met yours. Oh, those maddening eyes... "Believe me when I tell you, baby, I want you. And if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. I won't push you, of course. I just wanted to have a conversation with you before, because setting boundaries is important and consent is hot—" he laughed quietly. Making jokes was your go-to way of making situations lighter and he was glad for it then. You smiled when you noticed the sound he made. "And I'm also positively certain that you wouldn't like to have our first time on your couch."

"My first time," he revealed. softly. Eyes not meeting yours.

Oh.

You didn’t falter. "It doesn't change much, baby. I still stand for what I just told you," you assured him, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Spence."

Looking back into your eyes, he declared, "And I want you."

"You can have me," you answered, "You already have."

"You'd need to guide me. You know, hands-on activity. Because I’ve never done it before…" he trailed off.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at teaching."

His grip finds your waist, lips anxiously waiting for yours — and when they touched to mold perfectly in another breathtaking kiss, he felt complete. Like nothing bad could ever happen in the world just because you were in it. His past, his insecurities, the awful things you both saw on the field, nothing mattered. Looking at you, touching you, was a nearly an out of body experience. The things you got him thinking by just kissing him. And he thought his insecurities would get the best of him. Jokes on them, you exist.

You look at him through hooded eyes. "I've never felt like this before. I feel... tingly," he confessed, lovely smile on his face, eyes blinking.

"You're feeling good, handsome," you answered, glancing at his dazed eyes.

A beat of silence. Swallowing second thoughts. "Can you make it better?"

"Is that a request or a challenge?" You asked, grinning.

"A request." He answered shyly, hiding his face on your neck, peppering kisses on your skin. You were going to explode.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," you shivered, feeling absolutely lost, "I might spoil you and give you everything you want," you sighed.

"Let me have it, then," he answered, voice muffled by your skin.

"I'm all yours, Spencer."

He had the audacity of blushing as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. You smiled at him. In this state, if he asked for you to run naked around town, you probably would. It was dangerous, to say the least. Softly, yet desperate, the words left his lips. "Can I take this off?" He sucked in a breath. "Please?"

"Yes, pretty boy, you can," you answered. "You can have anything. I thought I already said that."

"Yes—You did. You did," he breathed out between needy kisses across your skin, getting rid of your shirt in no time.

At first, he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen many naked (or semi-naked) women in front of him, but you were something out of this world. The bra you were wearing matched your skin tone and pushed your breasts together and there was the fucking necklace, almost mocking him by being constantly so close, too close to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The view was almost overwhelming by itself. You looked at him, but he couldn't possibly come up with the words that would describe you in that moment. Words had failed him, nothing else in his mind but you. The tool he used to communicate, to access the world and how it shaped reality, to comprehend the mind of another person, to get to know others... He had nothing left. Except from the pulsing of his boner against your clothed pussy, that is.

Just like that, IQ of 187 slashed to 60, Emily Prentiss said, once. Funnily enough, when you passed by wearing a sundress.

Unable to talk but, oh, so able to use his hands, they traveled up to your breasts with a featherlight touch, which didn't stop him from feeling your heartbeat. He let his hands trail over the soft and sheer fabric of the bra you were wearing. Finding your nipples, his touch got more intense. He licked his lips. His actions made you shudder and sent a spark of excitement to your sex. "Pretty," he said. "So, so pretty, my girl."

"Do you like it?" You asked, breathless from a little touching. Pathetic. "I got these thinking of you. Wanna look pretty for you, Spence."

"You are," he said, looking into your eyes, his own foggy, hands reaching to touch your neck. "You're pretty all the time, it's so unfair to me," he murmured. "I really like them on you, but… can I take ‘em off?"

"Yes. You can do anything, Spence."

Spencer wanted to burn the sight of you, in that slightly disheveled state, in the back of his mind so he could remember it forever — not that he would have a hard time trying to remember anything. Nevertheless, he did everything so slowly, almost as if trying to tattoo on the tip of his fingers the softness and temperature of your skin. He inhaled deeply, consumed by your floral-scented perfume and lifted his hands to unclasp your bra. His fingers curiously, but unhurriedly, lowered each of the straps. Like opening a gift that had been so carefully wrapped he didn't want to ruin.

But did he wanted to be ruined by you.

The sight of your bare chest was marvelous, to say the least, and he timidly grazed his fingertips against the exposed area, eliciting goosebumps and a soft whine. His mouth watered, thoughts simply reduced to the need of having you in his mouth. The striped pattern on the soft skin of your breasts around your nipples were faint, barely there, unless if you took a close look at it. It goes without saying that he was blatantly gazing at your bosom at this point.

Pupils dilated, he looked up at you, hungrily, drawing his face closer to you, curls tickling the skin of your collarbone. He inhaled your scent, mind blanking. Tortuously dragging his lips on your skin (and unintentionally smearing some of his saliva on you, he was drooling, after all) as a silent request, the necklace brushing his forehead slightly. The grind of your hips against his answered his plead to taste you.

"Oh—you're so, so good to me, princess," you moaned when he finally wrapped his lips against the nub, playing with the other.

You felt almost overwhelmed with the attention you were getting and the reaction you were having to said attention. Your underwear was sticking almost uncomfortably against your core and you felt yourself aching for some relief, aching for him. So, as Spencer worked his hot tongue on your tits, licking, softly biting, sucking, making a mess on and of you, you busied yourself by chasing the relief you both desperately wanted. The solace it provided you both with was exhilarating and made you feel dazed.

Steadily rocking yourself against him, you earned a few grunts. "You're making a mess of me, pretty boy," you murmured as he switched his attention to the other boob.

"Give it t'me—I want it, I deserve it," he breathed out, body aching with lust, cock pulsing against your covered clit. His words only fueled the fire inside you, the coil in your lower stomach threatening to snap at anytime now.

"Yeah, you do, my boy," you breathed out, pulling the hair on the nape of his neck, nearly tasting your orgasm, "gonna look so pretty when you come for me, won't you, baby?" Both hands gripping your hips, mouth never leaving your skin. You sure would be bruised by tomorrow, but this, this was definitely worth it.

"Yes—Yes, I will," He whined. He fucking whined.

"Tell, me—ah—where do you want to cum, baby?"

"Shit—" until then, you were sure that was a word you'd never hear him saying, let alone that freely. "Gonna—Shitshitshit," moaning out your name.

That's when it hit you that he had cummed his pants. It was such a fat load that it had seeped through both his underwear and his slacks — which prompted you to reach your own high with a moan of his name directly into his ear.

Both of you feeling dizzy, you slump against him, feeling his arms wrapping your frame as you rested your head on his shoulder. You both took deep breaths, the only sound in the room. Well, besides the movie you both totally ignored.

"I can't get up right now... My legs feel wobbly," you chuckled. "Are you okay, Spence?" You asked, looking at him when you didn't get an answer.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he answered, "I mean, I'll be fine as soon as I recover from you."

You laughed sincerely, "From me? What have I done to you?"

"You gave me what I wanted, you spoiled me, you broke me," he said, a silly smile adorning his pretty face. You pushed him playfully. "I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now. My brain has stopped working ever since you straddled me. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, babe."

"Wrong answer. You're so gonna keep doing that to me, so you'll definitely be trying to killing me from now on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

[sixofpomegranates]

Would you write a one-shot where the girl is Spencer's student and somehow he hears a girl talk that she's a virgin (and also that she writes FICS about him), and something happen between them? I'd like her to be inexperienced, but not dumb about sex, nor bratty ❤️❤️ thank you so much for your fics btw, they're amazing

Fanfiction

Pairing: Professor!Reid x Virgin!Student!Fem!Reader

Word count: 14.4K (it's a long one | That's what she said.)

A/N: Quick PSA: A real person might not be a fan of you writing fanfiction about them... But writing this was fun! It never crossed my mind to have one of Spencer's students write a FF about him.

CW: Smut, Fluff | Mentions of Age Gap/Sexual Experience/Fanfiction/academic pressure/financial struggles/Parents not supporting your dreams, Oral (F), Fingering, Masturbation, Virginity/Loss of virginity, Penetrative Sex (unprotected, creampie), Nicknames (Bunny, Daddy, Sweetheart, Good Girl)

"The cold rain made the clothes cling to our bodies as we ran into the faculty building. I should've never agreed to interview my professor for the college paper. His class schedule was all over the place, and I struggled for weeks to find a place in his calendar to do it.

Stupid stubbornness had made me insist on him taking time for me tonight after classes. I had sat there through all his stomach-turning lectures and then waited for him to pack his stuff.

"Professor Collins, you said I was supposed to wait for you to find a free day on your schedule." I looked around the empty class. "Now seems to be the time."

"Miss Rivera, it is past eight, and I'd like to go home now. Why don't you do the same, and I'll send you a mail with dates that would be convenient for me."

Handsome but unattainable. He was known to be the most attractive professor on campus, clothed in secrecy and a need to keep his private life hidden. No wonder, a man working part-time as a teacher and part-time as an FBI agent needed to keep his secrets, I assume.

But tough luck. He'd been voted to be the most popular professor in our college, and therefore, this man was going to, at least, give me something to write about him.

