anyway i fucked up. this was just going to be a place where i put my criminal minds fanfics so they wouldn't clog the drain that is my main, but then i went and got invested.
if you're only here for actual fic i have so much respect for that and you can block the tag "#ginsoaked ficlessness". then you won't see any of the other nonsense.
the basics:
lizzy. she/her/whatever. born to fic and take naps, forced to work and pay bills. eurotrash.
the fics:
spencer-centric. x reader, or x oc, or just whatever. might be smutty but kinda vanilla. g.ai free.
the masterlist
the wips
the ask box:
open for prompts | closed for prompts
always open for chat and questions
because this is a side blog it can't follow you back and i hate that for me. (my main is @olderbynow and you might catch me snooping from there.)
What have you done to me I’m constantly thinking up new plot bunnies I’m supposed to be packing for vacation
Anyway workplace crush fic where Spencer is dead set on being a sexless Ken doll at work but he is having Thoughts And Feelings when reader is asked to go undercover for recon at a club for a case 👀 bonus points if it’s s2-4 so it’s just 2000s white girl music playing at aforementioned club
lmaoooooo i am the LEAST sorry i could possibly be about this development. welcome to the dark side or whatever.
ken doll spencer you delusional idiot that's never going to work. he's so worried the crush is going to get hurt but then someone hits on them and OH NO new emotion just unlocked. and the crush is totally dancing to sexy back like justin timberlake is still cool.
bonus points for the crush wearing the sluttiest outfit (spencer might wish he was actually blind and not just nearly blind because at least then he could focus on work a little) and then after the op they ask for spencer's cardigan because they're cold. when they offer to wash it before they return it he says really really loudly "NONO, DON'T DO THAT!" and then he has to pretend it's really delicate when it's actually just pure cotton. he probably wakes up in a cold sweat realising the label with the washing instructions is still in it, but when the crush returns it, it hasn't been washed and it smells of them like maybe they wore it A LOT.
Lizzy I had a Jimmy Neutron brain blast in the nail salon today
Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift but it’s Spencer
This hit me like a ton of bricks btw I blinked and it was summer 2020 all over again 💀
ooooooooooh my friend (do you prefer kai or callie?) tell me more!! is spencer doing the sneaking or is he grinning like the devil? i need to know!
either way i'm thinking spencer reid on his third phd somehow being persuaded to ta a summer course at caltech and BAM! summer fling served nicely chilled. (end of s1 he didn't want to go visit his mum at the sanatorium, i think i could make myself believe he'd take any excuse that looked like a reason to stay at school for the summer instead of going back to las vegas. also where would he stay? is the house still there or was it sold to pay for diana's treatment?)
oooooh also. also! it all ends because gideon shows up and persuades him to come join the fbi. poor kid thinking he's about to get sexed up and instead he's going to quantico for six months of non-stop p.e. and then they want him to shoot a gun instead of his load. shame.
I think Spencer is grinning, but I think it’s a bau!fling not a pre canon one. That being said I do love the idea of his (probably first) romantic endeavor being cockblocked by Gideon 💀😭 I can also see him finding any reason to not go home, prob a double edged sword for him bc he can avoid seeing his mom while also getting another degree to piss off his dad
When I hear it I’m imagining a situation much like lonely planet where Spencer and his fling are so completely not supposed to be together but they are. It’s a fling in the sense that they’re not officially together, FWB style, but they’re catching feelings QUICK
They’re wrapping up, Spence is going home in the wee hours of the morning so he can pretend he didn’t sleep over before they are together on the jet for however long. The fling opens the front facing windows to their apartment and sticks their head out to shout at him, he grins like the devil and runs back up to the apartment 🙂↕️🙂↕️
Alternatively, it’s a text from across a parking lot after a case and he bolts to go kiss them. Maybe it’s raining and cinematic or whatever
omg now i want this fic too! just call me greedy it's fine i know.
huge fan of fwb situations where they catch feelings. i mean obviously lmao. and both of those scenes are so cute.
the second one tho? in my mind he's standing next to someone from the team about to get in his car but then he gets a text and checks his phone although it's raining because he saw the fling texting across the parking lot and knows who it's from. and whoever he's with looks at him like he's insane for staying out in the rain but a text from the fling is more important than not getting rained on okay and then the text is just the filthiest shit but also has FEELINGS in it and he's gone.
hmmmggggghh literally frothing at the mouth whenever you post for lonely planets guide it’s just so gooood!! reading abt you losing motivation to write what is planned out in your head was equal parts relatable and earth shattering as i am eagerly awaiting each new update <3 thaaank you for the update!!!
bahahahaha you should maybe see a doctor about that? seriously though i'm so happy you like it! <333 i'm totally going to finish it i just might hate doing it lmao. i'm too close to the finish line to give up now and i know i'll be over hating it as soon as i don't have to write it anymore. it's just getting to THAT point that's a little painful. honestly the real struggle is all the other ideas that keep popping up that i'm not allowed to do anything with until this is done because then i'll never come back to it.