"With all due respect, Professor, I have been running after you for weeks. I need this interview."

A loud thunder interrupted his try to back out of it, making him brush a hand through his hair.

"It's starting to storm soon. I assume you're taking the subway, just like me. I'd like the come home at least semi-dry, don't you?"

He tried to push past me, his hand on the strap of his leather satchel. I stepped in his way, his firm chest bumping against mine. I hadn't realized he was so much taller than me.

Another thunder made me jump. "I- I have a car."

He nodded, taking a nervous step back. We had stood too close. "That- That is good for you. The streets and public transport aren't safe for a young woman alone at night."

"I can drive you," I offered without thinking.

"Pardon?"

"You give me my interview, and I'll drive you home. We don't even have to have the interview here. I can drive us to a cafe. You once mentioned you never turn down the chance for coffee."

He raised his eyebrow. "You're not going to stop bothering me with this interview, am I right?"

I shot him a smile. "My persistence is one of my greatest assets, Professor."

He sighed, nodding. "Okay."

Clapping my hands, I lead the way to my car. I searched for my keys.

Pockets, handbag, bookbag,jacket.

"Is everything okay?"

I nodded, shooting my professor another smile.

Now, where were my keys?

"Are you sure?" He asked me, making me hear a smile in his voice. "It seems like you can't find your keys."

"No, no, no, I know I put them in here somewhere," I rambled, going through my bookbag again.

That was when one of its straps snapped and sent my books flying.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, quickly sinking to my knees and picking my books up.

Of course, it wouldn't be my type of luck if I didn't also dump my handbag's contents in the same move. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Here," Professor Collins handed me one of my books. He had kneeled down next to me, helping me pick up my things.

Okay, maybe I saw his appeal. He was good-looking, his hair long enough to run your fingers through it and play with his curls and cheekbones that could cut glass. Kneeling down on the dirty floor for me, dirtying his always perfect suit, even when he detested everything that could suggest bacteria.

"Thank you."

As I took my book, our hands touched, and an electric shock ran straight through me. The sky opened, and it began to pour. Right, Professor Collins had predicted that it would rain...

A stupid laugh escaped me at the sudden decision the universe had made to make all of this look like a stupid rom-com.

Stuffing all my things into the bags, not carrying what I put into which, I looked at his now wet hair.

"I assume my ride home is canceled?" He joked, and my face became hot.

"Right..." I mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

He waved me off, standing up and lending me a hand. By now, we were both soaked.

"Let's go to my office. Maybe you'll find keys once we're dry and in a well-lit environment."

I nodded. "Please.""

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

"Penelope, explain it again, please," I asked of her for the third time now.

My bubbly, blonde friend sighed. "A fanfiction, Reid. Or should I say, Professor Collins?"

The clear question mark on my face made Luke laugh. "Some girl from college has the hots for you and writes about a fantasy world in which you both are an item."

"No," I shook my head. I did not need to hear that. "Not interested in hearing about that."

This would only make the relationship with my students more complicated than it already was. The young women in my classes, especially those auditing them, made me nervous. Their looks were inappropriate, to say the least. And now I was supposed to have a head for one of them writing erotica about her and me as well?

Where would this nonsense end?

"But you should. Its publishing level good. Like, I read this in one night, and now I am constantly checking my phone to see if she updated her story," Penelope continued, gushing. "And honestly, except for a few quirks and that he works for the FBI, Professor Collins does not sound like you at all. He's such a dreamboat. Seriously. A man written by a woman."

"Thanks," I spat, taking the hint at my undateablility. Of course, a real person couldn't compare with a completely made-up man. Written ones never truly struggled with their problems in a way that would ruin the romance.

"Oh, boy. I didn't mean it like that," Garcia said.

Luke stared up from Penelope's rhinestone-covered phone. "Honestly, that story is spicy. Hey, from man to man, do you like BDSM?"

What the hell? What was this lunatic writing about me?

Penelope looked at her phone and smiled. "Oh, that isn't even the best one. Right now, there is this just hooking-up thing going on. The real fun starts once he falls for her and finally tries to have a real date with her."

Luke shook his head. "No chance. The alley scene where he tells her he can't touch her because it would be unethical, and they still have this absolutely animalistic-"

"You are making me uncomfortable," I exclaimed before I could hear any more of this.

"Sorry, man, but that stuff is good. And the side plots? How Adriene becomes a journalist, and they keep running into each other?"

Tara came in, coffee in her hand. "We talking about 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'?"

Ridiculous name. Stupid story. How old did I need to get, and how many titles did I need, to finally be taken seriously?

"Please tell me you're not reading that garbage," I practically begged, but Tara started laughing.

"That you call it garbage shows that you haven't read it. The author writes made-up cases that sound so real; I was convinced they were until I asked her on Tumblr."

Maybe I could ban auditing my classes, but what if this obsessive fan of mine was a student of mine? This story needed to vanish as promptly as it appeared.

Standing up, I fixed my tie and grabbed my satchel. "I'd be very thankful if you guys stopped reading it. Penelope, please take the story down."

*****

Which one of them?

The classes this week had me spinning. Every single one of them could've been the one writing in these indecent ways about me.

I knew all their faces and remembered all their available information. I was able to figure out which one of them wrote this garbage.

"Professor Reid?"

My head snapped up from my notes. "Yes?" I looked at [y/n], one of my thankfully normal students of mine.

"I just wanted to bring you Mrs. Perkins's invitation to the charity library sale. We were sorting out the books when she realized she forgot to hand you yours."

The girl handed me my invitation and smiled as I studied it. The college's library hat previously got a lot of new editions donated and now sorted out its stock. The books no longer needed would be sold for a bargain, and the money would be used to repair some of the old shelves.

I lacked the space for any more books, but how could I resist this feast? I made a mental note to ask Morgan to help me build another bookshelf for my apartment.

"Mrs. Perkins also told me to tell you that she would hold back some first editions for you."

I nodded thankfully. Helena Perkins was a little old lady in her eighties. The librarian and somebody I regularly brought tea and borrowed books from in my free time.

"Great. I can't wait," I smiled at [y/n] [y/l/n], who was one of the volunteers for this event. "Have you already got your eyes on something?"

This girl was almost as obsessed with books as I was. I often met her in the library. We never really talked, but we would smile at each other and then go on with our book hunt.

"Totally. I already have a box I'll have to figure out how to take home."

I furrowed my brows. "The sale is two days away."

She nodded. "That's the perk of helping organize it. I get to call dibs on the books I want."

I chuckled. "So that's why you helped."

She shook her head, laughing. "No? I help because Mrs. Perkins asked me to. The books are literally just a sweet bonus, and how she bribed me into helping."

"Yeah, she really knows how to bribe. I sponsor the buffet at the sale because of those first editions she's holding back."

"You know, since I started helping, I actually had to get rid of my dining table so I could fit in more books ins my apartment. I mean, I never have any visitors anyway, but still."

I nodded. "I'm having to ask a friend to build me a new shelf. Given the amount of books I own, I should really consider opening my own library."

Playing with her hoodie strings, [y/n] smiled. "See it as a positive thing. 'Doctor Spencer Reid's Library for the Book Addicted' has a nice ring to it."

"I might be going to steal that name," I joked back, loving how she bit into the pillow of her bottom lip while laughing.

She waved me off, pulling the hood of her hoodie back over her head to cover herself from the rain outside. "No need to steal; I gift it to you," she said sweetly. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now before Mrs. Perkins breaks her hip again, climbing around on those ladders."

"Have fun. Don't buy too many books," I called after her, hearing her yell back through the hallway, "You're not my boss!"

Silly girl. I liked her.

*****

""You are my student, Adriene!" He almost yelled. Only seconds before, he'd taken me on his desk, and now he shut me out again. "You can't seriously believe that this can be more than some random hook-ups."

I shouldn't have let it slip that I love him, but as he had looked into my eyes, it had been all I could think about.

I shook my head while fixing my disheveled clothes. "I- I am not your student. I am studying journalism. I only audit your class to-"

"You're still in my class," he insisted. "We can't meet anymore. This had been going on for too long anyway. You're having your exams soon, and they're more important than whatever this is anyway."

"But- It's not just a random hook-up for me," I admitted, feeling my heart sink as his face turned to stone.

"I'm sorry you caught feelings. I should've been more open about my intentions."

He didn't mean that. He couldn't. How were his intentions solely to fuck me? What a lie.

He could've done that and left, but he came back every time. He took me out to fancy dinners, watched movies with me, took me to bookstores and museums, and showered me with gifts and the stories of his past.

I thought there was more. There had to be more."

*****

God, that was a lot of drama.

Couldn't the two of them just finally get together and be happy? It wasn't that hard. Even if it was unethical at the moment, they only needed to wait a month. Adriene was soon going to finish college and get a job as a journalist.

I hated that I was able to understand where Zane came from, though.

She was so much younger. She had the chance to become a great journalist and see the world. Adriene deserved better than having a boyfriend who would probably get shot on a case.

She would understand and be thankful that he tried pushing her away over and over again once she was older. But right now, she clearly loved and accepted Zane.

I would've loved to have someone like Adriene.

She was caring and funny. She was addicted to books. Dreaming big but always counting Zane in.

Fuck. I wasn't falling in love with a fictional character, now was I?

*****

""Do you have any idea how angry I am with you?" He growled, while I only nodded.

"I'm sorry," I whispered while he made me stop by the car and helped me out of my kevlar vest. He ran his hand over the bullet hole in it and withdrew his hand as though he had burned his hand on fire.

"You could've died. Did you think even one second about that?" With anger, he tossed the vest into the backseat. "And this fucking vest is way too big for you."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, flinching at every single one of his words.

"How could you be so reckless? A stunt like this could've cost my team or me our lives, and worse, it could've cost yours. Are you aware of that?"

I nodded, but that didn't seem to be enough.

"Adriene, I swear to god, you better answer me," he hissed, and I looked up at him, tears finally running down my face.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, making him sigh and look me up and down.

"Are you hurt?" I shook my head, my whole body still trembling.

That was when Zane pulled me into a hug. "Thank god," he whispered. "Don't ever do that to me again. This story isn't worth your life.""

*****

She had daddy issues. Definitely.

The author was a girl with daddy issues that needed an outlet for her fantasies about an older man that could care for her.

She was most likely not in a relationship—if she had ever even been in a real one before.

I was nothing like Zane.

Just a little like him.

Okay, Zane was a carbon copy of most of my characteristics, even my bad ones.

The author had a talent for analyzing me.

At least our names and my hair and eye color were different. However, that seemed to help very little to hide my identity. Penelope had caught up on it in a heartbeat.

*****

"No. I am sick of this cat-and-mouse game, Zane," I yelled between tears and sobs. "You keep pushing me away, saying I'm too young for you. Yet, you are the one always coming back and never making up your mind. I may be young, but you're the one of us acting like a child!"

"Addy, please just listen to me."

I wiped my tears away, trying not to scream and wake my neighbors. "No, I am done listening. That's all I did until now, and it brought me nothing but heartache. It was always, 'Come here, Sweetheart.', 'Stay away.', 'Please come back.', 'I love you.' I'm done."

Zane took a step towards me, hand running over his stubbles. "You have the chance to become a great journalist and see the world, Adriene. You deserved better than having a husband who will probably get shot on a case."

"Then why are you always coming back?"

"Because I am selfish. I can't live without you."

I looked at him. His ocean-blue eyes were filled with tears he refused to let out. Where did this confession leave us?

"Can I please come inside, Sweetheart?"

*****

Wait, that was it?

Where was the rest?

The fuck did the author mean by 'To be continued'?

No. No, it was good that there wasn't any more of this. I didn't like how the author portrayed me anyway.

Pulling out my phone, I called Penelope. It rang a fair share of times before she picked up.

"Hello?" She sounded like she had a mile sprint behind her just to get to her phone.

"Garcia, it's Reid. I need you to tell me which of my students wrote the story."

"Why? What are you planning?" She asked suspiciously.

"I'll ask her to stop writing this and spare me from any more humiliation."

After a while of silence, Garcia answered simply, "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to let you be mean to this talented girl!"

Was she for real?

"Penelope, if somebody's mean, then it's her. This is humiliating. She literally wrote about my dick and the many uses I seem to have for it in her fantasy," I told her with a hoarse, aggravated voice.

The call of reality seemed to have finally reached Garcia. I knew I was right, and now, so did she. This girl was openly projection this picture she had of me on the internet. Openly displaying me being called 'Daddy,' manhandling her like she was nothing more than my little toy.

I wasn't a man like that, and I surely didn't need somebody to think I was.

"Okay, fine. Take away one of my hobbies and crush a girl's spirit," Penelope huffed, annoyed. "Her name is [y/n] [y/l/n]."

"No, it's not," I replied almost instantly. "She- No. You're wrong."

"Genius boy, I am a lot of things. I am beautiful, sassy, a wonder woman, a natural talent in anything technology, but I am not – and I can't stress this enough – never, ever wrong about something so simple as uncovering the person behind a username."

I thanked my friend and hung up.

[y/n]. I had already crossed her from my list of suspects. She was sweet, quiet, and a good student. She never stared at me like the other woman in class, and she never seemed distracted or daydreamy.

She shared jokes with me, and I liked her... This annoyed me.

[y/n] was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and I had fallen for it.

Why did it have to be one of my good students? One that even was respectful and well-behaved when coming to my office or wrote me a mail when she wouldn't be able to make it to my class.

Somehow it would've been less insulting if it would've been a girl auditing my lectures.

Shaking my head, I looked at [y/n]'s user profile.

Her username was 'SixofPomegranates', an innuendo to Hades and Persephone. The king of the underworld had made his wife eat six pomegranate seeds to ensure she'd have to return to his side for six months of the year.

Her profile picture was a digital drawing of a little jackalope bunny surrounded by flowers. The little bunny reminded me of her, sweet and innocent looking.

She had the same look on her face coming to my office one day, as it had rained, and she was soaked, freezing. After handing her the materials she had missed, I'd made her stay until the rain had stopped, giving her my jacket as she started her way home.

The next day the coat had been returned to my office, a coffee from Starbucks next to it and a little flower-shaped sticky note on it thanking me.

I had kept that stupid sticky note in my wallet. It still was in there. It had this stupid joke on it that always made me laugh.

"*knock knock* Who's there? Thank you! Thank you, who?

Thank you for lending me your coat! Enjoy your coffee! — [y/n] ♡"

If that had been the day she started fantasizing about me?

Even if it was, it didn't give her the right to post erotic stories about me online. However, I hated the feeling those scenes now gave me, knowing that it was her.

Her profile's bio solely held a quote:

"My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary."

Wuthering Heights. Did she see the book as dramatic or romantic? Did she see Catherine and Heathcliff as star-crossed lovers and soulmates or co-dependent fools who couldn't get over each other even after death?

Why did she have to write this fanfiction about me?

I kicked my desk like a disgruntled child. Now I could never ask her for an answer. Could never look at her again without thinking about her fantasies.

These lusting, needy fantasies I shouldn't relate to.

I never had any normal fans.

Seriously, was it me? Was I the problem?

*****

"Miss [y/l/n], can you stay behind, please? I'd like to have a word with you."

I had just excused the rest of my students fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I couldn't seem to focus, my eyes always falling back to [y/n].

She had an astounding poker face. What was she thinking about while writing her little notes?

Was she thinking about me, asking her to stay behind after class?

About me, throwing her onto my table and fucking her on the assignments handed in by her classmates?

As she walked up to me, her side bag thrown over her shoulder, books clutched in her hands, she looked at me with a smirk.

"What is it, Professor Reid? I'm sorry to tell you, but you're not getting the Wuthering Heights copy we both hunted for from me. I got that one fair and square." She bit her bottom lip.

The night I learned about her alter-ego 'SixofPomegranates', I had been at the charity sale before. We had both reached for the same book, her beating me in Rock-Paper-Scissors and having me back off from the copy.

The rest of the night, I had thought of her fantasies, her being the subject of my desires, pulsing cock in my hand as I masturbated to the idea of playing those fantasies out with her.

The fact that I was mad at her had only fueled my longing for her before the feeling of post-orgasm clarity had brought me back to my senses.

I licked over my lips, checking if we truly were alone. "That's not what this is about. I-" I cleared my throat. "It had come to my attention that you wrote a little piece of... fanfiction about me. Us."

I hadn't thought it to be possible, but her eyes became even bigger. She looked at me like a frightened little bunny. Her big eyes filled with worry, and mortification was written all over her face while I was able to hide mine quite well.

Looking down at her feet and back up at me, she played coy, "I- I'm sorry?"

"A little story called 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Sound familiar?"

She swallowed harshly, "I- I- I don't- I didn't..."

As I, just like her, didn't know what to say, I decided to go with the truth. "See, I thought a lot about how I would handle this situation yesterday, and I've frankly got to admit that I am in unknown water here. I never thought about the possibility of a student of mine falling for me and certainly didn't think about one writing erotica about me and sharing it online."

Our eyes met, and I ignored the little infinite universes that formed between them.

"Listen, I would like to tell you that I feel flattered, but I don't. It is humiliating and makes me extremely uncomfortable. My colleagues at the FBI caught wind of it."

A frown popped up on the little bunny's face. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't think-"

I nodded, going for the kill of this crush. She shouldn't think of me in any other way than me being her teacher. "Yes, you didn't. And it's very apparent."

She raised her eyebrows, looking like she was building momentum to talk back at me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I snarled. "Nobody with at least the rarest bit of common sense would do something as stupid as this. Your little amateur work has the power to ruin my reputation on campus. Have you thought about what this weird little fantasy of yours could insinuate?"

"This is a little harsh, don't you think?" She asked, bottom lip shivering. "I changed enough that nobody would ever draw any connection-"

I interrupted her. "And yet it wasn't enough. Else neither my colleagues nor I would've realized your little obsession with me."

"Obsession?" She mumbled.

"I am asking you politely to remove your work from the internet and keep those fantasies in your diary – where they belong. Should I catch wind of something like this happening again, I'll need to report you to the dean. I cannot have my character ruined solely because of a horny young girl."

She nodded, "Okay. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I caused you, Professor. I didn't mean it."