but like i'm flying out on august 3rd, so the plan is to be done by then. cross your fingers i guess?
sightseeing spots: must-see places along the highway in hell
tags: s2!spencer x bau!reader, virgin!spencer, glasses!spencer, no use of y/n, spencer has been thinking some thoughts and has questions, idiots in love making out in a car
warnings: sexually explicit content (boobs are fondled, masturbation (f), mention of blowjobs but none performed sorry)
word count: 3.3K
part of the lonely planet’s guide universe. masterlist is here.
summary: spencer wants to make sure he understands when kissing is allowed, reader gives him a practical lesson and things get a little out of hand in an inconvenient place. aka the one where they don't quite have sex in a car.
note: we have very much reached the ugh just kill me stage of writing this series where i have it all planned out (wait what?) in broad strokes but that also means i'm getting lowkey bored with it. if i hadn't set myself an arbitrary deadline to finish it all before my vacation i honestly think the last 3 parts would just be sitting in my wip folder for the next six months negl
*~*~*
"How does it work?" Spencer asks.
You're driving back from interviewing a witness and none of you have said anything for the past 15 minutes.
You throw your mind back to the topics you've discussed so far on this trip, wondering if he means cold fusion (which he was the one explaining to you), credit card fraud, or house training a puppy.
"I mean, how do you actually do it?"
So, hopefully not the credit card fraud.
"Do what?"
"Kiss your date." Clearly this conversation has been happening inside his head for a while and you're the stupid one for not keeping up.
"You know how to kiss, Reid," you say, exasperated. You know for a fact that he knows how to do that. You've spent entirely too much time thinking about the fact that he knows how to do that exactly the way you like. Which is your own fault, really, in a way. You suppose.
He blushes, just a little, enough to turn the tips of his ears red and give his cheeks a windswept kind of glow. What an annoying look on him. "No. You said, 'if you feel like she’s giving the right signals, you can kiss her' at the end of a date. But how do I know?"
Ohhh.
"You just have to read the signals she's sending and then respond accordingly. You're a profiler, this isn't rocket science."
"No, rocket science is a lot simpler, actually," he says. You'd laugh but you know he isn't joking. "This has too many variables."
"Okay." You pull the car onto the shoulder and turn off the engine, then unfasten your seatbelt and turn so you're facing him. "Let's try it this way."
He turns his head towards you. "Which way?"
"Do you think I want to kiss you right now?" you ask, looking at him with a blank face.
"I never think you want to kiss me," he says with the same kind of certainty usually reserved for telling you that you're wrong about why leaves are green, actually.
Wow. Okay. Maybe your dad was wrong: there is a god and prayer really works?
You tilt your head and stare at his lips, smiling a little. "And now?"
"Um." Spencer shifts in his seat, his eyes roaming over the dashboard before they return to you.
You lick your lips, thinking about the way his tongue feels on your nipple, the way it felt on your clit. Arousal ties a knot in your stomach at the memory, and you're pretty sure it's enough to make your pupils dilate. "How about now?" you ask, your eyes still on his mouth.
This is definitely a mistake, you're realising, because by this point you really, really do want him to kiss you.
"Yes?" He says it like a question, but also maybe like he's asking permission, almost a whisper.
You reach out a hand and run your thumb over his pouty lower lip, leaning a little closer to him. "Now?"
He nods, lips puckering slightly as if he's about to suck your thumb into his mouth. But then he squeezes his eyes shut, pulling back a little and shaking his head. "Stop it."
You're relieved his eyes are closed so he doesn't see the way your face falls. "What?"
"My date's not going to do that. Stop making it too easy."
"Are you calling me easy, Reid?" you joke, your mind snagging on the 'my date'. That doesn't sound very hypothetical at all. That sounds like he already has someone in mind. You pull your shoulders back and take a deep breath, recalibrating.
He opens his eyes again, looking at you, eyes widening when he sees your expression. Clearly he's worried he offended you, which isn't the worst assumption he could be making. "No-no, that's not what I meant." He shakes his head. "I mean, nothing about you is easy."
You're not sure you were actually meant to hear that last part. "Then what?"
"You're just being too obvious, you'd never actually look at me like that if you weren't making a point."
You know for a fact that you've looked at him exactly like that several times before, but usually not before anything happens, which you assume is his point. You work your mouth from side to side, trying to figure out how to explain to him. "Do you want to kiss me?"
"What?" He frowns, eyes straying to your lips.
"Right now, do you want to kiss me?"
He sighs. "Yes." It sounds like the admission is physically painful to him.
"Good."
"No, it's not," he says, frustration coming off him in waves.
"How do you think you're looking at me?" you ask, ignoring his protests.
"Like you're the only meal I want to eat for the rest of my life."