I turned away so I wouldn't see her little bunny eyes. "Just don't let it happen again."

[y/n] nodded a couple of more times and hurried out of my class. Hopefully, I had been condescending enough to have her leave those feelings behind and be a normal student again.

Maybe then, I could pretend this whole ordeal never happened. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel like running after her and apologizing.

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

On an idiot-scale from 1 to 10, I definitely was a 14.

"Yeah, I am just going to write about my hot criminology professor and all my kinks and post it online."

"I just change names and hair colors. Nobody's gonna know."

"How will they know? Impossible."

Dumb, dumb idiot. Stupid. No brain.

I'd known that I would never have a chance with my professor and therefore had created a world in which we shared more than just a smile at the library.

What was wrong with me? Professor Reid wasn't even that handsome... I mean, yes, he was, but he had been very clear about being uncomfortable because of me and somewhat called me a dummy.

Humiliated and on the verge of either throwing up or crying, I crawled into bed, ready to let the day end before I could embarrass myself any more.

But I still had to do something. I opened my notebook, opened my social media – the one I decided to use to embarrass myself and Professor Reid with – and opened 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'.

I really liked the story. Yes, I had thought about my professor when writing Zane Collins, but after a while, the lines between fiction and reality had blurred so much that the story had developed a life of its own.

It had no longer been Professor Reid and I in my head; it had been Zane and Adriene. Two fictional characters I had made up and related to so much during their adventures that it was therapeutic to write about them. It had become my comfort activity.

Well, either deleting this or kissing my academic career goodbye.

Such stupid bullshit.

My mouse cursor hovered over the delete button.

Yeah, no chance. I couldn't do it. Deleting it was so final—such a waste.

Instead, I decided to just archive my story. I would be able to keep the comments I had gotten on it, but it wouldn't be viewable anymore—a good middle ground.

I just couldn't upload any more stories. Not even the ones without my crush in it. He would see it and think of me as a crazy stalker, a yandere that was obsessed with him... He probably already thought of me like that.

But okay, I wouldn't let that ruin my semester. Two more weeks until my finals, I would just not take criminology with Professor Reid as professor next semester.

Yes. That sounded sensible. I'd write my finals and then ditch.

I'd hope Professor Reid would forget about it, but that guy had an eidetic memory. If asked, he'd probably be able to tell me what he had for breakfast ten years ago and what weather it was.

Well, no sympathy for dumbasses – That was me. I was the dumbass.

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

She'd taken it down. No more 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Yet, it didn't really feel like a win for me.

Now I would never find out if Adriene and Zane got back together. Penelope and Tara definitely had given me their peace of mind about it as well.

And [y/n] didn't smile at me anymore. She stayed away. It was sensible given what happened between us, but still. I missed the smiles and short conversations.

I wondered if the little bunny would return to my classes next semester. She had amazing grades. It would've been a shame, although I probably scared her far enough away to never see her again.

Maybe I should've just stayed quiet about the story.

The last couple of free days I spent in Vegas, visiting my aunt, and now sat there in the hotel's restaurant eating dinner. I had read a book, so I hadn't noticed it right from the beginning, but as I put it down when the waitress appeared to bring me my soda, I saw her.

[y/n] was sitting there, playing with her phone.

What was she doing here?

She was dressed in this tight-fitting black dress, her hair and makeup all dolled up. She was clearly dressed to impress somebody, yet she sat alone. Just like me.

What a suspicious coincidence that she was at the same time in Las Vegas as I was, in the same hotel, eating dinner at the same time, and only a few tables away from me.

I didn't like the feeling in my gut. Not at all. Too often had I been the victim of insane women. I didn't want to – I couldn't – go through something like that again.

Sitting there and watching her for over ten minutes, she still sat there on her own. Why get dressed up like that if you're all on your own? And even if clothes didn't matter, why didn't she already order?

No. That was it. I would confront her. I grabbed my phone and sent her a mail.

***

"Miss [y/l/n],

I don't know what is going on inside your head, but following me to Vegas is undoubtedly not going to help you to get anything other from me than a restraining order.

– S.R."

***

I watched her looking at her phone, frowning. Then she looked around, and her big eyes met mine, looking like a frightened bunny. She shook her head and typed something on her phone. Then mine rang.

***

"Professor Reid,

I can assure you that this is merely a coincidence. I wasn't aware that you'd be here.

– [y/n]

***

Shaking my head, I replied.

***

"[y/n],

Are you sure? Because this seems like a rather substantial coincidence, don't you think?

Almost seems a little too much like a romance novel.

– S.R"

***

An angry sigh left her lips.

***

"Professor Reid,

I'm lacking the time, interest, money, and skills to stalk you.

Trust me, I won't pull an Annie Wilkes on you.

– [y/n]"

***

A reference to Stephen King's Misery. Macabre little thing. I missed her jokes.

***

"Adriene,

So you're trying to tell me you're not my number one fan?

­– Zane"

***

I watched her roll her eyes and lick her lips.

***

"Very funny. I'll laugh next week.

Now please leave me alone. I am waiting for my date.

– [y/n]"

***

My fingers were faster than my common sense.

***

"Your next victim?"

***

An angry gaze now burned itself through my clothes. I seemed to have been crossing a line with my teasing. Only fair since I had pushed her away as far as I had and now seriously started to pull jokes.

***

"Dear ostentatious prick,

'He felt as he always did when he finished a book — queerly empty, let down, aware that for each little success, he had paid a toll of absurdity.'

I liked you. I was crushing for you harder than I thought possible and childishly wrote a story I didn't figure would hurt anybody because I knew I'd never stand a chance with you.

I apologized for it and took it down. I am not going to visit another one of your classes ever again. I even planned that we'd never have to see each other again.

Tonight, that we met, is a coincidence since – surprise! – those happen to exist.

I now regret all the months I spent fantasizing about you and falling for you since I clearly was wrong about everything I thought about you. I feel silly, dumb, humiliated, and I'm clearly braindead.

Apparently, the only thing nice about you is your looks.

So now please leave me alone, as I told you before, I am waiting on my date. And no, it is not a man I needed to stalk, kidnap, drug, or anything else. It's somebody who I met online, who's interested in me, and asked me to come here to meet.

– [y/n] [y/l/n]"

***

Message gotten. Loud and clear. Great, now I felt like an asshole.

***

"Apologies, [y/n],

I did not intend to hurt your feelings. I'm well aware that you don't need to commit crimes to get men to be interested in you.

Have a nice evening.

– S.R."

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

Ten more minutes later, I still sat there alone. Kyle had clearly stood me up. I came all the way to freaking Las Vegas, and he didn't even have the balls to write me a text.

If he would've, I could've just... I don't know. I wasn't a big fan of Vegas. I had only come here because Kyle told me to.

I probably looked like a hooker waiting for a customer to approach and ask for my prize, dressed up like I was. I had been so sure he'd been interested in me.

This had been a waste of money, make-up, time, and shaving.

As my phone rang, I quickly looked at it, sighing as I noticed that it was only my professor. He probably thought I made up my date, so I had an excuse to stalk him.

***

"He stood you up, didn't he?"

***

I put my phone aside. I couldn't reply because I'd probably start crying. That's what I got for having expectations. Concentrating on my hands resting on the white tablecloths, I noticed a tear dropping onto one of them.

"Now, don't cry because of that guy, little bunny." I looked up at my professor standing there with his drink. Little bunny? "It's his loss that he didn't show up."

He sat down across from me, telling a waitress to bring a lighter for the candle in the middle of the table.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. "I'm not in the mood to force you to write a novel right now."

He looked at me, sighing jokingly, "Don't be silly; you're the author of us both, [y/n]."

As the waitress returned, she lit the candle between us, and Professor Reid ordered a bottle of wine.

"Seriously, now, what are you doing?" I asked him again. "You were pretty clear about your opinion of me, and I don't need a pity dinner with you."

"It's not a pity dinner. I just thought we'd both look less pathetic when not having to sit and eat alone."

"Aren't people in Vegas usually meeting up with escorts when they want company?" I asked sarcastically, staring at my phone and still hoping for a text.

Accepting the bottle of wine he ordered, the professor started to fill our glasses, chuckling, "Well, I am from Vegas, and although lonely, I've never chosen that type of company."

I looked at the menu the waitress had brought and at the wine bottle. One glass of wine already cost enough; I couldn't even imagine how expensive an entire bottle was.

Shit, I definitely seemed like a hooker.

"The bottle looks expensive," I mumbled, staring at the shiny letters on the label.

Professor Reid nodded, chuckling, "I hope it does. It's a two-hundred-dollar bottle."

My eyes went wide. "Two- Two. Hundred. Dollars?"

He waved me off, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it."

Running a hand over my head, I sighed. "People will think I'm a hooker or your sugar baby."

A pretty smile spread on his lips, paired with his cheeks starting to become pink, "I- I didn't intend it to appear like that. I- I've been stood up more times than I can count and just thought-"

I laughed at the way he started to fidget with his fingers, trying to explain himself. "So we're lying now?"

"I- How am I lying?"

"You have three PhDs, Professor," I reminded him. "I'm pretty sure you can count the times you've been stood up."

He nodded, smirking, "Yeah, true. I also don't date a lot, so the number is so small, they would revoke my Ph.D. in mathematics should I not be able to remember it."

Lifting his glass, my professor held it up.

"To your idiot of a date. If he would've shown up, I'd have to eat on my own."

He made it sound like a light-hearted joke, and I honestly believed there wasn't even any ill intent behind it. Still, it upset me.

"I thought he liked me," I mumbled, lifting my glass as well and clinking our glasses together. While taking a big sip, I hid my disappointment and hurt face behind the glass.

"If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day," he replied, taking a sip as well.

"Quoting 'Wuthering Heights' to me does not make me feel better," I said, yet smiled because as we both had reached for the book weeks ago, things had still felt normal between us.

"Then what would?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Uhm... You're here to visit family?"

"My Aunt and her husband," my professor answered. "What about you?"

"You already know about my date."

His hazel eyes widened. "You really just came to Las Vegas for a man you've met online?"

"Wow. I wonder how you feel about that?" I snorted sarcastically, taking another sip of wine. Judgemental bitch.

He chuckled at my pout, "Come one, Bunny. Don't look at me like that."

There it was again, this pet name. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You just called me 'Bunny.' And I'm very sure you called me 'little bunny' earlier," I confronted him.

Professor Reid began to blush, looking around to avoid my gaze.

"I- I- Uhm... Yeah. I did," he admitted stuttering, and I nodded.

"Okay?" I replied. Now, who seemed a little like Joe Goldberg?

"You remind me of one," he explained after taking a sip of wine. "A little bunny, I mean. Your profile picture was a jackalope bunny; since then, I can't help but make that connection all the time."

He had seen my entire profile. No wonder he thought I was nuts. Still, I liked the nickname. I'd never been given one before, and he said it with so much adoration I could almost think he liked me a little.

"I guess there are worse nicknames," I whispered, making him chuckle in reply.

"Like ostentatious prick?"

I nodded and deadpanned, "Among others."

Staring at the candle between us, I reached out for its flame, playing with it without burning myself as long as I stayed focused.

"Can I ask you a question about... what you read?" I asked, avoiding his eyes while my face burned as hot as the candle was bright.

"Of your works?" I nodded. "Well, I read all chapters of our little story. I didn't read your others, though. Are you planning on becoming an author?"

"God, no," I snorted, self-deprecating. Looking at my phone, I repeated my parents' words, "Can't feed a family with childish dreams."

"Those are definitely not your words," my professor noted, and I frowned.

"How'd you know?"

"Profiler. And your gaze went down to your phone while saying it. I assume your family is your screensaver?" I nodded. "What do they want you to be?"

Thinking of all the pressure on my shoulders, making me shorter than I was and my dreams even duller, I started counting, "Doctor, nurse, lawyer, CEO... Do I need to go on?"

He shook his head. "So you're studying to please your parents?"

"And to make sure I'm in deep debt before ever even fully starting to live."

"Would you want to be an author if there wasn't all that pressure on you?"

That was the first time somebody asked me that. Asked me what I wanted in general.

I gifted him a stupid grin. "Can you imagine holding a book in your hand and knowing that you're the one who wrote it and can live off of it? I mean, I wouldn't do it for the money or the fame, of course, but it would be nice not to feel the urge to cry every time a bill arrives in my mail."

Professor Reid stopped my fingers from playing with the flame. Holding my hand instead. "If you're really serious about it, you should pursue this hobby and make it your job."

"And if I fail?" I asked him, my eyes probably giving away the fear of taking that risk.

"Stephen King is one of the best-selling authors of all time, with a net worth of 500 million dollars. Yet it took years of countless rejections before 'Carrie' was published, and as it was made into a movie the following year, they didn't even write his name right in the credits."

But Stephen King didn't write fanfictions about his professor fucking him. I assumed. "So, I should risk becoming a writer because I could be the Stephen King of embarrassing, obsessive little stories I write, although they should stay in my diary?"

I pulled my hand away and wrapped it around my glass instead.

"I- [y/n], I needed to be harsh so you'd understand the troubles your fanfiction could cause us. It had nothing to do with your talent."

Why the hell was I doing here? I couldn't sit here any longer with the man I was head over heels for and listen to him giving me a pep talk about how my fanfiction wasn't as bad as he initially had said.

"I need-" I grabbed my phone and threw it in my purse. "I really should-"

I stopped trying to explain myself and stood up.

Professor Reid stood up as well, hand running through his curls. "Please don't leave. We haven't even ordered yet."

I shook my head. "I- I need to get a hotel room. It's getting late and- Yeah. I- Thanks for the wine."

As I bolted to the elevator, I could hear quick steps behind me. "Hey, [y/n]. Wait," he called after me. "God, your fast in those shoes."

As he reached me while I frantically pushed the elevator buttons, his hand touched my arms. "Hey, what did I do wrong?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I- I'm awkward, and you're nice to me, and telling me my writing didn't suck, and I really can't crush on you anymore. So I'm running."

The elevator doors opened, and I quickly got in, pressing the button for the lobby and then the one closing the doors.

Just as I thought I had officially ended this strange meeting, Professor Reid reached between the doors, holding up the elevator and getting in with me.

He pressed the buttons again. What was he doing?

"What- I- Go back to the restaurant. Did you even pay? Oh my god, did we just dine and dash?"

He began laughing, shaking his head. "It's added to my bill, don't worry. I just..."

"You just, what?" I asked before he could actually finish his sentence.

"Wanted to make sure you're not running off and... Do you really not have a room?"

I shook my head, watching the floor numbers go down. "I was planning to stay with Kyle," I admitted.

"You- Bunny, you didn't know that man. You can't just stay with a stranger from the internet. Even if you'd hit it off from second 1, this is rushing things and risking your health," the professor lectured me.

"Please don't call me Bunny," I mumbled, feeling like crap. As always, when I got lectured.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

As we reached the lobby, I got out, Professor Reid grabbing my arm again and sighing. "[y/n], I- This is going to sound so condescending, but I don't think you'll be able to afford a room here."

Yeah. Condescending was a fitting word. Like, I'm sorry, I'm a broke student, but it's not like I can't afford the broom closet for the night.

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" "You said you want to cry when having to pay your bills, and you almost threw up because of a two-hundred-dollar price tag on a bottle of wine. The cheapest rooms here cost 300$, and they're most likely all booked."

Oh. Okay. Yes, maybe he'd been right. 300$ was a lot of money in my world. I didn't even think my credit card would work at such a high price tag.

"Oh, okay. I- I'll just- I'll find a motel," I almost whispered to myself, grabbing my phone and opening a booking site.

I wasn't helpless. I was capable of taking care of myself. Worst case, I would change my flight home and sleep at the airport.

Taking my phone from me, my professor sighed. "This is ridiculous, [y/n]. Please just come upstairs with me. I have a suit. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You have a suit?" I asked, astounded.

This man had at least five COMME des GARÇONS cardigans. Of course, he could afford a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and a suit here.

"I rarely travel, so I like to spoil myself every once in a while," he explained himself, and I nodded in broke-bitch.

"Thank you, but I can't take you up on that offer. It's- I- This-"

Professor Reid interrupted me. "I promise I would never try anything indecent. I simply want to know you are safe."

The indecent had been exactly what my mind wanted. I thirsted over this man since I had first seen him ramble about stressors and aggressors. He was so passionate about everything he talked about. I liked that passion dangerously much.

Even thought about how passionate he would be about sex, would he be with somebody that caught his interest and was worth his time.

But now he stood there, trying to ensure me that I was safe, almost like I was made from glass.

"The whole bunny thing, huh?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Innocent, fragile, little thing. If you feel too uncomfortable to share the suit with me, I fully understand, but then at least let me pay for a separate room for you."

I shook my head, having to giggle. He was so oblivious. How was he so oblivious? It was kind of cute, to be honest.

"I think, in general, we both have a very different impression about why I'd be uncomfortable sleeping in the same suit as you."

His lips formed a little o, "It's because of the crush?"

"Obviously," I giggled.

"I- I'm sorry. Sometimes things like that fly right over my head."

I nodded. "Yeah, noticed."

"I'd enjoy your company, though, and maybe we could order room service, and you'd tell me if Adriene decides to give Zane another chance?"

Rolling my eyes, I looked at him. "Now you're teasing me again."

He shook his head. "No, I really want to know. See my invitation as a bribe."

I'd been willing to sleep at a stranger's place who I saw as a rebound for my crush on Professor Reid. I could might as well stay with the man I knew I wouldn't have gotten over in the first place.

"Kay. I'll get my bag."

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

Opening the suit's door with my key card, I stepped aside and let [y/n] walk in first. She looked around, mouth open and astounded.

I had judged her and called her obsessed, yet here I was, thinking about how I could spoil her with everything I had to give just to see her in this state of awe some more times.

Stepping out of her heels, she shrunk a fair bit. She let her bag fall to the floor and began looking around. The view over Vegas had caught her interest.

She instantly walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked outside.

"Wow," she mumbled. Turning around to look at me, she asked, "Have you seen your view?"