Which, fuck. Not what you expected him to say. At all. The words shoot straight to your core and every cell in your body wants you to just straddle him and get his hands on you, but you're pretty sure he'd stop you again and putting in for a transfer to get over the humiliation just feels like too much paperwork so you stay where you are. "But how do you think it looks to me?" you ask instead, trying to keep your voice light, as if he didn't just punch you in the gut with his words.
His eyebrows shoot up and he grimaces. "Pathetic?"
"No, Reid," you groan, frustrated. "No."
He looks at you like he doesn't believe a word you're saying.
"Okay," you say, trying again. "Look at me and think about kissing me."
He looks at you but his expression doesn't change at all.
"Are you… are you thinking about it?"
His eyes narrow just slightly when you speak but then readjust. "Yes."
You genuinely can't tell. At all. Just to see if anything will happen, you bite your lower lip.
His jaw clenches.
You smile.
He shakes his head like he's clearing a fog and then he looks at you again. "What was the point of this exercise?"
"I honestly don't know anymore," you admit.
"Great."
"Look, Reid, it's not an exact science. I mean, clearly. It's more of a vibe."
"A vibe?"
"Yeah. You're never going to be 100% sure. That's part of what makes it fun." You realise this isn't going to fit his definition of fun. "Just think of it like a game of chess. What will happen if you move your lip pawn to capture her lip pawn?"
"I'll be check-mated by her slap queen?" His answer comes so quickly you wonder if he already considered it this way.
"Or your pawns have a cute little kiss and decide you both win," you suggest brightly. "Look, if you feel like the date went well and your chemistry is good, try for a kiss. If you aren't sure, you can ask for permission. You have that whole wounded puppy thing going for you, most women will probably find it endearing if you ask."
You think the taste in your mouth might be bile.
He considers your suggestion, then tilts his head to the side. "Wounded puppy?" You're pretty sure he has never looked more like one than he does right now.
You smile. "It's not a bad thing, okay."
He licks his lips, nodding thoughtfully, and then he looks you in the eye. "Can I kiss you?"
"Yeah, like that," you say, nodding, reminding yourself that he's not actually asking you, he's just practising.
But he reaches out to cup your cheek, pulling you towards him like his hand is a magnet until you're stretched over the centre console, and then he moves to press his lips to yours. He's still watching you when your eyes flutter closed.
His lips move against yours, soft and gentle, very much how you imagine he'd first kiss someone on a date. No expectations, respectful. Then he pulls back and you open your eyes to find him still watching you.
"Can I kiss you again?" he asks, lips curling up slightly.
"No," you say, leaning in before he can react. "My turn."
You are the opposite of soft and gentle, but he clearly doesn't mind, his hands grabbing your head and holding you in place as if he has some opinions on exactly who's kissing who here. He explores your mouth with his tongue like he's looking for something, and you realise you're losing this battle fast, so you stroke your tongue against his in a way that hasn't failed to get a reaction from him yet.
It works, again.
He moans into your mouth, not breaking the kiss but moving a hand down to release his seatbelt and then he's all but pulling you into his lap until you're straddling him, the lack of space preventing you from getting as close to him as you want because there's nowhere for your legs to go — as close as he clearly wants you as well, the way he keeps tugging on you by the waist until he realises why you're not moving. He tries to slide down in his seat but you hear his knees connect with the dashboard and then he winces in pain without breaking the kiss.
His tongue still in your mouth, distracting you, he unbuttons your shirt and then pushes it off your shoulders along with your top and bra until you're wearing them all like a straightjacket with your breasts exposed. Pretty appropriate, really, considering how insane this is. You're parked on the shoulder of a Montana highway, for Christ's sake. Tinted windows, sure, but this is still very much a traffic violation that could have cops knocking on those tinted windows at any time. But his hands are on your breasts, squeezing them and then finding your nipples and who cares if it's crazy as long as he doesn't stop.
You moan, your hips bucking against him, finding absolutely no friction.
He breaks the kiss, pushing you back against the dashboard so he can lean down and get your breast in his mouth, pausing only long enough to mumble, sounding almost reverent, "I never thought I'd get to do this again." Which is an odd thing to say, considering that the point of all of this is for him to get dates and then presumably… do these things with them.
His mouth isn't even touching you yet and already your hips are chasing him helplessly at the sound of his voice, as if your body thinks the words are for you. He notices and pushes a hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing you roughly. Even through the layers of clothes he knows exactly where to push into you to put pressure on your clit.
"Fuck," you moan, caught up in the feeling of finally having his hands on you again. "Yes."
Suddenly he stops rubbing you, and you're about to protest, because although his tongue on your nipple feels just as amazing as you remember it, a few seconds ago it all felt even more amazing, but then you realise he's unbuttoning your slacks and swallow your objections, letting a moan spill from your lips instead when he sucks your nipple into his mouth.
But he doesn't push his hand down your underwear the way you expect him to, the way you want him to. He takes your hand and guides it there, pushing your whole hand down your panties until your fingers are parting your folds and feeling how wet you are from his touch.