I nodded. "Since I came here a couple of days ago. If you like that, you're gonna love the bathroom."

Raising her brows, she darted away, only to storm to my side again. "Holy shit. You have a jacuzzi bathtub. I- That thing is bigger than my bathroom."

"Feel free to take a bath later on," I offered.

She nodded. "Oh, don't mind if I do."

I took off my suit jacket and threw it over a chair. Grabbing the room service menu, I sat down on the couch.

"What would you like to eat?" I asked [y/n], jumping a little as she hopped over the couch's back to sit next to me.

*****

Dinner and dessert later, I found myself still captivated by this little bunny. She had been, as always, herself. The girl that made me laugh with her sarcastic tone and bad jokes.

"You should publish that book after reviewing some of the changes again. It has potential," I now told her, making her shake her head and giggle.

"You're just saying that because you enjoy the high praises you get throughout the story."

"That's only a little true." I grabbed the bottle of champagne, pointing at her flute. "More champagne?"

Emptying her glass, she shrugged. "I already feel and look like a hooker, so sure. Hit me."

How often was she going to make that joke?

"Stop saying that. You're extremely beautiful," I told her.

A sassy grin appeared on her face. "I didn't say I wasn't beautiful. I'm just saying that I am dressed extremely provocatively – more than I'd like to – and am drinking champagne in a hotel suit more expensive than my entire apartment's furniture,  while sitting there with a man almost twice my age. These jokes write themselves."

"You can go change into your pajamas if you'd feel more comfortable," I offered her, rolling up my sleeves and opening the first few buttons of my dress shirt.

"Yeah..." she mumbled, looking away and biting her lip.

Did she forget to pack them?

"You didn't bring clothes to sleep in? Seriously, what did you plan on—Oh." Realization set in my bones. She hadn't brought them because she'd planned on sleeping naked or in the clothes of this other man.

Clearing my throat and ignoring the picture of her naked in my bed, I offered, "If you want, I'll get you some of my clothes to sleep in?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to. I'll just sleep-"

"Naked?" I interrupted her with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, correcting me. "In my dress."

I shamelessly stared down her figure and then snickered, "You have to admit that I wasn't that far off then."

"Prick." She hit my arm playfully before laying down on the fuzzy carpet before us, staring at the ceiling full of gold accents.

She was so beautiful, eyes shining brighter than the Las Vegas strip.

"Can I ask something that will definitely cross the line?" I asked, making her look at me.

"You read erotica I wrote fantasizing about you. I think we're long past crossing a line."

She said things with so much character I always had to chuckle. "You came to Las Vegas to sleep with this guy, didn't you?"

Her intentions had been very obvious by now. An internet date that had made her come all the way to Vegas dressed like a daydream, no pajamas... I didn't judge her, she was a young woman that had a right to explore her sexuality, but I also detested the thought of this man running his hand all over her.

He would've probably didn't even know what she liked.

Propping herself up, she looked a little surprised, proofing that I was right with my assumption.

"Huh, I was wrong. There's the line." She still spoke with humor in her voice, laying back down, hand in the air, following the folding drawings on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry. I just- I just really don't understand that. He's an asshole that didn't even care to cancel your plans, and you flew out here, probably spending more money than you can afford, just to give him a night he would most likely not even know to appreciate," I explained myself, voice laced with envy.

"We talked for a while and got along. I think I was just getting sick of only ever fantasizing about things and thought he would do."

"You came to Vegas to give that guy your virginity?" I blurted out in disbelief, and she looked at me again.

"Virginity is a social construct made up by man," she told me, then shrugged. "But yeah, kinda."

"You-" My brain struggled to function a little. It surely didn't change my opinion of her, but the way she had written, leaving these fantasies in my brain for weeks... "You write pretty well about sex for somebody you never had it before."

She nodded, a smile on her lips. "Well, I'm not stupid. Also, it's not like I have zero experience, and I read a lot too."

That loser had almost taken her virginity, absolutely undeserving of it.

Looking into my face, she giggled, "You look so shocked right now."

"N-Not shocked, just... really, really glad he didn't show up," I stuttered, making her raise her eyebrows.

"Why?"

"I- I don't know," I lied, and she saw right through it.

Of course.

"Back with the lies again, Professor?" She smiled, and I was certain she knew I'd been envious.

The most interesting thing was that she didn't care about it. I wondered just how deep her feelings for me were.

Feeling the urge to join her on the floor, I backtracked. I didn't want to lay on the floor. This carpet was probably dirty.

I hid my longing to be close to her behind a topic-changing question. "How did you come up with Zane's backstory?"

She shrugged. "Made it up."

"Yes, but how did you get inspired?"

"I watched you and thought of why you do the things you do."

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "So you profiled me?"

"The amateur version of it."

"Do it again. Tell me what you profiled," I urged, leaning onto my knees and watching her.

"Well, You have lots of PhDs and BAs. That made me think, why? Yes, having them is nice, but it seems more like you have to prove something.

"You're not talking about your parents, but you're very protective and respectful of the women around you, which made me think you're close to your mother and-or grew up in a very female-dominated household.

"Yet you're single and have no children, although having told us before that you're the godfather of your friends' children. Given these facts, I assume your father left you and you're mother, and since then, you try proving to yourself and him that it's his loss and that you're worth sticking around. It's just hard believing it yourself at times, and the thought of being too much like him messes with your love life because what if you run away too?"

I nodded, hiding behind my poker face how close she came. "Go on."

"You got very passive-aggressive as you saw me at the restaurant. You feared being stalked by me, which made me think of trauma a woman forced upon you since she was obsessed with you.

"You realized your reaction to me being here was too much and backtracked with awkward humor. You blush at times, which makes me think you're shy, were even shyer when you were younger, and women, sex, and family became interesting for the first time when you were in your mid to late twenties.

"You're still nice to me, very sweet actually, which tells me that somehow I did not embarrass you as much with this story as I recognized you in a very weird way. You're just very caught up in norms and uncertainty about this situation, so you do what you do best, and that is removing yourself from the situation."

So she saw me – just like Adriene saw Zane – and still, her pupils dilated, and she was interested in me.

"You're good at that. Are you sure you didn't stalk me?" I joked, and she giggled.

"I'm a writer. I can't even watch a movie without being able to predict the ending."

Maybe I would test that theory sometime and take her out for a movie. If she were up for the challenge, maybe even a Russian one.

"Want to even the square and profile me?" She offered.

"I have an unfair advantage since your fanfiction let me into your head and what you already told me," I told her, but she shrugged.

"It's okay."

Taking a deep breath, I started. "You're a young woman that clearly has a thing for older men. I'd say, growing up, you were always more mature than the boys in your classes. Everyone else around you began dating, but you couldn't find the idea of those drama-ridden boys entertaining enough to do so too. Instead, you read, maybe even more adult books than somebody your age should've."

Her big eyes captivated me, and so I sunk to my knees, crawling towards her while continuing.

"It made you realize that once boys became men, meaning they no longer were as childish as to solely think of a woman's looks and were ready to take care of someone and be responsible, they become interesting to you."

Her breathing became heavier as I leaned over her, one arm holding myself up, the other's fingertips dancing on the skin of her upper arm.

"Dating men older than you is, however, difficult since most of those who use dating apps are the same boys you didn't like in your teenhood, only older. Yet, you're somebody who depends on dating apps since you are too shy to ever see a man in public and just flirt. Some hard rejections while growing up, I assume.

"So you stopped looking for somebody for a while, and when coming to my classes, you found the type of man that spoke to you. I was your professor and therefore off-limits, I also blame some insecurities for your thinking, but that didn't stop you from fantasizing about it, so you began writing about all the little what if's.

"The fantasies felt good because, in them, you could develop not only me in the way you wanted it but could also write yourself to be the truest you there is. Adriene has a dream she can follow without struggle because she has the support of her family and the means to pursue it. [y/n] has a dream and talent, but your family has plans for you, and the academic pressure they put on you keeps you from pursuing what you actually want.

"This fanfiction is actually a very genius form of self-therapy for you. Whenever Adriene or another character struggles, it's actually yourself, and by resolving the struggle in your story and reading the comments that relate to it, you start to understand that you're not alone with them."

Now completely on top of here, I could see every micro reaction she had to me and my words. Had I crushed on her so badly myself before the fanfiction that I didn't realize how obviously she felt for me?

"I'm sorry I took that away from you," I whispered, knuckles brushing over her cheek and feeling the heat of embarrassment on them.

"You probably think I'm pathetic. Come on, say it. I can handle it," she urged for my rejection, but I wouldn't give it to her.

"I think you're the most real person I've ever met, [y/n]. People, including myself, hide their guilty pleasures away from everyone. We're taught who we can and cannot be and how much we are allowed to dream by society without feeling guilty.

"You just continued to dream with a username and a little jackalope bunny profile picture and decided to share your pleasures with others so they can dream as well. Without feeling guilt."

"You're romanticizing how weird our situation is," she mumbled, thinking I didn't notice her back arching so she'd be closer to me.

"It's a guilty pleasure of mine, then. Because I also enjoyed your fantasies more than I should've," I admitted, her eyes searching her face for a lie she wouldn't find.

"That almost sounds like you enjoyed reading about us being together," she whispered.