"What's this, Reid?" you ask, intrigued. Nothing about his behaviour in the past has suggested that he doesn't enjoy getting you off, so he must be doing this for a reason.
"I want to watch you," he says as he moves from one breast to the other, sucking on it until it's glistening with his saliva and the nipple is hard, and then he pulls back just long enough to finish what he was saying. "Touching yourself until you come."
You grin, pulling your other hand free from your clothes, reaching up and scratching your nails along his scalp, enjoying the feeling of him humming against you. "Okay."
He pulls back, looking at you in surprise. "Really?"
"Sure." You don't really understand why it feels like a big deal to him, especially with the current setup where he won't actually be able to see anything at all, but he looks genuinely excited at the prospect.
But then your finger finds your clit, circling it, and you realise he didn't mean what you thought he meant, because his eyes are on your face, not on what your hand is doing, and suddenly you feel self-conscious, your hand stilling.
He notices immediately, just from your expression. "Don't stop," he says, wide-eyed. "Please."
"I—" you say, then stop yourself, not sure what to say. How do you tell him that this feels too intimate when just a few weeks ago you were perfectly happy for him to fuck you with his tongue?
You move his left hand to your breast, because maybe if he's touching you, you can distract yourself a little, and he seems to get it, his thumb and index finger finding your nipple and tweaking it carefully. You huff out a breath of air at the sensation and go back to touching yourself, closing your eyes so you can't see him watching you.
From the way his breathing halts, you know he's about to say something, probably tell you to open your eyes, but he doesn't, just reaches out a hand to brush the hair out of your face. He continues to touch you like this, one hand on your breast in a way you're tempted to ask him to teach you, the other gently stroking your face while you rub your clit roughly, desperately, moaning and sighing.
"So pretty," he murmurs, fingers stroking along your jawline.
You hum in response, wondering just what it is about the way sweat is trickling down your forehead and making the hair stick to your skin that's so pretty exactly. You open your eyes to check that it's even you he's looking at.
It is. It definitely is. His eyes are glued to your face, pupils blown and mouth hanging slightly open, a fascinated smile painted all over his face. When your eyes meet, his smile grows. Your orgasm hits you faster than you expected and you come with a series of whimpers and your eyes locked on his, unable to look away from him, your hand falling from his hair to his shoulder to keep you steady.
Through the haze of your orgasm you think you might hear him whisper "perfect," to himself, but you may just be imagining it because he sort of looks like that's what he's thinking. Which you may also just be imagining.
Your breathing slowly returns to normal and you pull your hand out of your panties, squirming to free your arm from the restraints of your clothes by pushing them back up your arm, using your free hand to pull the straps of your bra and tank top back on your shoulder. Spencer watches first one breast disappear from view and then the other as you put your clothes on properly, a small frown on his face like he wants to argue with you because maybe he's not done playing with his friends yet.
Once your shirt is back on, he reaches out and adjusts a few of the buttons, his fingers brushing your chest. It's the most obvious ploy in the history of ploys and when you shake your head at him, he at least has the decency to blush a little.
He studies your face for a moment, then leans forward to kiss you. When he pulls away, he looks at you very carefully, his smile slightly uncertain. "You looked like you wouldn't mind me kissing you."
You snort. "Reid, unless you paid a hooker for the privilege, if you've just watched a woman come, it's pretty safe to assume you're allowed to kiss her."
"Noted," he says, grabbing your hips to steady you as you crawl back to your own seat.
You look down, buckling yourself back in, and as soon as you look up, his lips are on you again, one hand on the centre console for balance, the other stroking your cheek. When he finally pulls back, you feel out of breath and out of place and just a little lost.
"How long after is it safe to make that assumption?" he asks, knuckles still tracing your jawline.
It takes you a moment to remember what he's talking about. You're not sure what the appropriate answer is, and you don't want to have to think about it too hard, because then you might just realise that when it comes to you, the truth is he's always safe to assume it's allowed.
And that's not something you need to be aware of.
Before you can come up with a reply, his phone rings. He answers and puts it on speaker. "Hey, boss," you say just as Spencer opens his mouth to talk. He shakes his head at you instead, which you're pretty sure means that you don't win the race if he isn't running.
"I thought I called—" Hotch begins but then cuts himself off. "Never mind. Where the hell are you guys?"
"Well, hurry up and get back here, they found another body."
You turn the key in the ignition and start the car.
"We'll be right there," Spencer says and hangs up the phone, gingerly shoving it back in his pocket.
You glance over and realise what the reason for that is: He's rock hard. "Do you want to drive?" you ask, eyes on his crotch.
He sees what you're looking at. "No? What difference would that make?"
"You heard Hotch, we don't really have time to hang around here any longer, but if you're driving I can—"
"No, thanks," he cuts you off firmly.
"What, so you hate blowjobs now?"
He lets out a strangled sound, then takes a steadying breath. "I'd crash the car."
You laugh and he squeezes his eyes shut. He probably would, actually.
"You know what they say," you muse, pulling back onto the deserted highway, heading back towards reality. "If you're gonna die in a fatal car crash, at least make the coroner's report interesting."
"No-one has said that, ever," he says. "Just drive and leave me alone."
"For how long?"
"Probably longer than you'd still want me to kiss you," he mutters, staring out the window.
"Okay, dude," you say, shaking your head.
You don't speak to him for the rest of the day because maybe he can just tell you when he's over himself, you're not going to spend your time guessing. Everyone else notices but doesn't comment on it, just assuming the two of you had another fight about something no-one cares about, probably including you both.
Spencer, however, watches you carefully all day, right up until you nod goodnight to him, JJ and Morgan as you leave the elevator back at the hotel. When the doors close, his head is tilted to the side, brows furrowed, but the last thing you see is a smile spreading on face.
You wonder if he had some epiphany about the case or he's just that relieved to be away from you, and you almost call the elevator back so you can ride up to his floor and ask him.
Lizzy I had a Jimmy Neutron brain blast in the nail salon today
Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift but it’s Spencer
This hit me like a ton of bricks btw I blinked and it was summer 2020 all over again 💀
ooooooooooh my friend (do you prefer kai or callie?) tell me more!! is spencer doing the sneaking or is he grinning like the devil? i need to know!
either way i'm thinking spencer reid on his third phd somehow being persuaded to ta a summer course at caltech and BAM! summer fling served nicely chilled. (end of s1 he didn't want to go visit his mum at the sanatorium, i think i could make myself believe he'd take any excuse that looked like a reason to stay at school for the summer instead of going back to las vegas. also where would he stay? is the house still there or was it sold to pay for diana's treatment?)
oooooh also. also! it all ends because gideon shows up and persuades him to come join the fbi. poor kid thinking he's about to get sexed up and instead he's going to quantico for six months of non-stop p.e. and then they want him to shoot a gun instead of his load. shame.
sightseeing spots: must-see places along the highway in hell
tags: s2!spencer x bau!reader, virgin!spencer, glasses!spencer, no use of y/n, spencer has been thinking some thoughts and has questions, idiots in love making out in a car
warnings: sexually explicit content (boobs are fondled, masturbation (f), mention of blowjobs but none performed sorry)
word count: 3.3K
part of the lonely planet’s guide universe. masterlist is here.
summary: spencer wants to make sure he understands when kissing is allowed, reader gives him a practical lesson and things get a little out of hand in an inconvenient place. aka the one where they don't quite have sex in a car.
note: we have very much reached the ugh just kill me stage of writing this series where i have it all planned out (wait what?) in broad strokes but that also means i'm getting lowkey bored with it. if i hadn't set myself an arbitrary deadline to finish it all before my vacation i honestly think the last 3 parts would just be sitting in my wip folder for the next six months negl
*~*~*
"How does it work?" Spencer asks.
You're driving back from interviewing a witness and none of you have said anything for the past 15 minutes.
You throw your mind back to the topics you've discussed so far on this trip, wondering if he means cold fusion (which he was the one explaining to you), credit card fraud, or house training a puppy.
"I mean, how do you actually do it?"
So, hopefully not the credit card fraud.
"Do what?"
"Kiss your date." Clearly this conversation has been happening inside his head for a while and you're the stupid one for not keeping up.
"You know how to kiss, Reid," you say, exasperated. You know for a fact that he knows how to do that. You've spent entirely too much time thinking about the fact that he knows how to do that exactly the way you like. Which is your own fault, really, in a way. You suppose.
He blushes, just a little, enough to turn the tips of his ears red and give his cheeks a windswept kind of glow. What an annoying look on him. "No. You said, 'if you feel like she’s giving the right signals, you can kiss her' at the end of a date. But how do I know?"
Ohhh.
"You just have to read the signals she's sending and then respond accordingly. You're a profiler, this isn't rocket science."
"No, rocket science is a lot simpler, actually," he says. You'd laugh but you know he isn't joking. "This has too many variables."
"Okay." You pull the car onto the shoulder and turn off the engine, then unfasten your seatbelt and turn so you're facing him. "Let's try it this way."
He turns his head towards you. "Which way?"
"Do you think I want to kiss you right now?" you ask, looking at him with a blank face.
"I never think you want to kiss me," he says with the same kind of certainty usually reserved for telling you that you're wrong about why leaves are green, actually.
Wow. Okay. Maybe your dad was wrong: there is a god and prayer really works?
You tilt your head and stare at his lips, smiling a little. "And now?"
"Um." Spencer shifts in his seat, his eyes roaming over the dashboard before they return to you.
You lick your lips, thinking about the way his tongue feels on your nipple, the way it felt on your clit. Arousal ties a knot in your stomach at the memory, and you're pretty sure it's enough to make your pupils dilate. "How about now?" you ask, your eyes still on his mouth.