"What if I did?" I exhorted.

She swallowed thickly, licking her beautiful lips. "Then you're really playing with my fantasies right now."

I stood up, giving her her personal space back. I was not manipulating more of this situation. I knew my words and the effect they had on her. The next step had to come from her.

And if it wouldn't come, I would accept it as well.

Grabbing my jacket, I used it to hide away just how badly I wanted this situation to turn into more and walked to the bathroom.

After a cold shower that only barely helped, I dressed in my pajama pants and an old shirt, laying out my too-big, oversized hoodie for her to wear.

If nothing else, hopefully, it would smell like her in the morning.

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," I told her, putting a blanket and pillow on the couch. Before she could protest, I told her, "It's only one night on the couch. No big deal. Take the bed."

She nodded, eyes gliding over my body, goggling a little since she'd never seen me dressed in less and as casually as this.

"Okay, Uhm... Thank you for the food and drinks," she said, taking in one last look and leaving me alone in the living room.

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

A quick shower later, I was dressed solely in panties and my professor's hoodie. It smelled like him, the bed as well, making me clench my thighs together.

I grabbed my phone, opened my emails, and began typing.

***

"Dear, Professor,

I think I've been wrong. You are a nice guy, after all. Thanks for the shirt.

– [y/n]"

***

"Little bunny,

You should go to bed. And please call me Spencer, at least for the moment.

– Spencer"

***

My breath hitched at the pet name and the fact he called himself Spencer Insisting I should do the same.

I was so desperate for this man. I didn't think he was aware of what his innocent words did to me.

***

"Spencer,

I am already in bed. Are you sure you're comfortable on the couch?"

***

"Why? Would you let me sleep in the bed if I wouldn't be?" He called through the closed bedroom door.

"Of course, I would sleep on the couch instead," I called back, a laugh in my voice.

The ping of a message from an unknown number made me look back at my phone.

***

UNKNOWN: "Well, then, I am perfectly fine here."

***

What the hell?

"How did you get my number?" I asked through the door, making Spencer chuckle.

"FBI, Bunny."

He had used his advantages at work to get my number, but I was the one getting teased. Biting my bottom lip, I saved his number.

***

ME: "Now, who's the obsessed stalker?"

SPENCER: "I am not obsessed. I am interested."

***

I was interested as well. More than I thought I would've been allowed to be, yet he continued to play on the same page as me.

***

ME: "That does almost sound like you're flirting, Professor. Do I need to remind you that I humiliated you in front of your FBI colleagues?"

SPENCER: "That's right. Maybe I should humiliate you back."

ME: "By all the things you know about me that are embarrassing, you wouldn't even have to try."

***

I was getting hot. This conversation's undertones had me all over the place. Stripping off the hoodie, I threw it aside, the cold air making my nipples pucker, which in return, egged on the heat between my legs.

***

SPENCER: "There's something I'd like to know about you."

ME: "What?"

SPENCER: "Are all the things in your story based on fantasies of yours?"

ME: "Wouldn't you like to know, Spencer?"

SPENCER: "Answer the question, and I'll answer one of yours."

***

Through my humiliation, I gave him the answer he wanted. Only getting rewarded with wetness pooling between my legs.

***

ME: "Okay. Yes. My fantasies."

SPENCER: "Interesting. Go ahead; it's your turn to ask something."

ME: "Why did you want to know?"

SPENCER: "Because I want to know what going on inside your head."

ME: "Why?"

SPENCER: "My turn to ask a question. Is your obsession with calling Zane your daddy based on your fantasies about men in general, or is it because he's a substitute for me?"

ME: "Are you asking me if I'd like to call you daddy?"

SPENCER: "Yes."

***

My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I sighed. Clasping the covers between my legs, I couldn't help but rock against them to ease some of the pressure I was feeling.

If I was going to answer him, I really needed to substitute his name.

***

ME: "I thought it was strange at first, but Zane has certain aspects of himself that make it hard not to want to call him daddy when thinking of sex with him."

SPENCER: "Do you often think about it?"

ME: "Counter question: Do you ever?"

SPENCER: "I'm afraid that this story of yours tapped into fantasies I didn't think I had."

ME: "That's no answer."

SPENCER: "Fine. At first, I was weirded out, but it finds its way into my head over and over again."

SPENCER: "Why that guy?"

***

In which universe could I have the luck of my professor being jealous over my choice to have sex with another man?

Grinding harder against the covers, I wondered if he felt like me, wanted it as badly.

***

ME: "I'm tired of waiting, and romance clearly doesn't work since my taste in men is unattainable authority figures that are almost old enough to be my father."

SPENCER: "I'm not unattainable."

ME: "You are. It would hurt your reputation to fuck one of your students."

SPENCER: "You're no longer my student, though."

***

A whimper escaped my mouth, and for a second, I watched the door to make sure Spencer hadn't heard me.

He hadn't, which made me cocky enough to kick the covers away and spread my legs. The cold air felt good against my hot body.

***

ME: "Did the idea of my date make you jealous?"

SPENCER: "I have no right to be jealous, little bunny."

ME: "I would like you to be."

SPENCER: "I'm afraid you're making me lose my mind if I let jealousy take over."

***

One hand wandered down into my underwear. If nothing else would happen tonight, I could at least indulge in this feeling.

***

ME: "Do you wanna sleep in your bed?"

SPENCER: "Don't tempt me like that."

ME: "Why not?"

SPENCER: "Because I'd take something from you that I have no right to have."

ME: "Isn't that for me to decide?"

***

I let the offer stay right there. I wanted him, and I knew he knew it anyway. If he decided to act on it, I would be welcoming him.

As he didn't reply, however, I placed my phone on the nightstand and continued to rub my clit, now more eagerly since there was nothing more to wait for than the glorious feeling of a so desperately needed orgasm washing over me.

My breathing became louder as I tried not to moan, hips lifting. I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of Spencer and imagining him administrating those touches that lit me on fire.

"Does your offer still—" Spencer asked and immediately stopped in his tracks when coming in.

"Fuck," I gasped as I lay there on full display, quickly scrambling myself up, pulling my hand out of my panties, and covering my breasts.

Staring at me for a long while, Spencer's eyes became darker, his breathing heavier.

"Now, don't let me stop you from what you were doing, little bunny. You seemed to enjoy yourself," he told me predatorial, stepping closer with me caught in his gaze like a helpless rabbit.

Crawling onto the bed, he made me realize the full extent of his pet name for me. "So that's what you're doing when you're all alone in bed?" He asked, and I let him back me down onto the mattress.

He grabbed my hand, forcing it to let go of the try to cover my breasts, and chuckled darkly as he inspected the wetness on my fingers.

Inhaling sharply, he brought them to his face and took them into his mouth, cleaning them from my arousal.

"Please," I whimpered as I thought I would die from excitement.

"You really want that?" He asked teasingly, and I began nodding.

"Since that stupid day, you borrowed me your jacket. I- I kept it on when I..." My words got caught in my through, and another whimper left me.

An animalistic groan escaped Spencer as he growled, "You fucked yourself wearing my coat?"

"It smelled like you," I explained, hips trying to invite him to come closer. "I- I closed my eyes and imagined it to be you touching me."

"Can I kiss you?" He questioned, eyes carefully searching for my consent.

I nodded eagerly. "You can do whatever you want to me."

The second his lips collided with mine, I thought I had died and gone straight to heaven. He was careful at first, but it wasn't long until he couldn't hold back his lust anymore.

As his tongue swapped over my bottom lip, I allowed it into my mouth. Meanwhile, he gently pressed me against the mattress, one leg between mine, putting pressure exactly where I needed it so desperately.

"Oh my God," I whimpered into the kiss, and he backed away. His lips were flushed from our kisses, but that didn't stop the cocky smile of his from spreading on them.

"And there I thought you'd just call me Daddy," he chuckled, moving a hand between my legs, touching me over my soaked through underwear. "Oh, wow. You're dripping, my little bunny. Is that all for me?"

I nodded, rubbing myself against his hand. "All yours."

Spencer got off me, grabbing my underwear, waiting for me to lift my ass and allow him to take it off. As I did, he pulled it down with such a hurried force the flimsy material ripped, making us both laugh gently as he threw it over his shoulder.

"Did you ever have somebody go down on you?" He asked, pressing a kiss onto my knee and lowering himself between my legs.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I shook my head. "You- You don't have to. I know it's more of a women's fantasy that-"

Spencer interrupted me, kissing my inner thigh, "Don't stop me unless you don't want me to touch you, okay?"

I nodded, letting him guide me back down. He began placing kisses on my inner thighs, and his curls tickled between my legs.

The anticipation was driving me crazy, making a loud moan escape me as he finally dragged his flat tongue through my folds.

Liking my reaction, he did it again and again. Then began focusing more on my swollen clit. Spencer's tongue played with it, flicking from side to side and drawing circles onto its sensitive skin, which made my eyes roll back.

"That idiot would not have known what to do with a woman so gorgeous," he said, fingers moving towards my slit, coating themselves with my natural lubricant.

As he carefully entered me with one, I gasped. The instruction was new, filling me with excitement.