This is definitely a mistake, you're realising, because by this point you really, really do want him to kiss you.
"Yes?" He says it like a question, but also maybe like he's asking permission, almost a whisper.
You reach out a hand and run your thumb over his pouty lower lip, leaning a little closer to him. "Now?"
He nods, lips puckering slightly as if he's about to suck your thumb into his mouth. But then he squeezes his eyes shut, pulling back a little and shaking his head. "Stop it."
You're relieved his eyes are closed so he doesn't see the way your face falls. "What?"
"My date's not going to do that. Stop making it too easy."
"Are you calling me easy, Reid?" you joke, your mind snagging on the 'my date'. That doesn't sound very hypothetical at all. That sounds like he already has someone in mind. You pull your shoulders back and take a deep breath, recalibrating.
He opens his eyes again, looking at you, eyes widening when he sees your expression. Clearly he's worried he offended you, which isn't the worst assumption he could be making. "No-no, that's not what I meant." He shakes his head. "I mean, nothing about you is easy."
You're not sure you were actually meant to hear that last part. "Then what?"
"You're just being too obvious, you'd never actually look at me like that if you weren't making a point."
You know for a fact that you've looked at him exactly like that several times before, but usually not before anything happens, which you assume is his point. You work your mouth from side to side, trying to figure out how to explain to him. "Do you want to kiss me?"
"What?" He frowns, eyes straying to your lips.
"Right now, do you want to kiss me?"
He sighs. "Yes." It sounds like the admission is physically painful to him.
"Good."
"No, it's not," he says, frustration coming off him in waves.
"How do you think you're looking at me?" you ask, ignoring his protests.
"Like you're the only meal I want to eat for the rest of my life."
Which, fuck. Not what you expected him to say. At all. The words shoot straight to your core and every cell in your body wants you to just straddle him and get his hands on you, but you're pretty sure he'd stop you again and putting in for a transfer to get over the humiliation just feels like too much paperwork so you stay where you are. "But how do you think it looks to me?" you ask instead, trying to keep your voice light, as if he didn't just punch you in the gut with his words.
His eyebrows shoot up and he grimaces. "Pathetic?"
"No, Reid," you groan, frustrated. "No."
He looks at you like he doesn't believe a word you're saying.
"Okay," you say, trying again. "Look at me and think about kissing me."
He looks at you but his expression doesn't change at all.
"Are you… are you thinking about it?"
His eyes narrow just slightly when you speak but then readjust. "Yes."
You genuinely can't tell. At all. Just to see if anything will happen, you bite your lower lip.
His jaw clenches.
You smile.
He shakes his head like he's clearing a fog and then he looks at you again. "What was the point of this exercise?"
"I honestly don't know anymore," you admit.
"Great."
"Look, Reid, it's not an exact science. I mean, clearly. It's more of a vibe."
"A vibe?"
"Yeah. You're never going to be 100% sure. That's part of what makes it fun." You realise this isn't going to fit his definition of fun. "Just think of it like a game of chess. What will happen if you move your lip pawn to capture her lip pawn?"
"I'll be check-mated by her slap queen?" His answer comes so quickly you wonder if he already considered it this way.
"Or your pawns have a cute little kiss and decide you both win," you suggest brightly. "Look, if you feel like the date went well and your chemistry is good, try for a kiss. If you aren't sure, you can ask for permission. You have that whole wounded puppy thing going for you, most women will probably find it endearing if you ask."
You think the taste in your mouth might be bile.
He considers your suggestion, then tilts his head to the side. "Wounded puppy?" You're pretty sure he has never looked more like one than he does right now.
You smile. "It's not a bad thing, okay."
He licks his lips, nodding thoughtfully, and then he looks you in the eye. "Can I kiss you?"
"Yeah, like that," you say, nodding, reminding yourself that he's not actually asking you, he's just practising.
But he reaches out to cup your cheek, pulling you towards him like his hand is a magnet until you're stretched over the centre console, and then he moves to press his lips to yours. He's still watching you when your eyes flutter closed.
His lips move against yours, soft and gentle, very much how you imagine he'd first kiss someone on a date. No expectations, respectful. Then he pulls back and you open your eyes to find him still watching you.
"Can I kiss you again?" he asks, lips curling up slightly.
"No," you say, leaning in before he can react. "My turn."
You are the opposite of soft and gentle, but he clearly doesn't mind, his hands grabbing your head and holding you in place as if he has some opinions on exactly who's kissing who here. He explores your mouth with his tongue like he's looking for something, and you realise you're losing this battle fast, so you stroke your tongue against his in a way that hasn't failed to get a reaction from him yet.
It works, again.
He moans into your mouth, not breaking the kiss but moving a hand down to release his seatbelt and then he's all but pulling you into his lap until you're straddling him, the lack of space preventing you from getting as close to him as you want because there's nowhere for your legs to go — as close as he clearly wants you as well, the way he keeps tugging on you by the waist until he realises why you're not moving. He tries to slide down in his seat but you hear his knees connect with the dashboard and then he winces in pain without breaking the kiss.
His tongue still in your mouth, distracting you, he unbuttons your shirt and then pushes it off your shoulders along with your top and bra until you're wearing them all like a straightjacket with your breasts exposed. Pretty appropriate, really, considering how insane this is. You're parked on the shoulder of a Montana highway, for Christ's sake. Tinted windows, sure, but this is still very much a traffic violation that could have cops knocking on those tinted windows at any time. But his hands are on your breasts, squeezing them and then finding your nipples and who cares if it's crazy as long as he doesn't stop.
You moan, your hips bucking against him, finding absolutely no friction.
He breaks the kiss, pushing you back against the dashboard so he can lean down and get your breast in his mouth, pausing only long enough to mumble, sounding almost reverent, "I never thought I'd get to do this again." Which is an odd thing to say, considering that the point of all of this is for him to get dates and then presumably… do these things with them.
His mouth isn't even touching you yet and already your hips are chasing him helplessly at the sound of his voice, as if your body thinks the words are for you. He notices and pushes a hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing you roughly. Even through the layers of clothes he knows exactly where to push into you to put pressure on your clit.
"Fuck," you moan, caught up in the feeling of finally having his hands on you again. "Yes."
Suddenly he stops rubbing you, and you're about to protest, because although his tongue on your nipple feels just as amazing as you remember it, a few seconds ago it all felt even more amazing, but then you realise he's unbuttoning your slacks and swallow your objections, letting a moan spill from your lips instead when he sucks your nipple into his mouth.
But he doesn't push his hand down your underwear the way you expect him to, the way you want him to. He takes your hand and guides it there, pushing your whole hand down your panties until your fingers are parting your folds and feeling how wet you are from his touch.
"What's this, Reid?" you ask, intrigued. Nothing about his behaviour in the past has suggested that he doesn't enjoy getting you off, so he must be doing this for a reason.
"I want to watch you," he says as he moves from one breast to the other, sucking on it until it's glistening with his saliva and the nipple is hard, and then he pulls back just long enough to finish what he was saying. "Touching yourself until you come."
You grin, pulling your other hand free from your clothes, reaching up and scratching your nails along his scalp, enjoying the feeling of him humming against you. "Okay."
He pulls back, looking at you in surprise. "Really?"
"Sure." You don't really understand why it feels like a big deal to him, especially with the current setup where he won't actually be able to see anything at all, but he looks genuinely excited at the prospect.
But then your finger finds your clit, circling it, and you realise he didn't mean what you thought he meant, because his eyes are on your face, not on what your hand is doing, and suddenly you feel self-conscious, your hand stilling.
He notices immediately, just from your expression. "Don't stop," he says, wide-eyed. "Please."
"I—" you say, then stop yourself, not sure what to say. How do you tell him that this feels too intimate when just a few weeks ago you were perfectly happy for him to fuck you with his tongue?
You move his left hand to your breast, because maybe if he's touching you, you can distract yourself a little, and he seems to get it, his thumb and index finger finding your nipple and tweaking it carefully. You huff out a breath of air at the sensation and go back to touching yourself, closing your eyes so you can't see him watching you.
From the way his breathing halts, you know he's about to say something, probably tell you to open your eyes, but he doesn't, just reaches out a hand to brush the hair out of your face. He continues to touch you like this, one hand on your breast in a way you're tempted to ask him to teach you, the other gently stroking your face while you rub your clit roughly, desperately, moaning and sighing.
"So pretty," he murmurs, fingers stroking along your jawline.
You hum in response, wondering just what it is about the way sweat is trickling down your forehead and making the hair stick to your skin that's so pretty exactly. You open your eyes to check that it's even you he's looking at.
It is. It definitely is. His eyes are glued to your face, pupils blown and mouth hanging slightly open, a fascinated smile painted all over his face. When your eyes meet, his smile grows. Your orgasm hits you faster than you expected and you come with a series of whimpers and your eyes locked on his, unable to look away from him, your hand falling from his hair to his shoulder to keep you steady.
Through the haze of your orgasm you think you might hear him whisper "perfect," to himself, but you may just be imagining it because he sort of looks like that's what he's thinking. Which you may also just be imagining.
Your breathing slowly returns to normal and you pull your hand out of your panties, squirming to free your arm from the restraints of your clothes by pushing them back up your arm, using your free hand to pull the straps of your bra and tank top back on your shoulder. Spencer watches first one breast disappear from view and then the other as you put your clothes on properly, a small frown on his face like he wants to argue with you because maybe he's not done playing with his friends yet.
Once your shirt is back on, he reaches out and adjusts a few of the buttons, his fingers brushing your chest. It's the most obvious ploy in the history of ploys and when you shake your head at him, he at least has the decency to blush a little.