"Is that okay?" He asked, cautious of my reactions, and I nodded while he gently began moving his digit in and out of me at a slow pace.

Tongue back on my clit, he began moving his finger faster. The pleasure I received left me breathless, helplessly clawing my hands into Spencer's hair to make sure he'd stay right where I needed him the most.

As he added a second finger, my hips began moving more frantically, making him start to hold me down while eating me out. I moaned and cried in pleasure, trying to stay alert enough not to smother his head between my legs.

With a final swipe of Spencer's tongue, I came, crying out his name, deliciously humping against his mouth as he fucked me through my high.

As my breathing became more normal again, he chuckled against my skin, sitting back on his knees and taking off his shirt.

I hurried myself up as well, hands quickly all over him. Wrapping his arms around me, he let himself fall onto the bed, pulling me with him.

As I lay partially on top of him, his hand moved under my chin, bringing me closer and kissing me softly. The faint taste of myself on his lips drove me to the rim of madness.

Greedily gripping the waistband of his pants, I tried to remove the final barrier keeping him from me. Spencer chuckled, helping me with it and catching me as I almost fell off the bed while throwing his clothes across the room.

"You are so fucking eager," he laughed as I claimed onto him, straddling his lap.

Kissing him roughly, I rocked my his against his hard cock, feeling the precum rubbing itself between my folds and adding to the wetness there.

"Wa- Wait. We need a condom, [y/n]," Spencer spoke breathlessly. His arm wrapped around me so I couldn't move anymore and make his rationality sign out.

"I'm on birth control. We- We don't have to use one," I suggested, knowing I'd dreamed of this moment in so many facets, yet it was always raw, with him claiming me.

Staring into my face, he became stern, lecturing almost. "I hope you didn't plan to be so reckless with the loser you wanted to fuck," he said, almost like a question.

I quickly shook my head. No. Never. Only with him, I wanted it to be this way. "I have a whole box in my bag but- but I'd like..."

As embarrassment killed my voice, he nodded, placing kisses on my cheek and neck. "It's okay, Bunny. I know. I read it."

Before I could feel any embarrassment due to his words, he grabbed my face and pulled me into a rough kiss.

As he pulled away, he growled with a dangerous smirk, "Daddy's going to come inside you, so you fucking know who you belong to."

A high-pitched moan left my mouth. He'd just quoted my story and looked like it had been the greatest thing for him ever to say.

"You wanna stay on top?" He asked, and I thought for a second and nodded.

"Yes, please," I said, lifting my hips.

Letting a hand glide between us, Spencer dragged his cock through my folds, coating it in my wetness. As his head then placed itself at my entrance, I felt the earlier nervousness rush through me again.

I sank down on him, becoming too eager to think of how much I could actually take.

As he was completely inside me, I realized my mistake, the burning between my thighs making me inhale sharply and whimper, "Shit."

I hid my face in the crook of Spencer's neck. I would've jumped off him and rolled into a crying ball on the bed, but I was too afraid to move. It burned.

"Are you okay, Sweetheart?" Spencer asked worriedly, and I sat back up properly, hissing at the stinging feeling between my legs.

"Hurts," I mumbled. "Didn't think it would be that bad."

Wiping away a tear that had freed itself and ran down my cheek, he kissed me gently before resting his forehead against mine.

"It's different for every woman. We can stop if it's too much."

I shook my head abruptly. "N-No. I wanted this for so long. I- I just need a second."

Spencer nodded. He moved one hand to my lower back and the other to my hair, holding me close. "It's okay. We have all the time in the world," he whispered softly. "Just try to relax. You're doing so well already."

The more time passed, the more the pain ebbed away. I became aware of his length and grid stretching me, how he pulsed within me, his head resting firmly against my cervix.

He was so close to me, stroking over my hair, kissing me, and letting me feel him.

I moved a little, bringing his hand down between my legs. His forehead rested against mine as he slowly started to rub my clit in circles.

"You like that?" He asked quietly.

I nodded breathlessly. "Uh-huh."

We smiled at each other softly, stupidly. And as the lust returned, the pain was nothing more than a faint memory that was already blurred.

I began slowly rocking my hips, his hand still working on me.

As I picked up more pace, Spencer searched for my eyes. "Does it still hurt?" He asked, concerned, but I quickly shook my head.

"So good."

Bouncing on him like a little bunny, my moans became unhinged, fed by his low grunts. I threw my head back just to let it rush forward against his lips or his shoulder, kissing him roughly or nibbling on his skin, marking him with my bite marks.

"Keep your eyes on me, [y/n]. Eyes on me, Baby," he ordered after a while, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him while he began thrusting up into me.

"Is this what you thought it would be like?" He asked with a hoarse voice.

I shook my head, squealing excitedly. "It's so much better."

With one swift motion, he turned us around, having me lay on the bed. As he began pounding into me, my delirious mind slipped up. "Fuck, Daddy," I moaned loudly, not knowing how he'd feel about it in all seriousness.

His hips staggered for a second, and he met my gaze with a praising smile. "Good girl. Such a good fuckin girl."

He growled deeply, arms caging me in underneath him as his pace picked up again, our skin slapping loudly against each other, my thighs hurting most deliciously due to the impact.

"Fuck, fuck," I cussed, rocking against him as I felt my second orgasm approaching. "Daddy, please, I-" I interrupted my own, begging for release with loud moans.

Spencer's hand moved down between us, rubbing me again. "That's it, come for me, Bunny. Come for Daddy."

The crashing wave hit me suddenly with an unstoppable force. I threw my head back, arching into his final thrusts as he came inside me.

Dropping to his elbows, he kissed me softly, and his thrusts came to a halt. His knuckles brushed over my cheek as he looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I let out a deep, satisfied sigh, "Fuck, that felt good."

He pulled out, laying down next to me. "I know virginity is just a social construct created by men, but thank you for letting it be me."

I nodded, deadpanning, "Charity work for the elderly."

He gasped in fake appall. "What?" He asked, starting to tickle me. "What did you say?" He asked again, not stopping as I laughed. "I think I didn't hear you correctly."

"Stop it," I begged through my giggles. "Stop, Spencer." As he finally stopped, he pressed another kiss on my lips.

"You wanna try out the jacuzzi tub?" I asked, and he sat up.

"How many bubbles do you want, little bunny?"

I pushed myself up, declaring, "A lot."

*****

"How do you feel?" Spencer asked once we lay in the tub, me between his legs, his arms wrapped around me.

I shrugged. "Strangely enough, the same as before. Except that I now know how it feels to fuck you."

He leaned forward for a second to kiss my cheek, then made himself comfortable again.

"Are you mad at me for writing that story?" I asked, not daring to look at him. Should his face give the answer away, I didn't want to see it.

"No," he sighed. "I was never mad. At first, I was extremely uncomfortable, not knowing how to react, but now, I'm actually glad for it."

"It's still weird, though, right?" I asked, making him chuck and pull me closer.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But I can live with a little weird. Normal would be boring."

I pressed the button on the side of the tub, turning the jacuzzi function on. Turning it up some more, I sighed relaxed, stretching. I was sore—a nice kind of sore.

For a while, we just lay there, listening to the sounds of our own breathing.

"Should you ever decide to turn 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink' into a novel, I'd love to proofread it, do some of the jobs you'd need an editor for, or answer your questions about working for the FBI," Spencer spoke into the silence between us.

I chuckled, "You're not just being nice now because we had sex, right?"

I practically heard him shaking his head. "No. I- I guess I just like your type of weird. The way you wrote about Zane and Adriene... If being with you is like being with Adriene, I'd like that."

"So you're crushing on the fictional character I created?" I asked, turning around.

"I love how she loves Zane, although he's an idiot at times. If you're anything like her, I need you."

The shit-eating smirk on his handsome face said it all. He knew it was a self-insert. He just wanted to play it cool. Dork.

"Who says I'd need a Zane, though?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugged. "Wishful thinking."

"Now, wouldn't I just make an amazing profiler," I giggled.

"What makes you think that?"

Laying back against his chest, I simply said, "I was right about us fitting together."

"I'm in Vegas until Thursday. If you'd like, I'd want you to stay with me," Spencer offered. "We could go on a couple of dates, I show you around, and we'll test your hypothesis."

Okay. This was a permanent thing. No one-time thing. If I was dreaming, I definitely didn't want to wake up.

"I'd love that," I said, adding sassily, "But I don't get why people love coming to Vegas, though. So I hope you're not planning on taking me to a casino."

He was silent for a second, then reluctantly said, "I'm banned from casinos in Vegas. I- I might've pushed my luck when I became a young adult."

"You counted the cards?" I snickered, hearing him snort behind me while trying to defend himself.

"In my defense, it came naturally to me." As our laughter ceased, he added, "I hope you're okay with boring museum and bookstore dates."

He had read my story, so I answered, "You know I am."

Turning on the bubbles some more, I looked out the big bathroom window while Spencer figured out how to turn on the bathroom TV, putting on an old black and white movie with Marilyn Monroe.

He sighed happily, handing me my water bottle since he insisted that I needed to stay hydrated. Taking the bottle from me, he kissed my cheek and cackled, "And all of this because of a fanfiction."