He studies your face for a moment, then leans forward to kiss you. When he pulls away, he looks at you very carefully, his smile slightly uncertain. "You looked like you wouldn't mind me kissing you."
You snort. "Reid, unless you paid a hooker for the privilege, if you've just watched a woman come, it's pretty safe to assume you're allowed to kiss her."
"Noted," he says, grabbing your hips to steady you as you crawl back to your own seat.
You look down, buckling yourself back in, and as soon as you look up, his lips are on you again, one hand on the centre console for balance, the other stroking your cheek. When he finally pulls back, you feel out of breath and out of place and just a little lost.
"How long after is it safe to make that assumption?" he asks, knuckles still tracing your jawline.
It takes you a moment to remember what he's talking about. You're not sure what the appropriate answer is, and you don't want to have to think about it too hard, because then you might just realise that when it comes to you, the truth is he's always safe to assume it's allowed.
And that's not something you need to be aware of.
Before you can come up with a reply, his phone rings. He answers and puts it on speaker. "Hey, boss," you say just as Spencer opens his mouth to talk. He shakes his head at you instead, which you're pretty sure means that you don't win the race if he isn't running.
"I thought I called—" Hotch begins but then cuts himself off. "Never mind. Where the hell are you guys?"
"Well, hurry up and get back here, they found another body."
You turn the key in the ignition and start the car.
"We'll be right there," Spencer says and hangs up the phone, gingerly shoving it back in his pocket.
You glance over and realise what the reason for that is: He's rock hard. "Do you want to drive?" you ask, eyes on his crotch.
He sees what you're looking at. "No? What difference would that make?"
"You heard Hotch, we don't really have time to hang around here any longer, but if you're driving I can—"
"No, thanks," he cuts you off firmly.
"What, so you hate blowjobs now?"
He lets out a strangled sound, then takes a steadying breath. "I'd crash the car."
You laugh and he squeezes his eyes shut. He probably would, actually.
"You know what they say," you muse, pulling back onto the deserted highway, heading back towards reality. "If you're gonna die in a fatal car crash, at least make the coroner's report interesting."
"No-one has said that, ever," he says. "Just drive and leave me alone."
"For how long?"
"Probably longer than you'd still want me to kiss you," he mutters, staring out the window.
"Okay, dude," you say, shaking your head.
You don't speak to him for the rest of the day because maybe he can just tell you when he's over himself, you're not going to spend your time guessing. Everyone else notices but doesn't comment on it, just assuming the two of you had another fight about something no-one cares about, probably including you both.
Spencer, however, watches you carefully all day, right up until you nod goodnight to him, JJ and Morgan as you leave the elevator back at the hotel. When the doors close, his head is tilted to the side, brows furrowed, but the last thing you see is a smile spreading on face.
You wonder if he had some epiphany about the case or he's just that relieved to be away from you, and you almost call the elevator back so you can ride up to his floor and ask him.
i suck at coming up with titles i'm not gonna lie, but there's one i've been wanting to use for a while that i wonder other people would write for: "break me down, and i'll call you mine" (it's from the song I'll Call You Mine by girl in red)
thank you anon! <333 this one was super fun because i had one idea when i first read it but then i listened to the song and it changed my thinking completely and now idk.
without knowing the song at all:
this is giving me angsty smut vibes. later seasons spencer in a situationship that he wants to take somewhere more serious but he doesn't know how to let himself have that so he just wants the other person to destroy him to stay in it. because he feels like if it hurts then he's worth it the way he believes he can't be worthy of anything that's actually good?
after hearing the song:
it kinda sounds like something that could be on the heartstopper soundtrack and that makes it more sweet and innocent to me? so maybe more oblivious spencer who doesn't realise he's being flirted with? [i realise that's not what the song is about, but the actual lyrics aren't a story i'd ever write so i had to bend it? 😅]
(and now i really want to know what your own thoughts are on the title!)
for real though coming up with titles is either the easiest or the hardest thing about writing. if i don't have a title VERY early on then i'm not going ot have one at all and i'll be FLOUNDERING trying to come up with a title for a fic that's otherwise done and either i'll pick something from a song i like or just string some random words together and call it a day lmao
early seasons spencer is falling in love but doesn't realise that's what's happening, so he keeps trying to look up his 'symptoms' on webmd and everything he reads seems to suggest that he's dying, which doesn't make sense when he's always in a good mood so he keeps investigating and reading up on all the things. and then reader has to explain it to him without knowing they're who he's in love with and they're sad about him being interested in someone else and then things get awkward in a cute way and then they probably kiss.
also, mini research revealed this gem and i feel like spencer reid definitely read all of them:
i did basically 3 days of cw29 work today and announced that i'm working from home tomorrow and thursday (because wednesday SOMEONE IS BRINGING A PUPPY TO THE OFFICE) and let me just tell you how excited i am to get paid to write fanfic for two whole days and checking my work email every 20 minutes
