hii, i’m lavender but you can call me lav! this is my first post on this account but i’m not a new writer- my old fics are too embarrassing to post tho so trust me on this lol.
i am hyperfixating so hard on criminal minds rn so pretty please send me in some requests and ideas!!
i will do: sfw, nsfw, hcs, alphabets, multi x reader, pretty much anything lol. i do gn and fem reader just because i don’t know how guys work since i’m afab.
i’ll write for: elle greenaway, emily prentiss, spencer reid, aaron hotchner, jennifer jareau, derek morgan
i’ll do all kinds of au’s, relative! reader, bau or non bau reader. like i said, pretty much anything so send in your requests!!
to be clear, I believe younger artists and minors can write good fics (not to say “fanfic must always be good” either because it is a hobby and I still believe that as long as it’s done with love and the artist’s joy, it is good) and I believe it’s good when younger artists and minors start making art at young ages.
that said, a lot of fanfics out there that you read and love are done by adults with kids, jobs and responsibilities. adults who have years, decades of practice under their belts. adults who don’t let life and responsibilities take away their joy in creating.
someone’s love and passion don’t suddenly go away the second they reach a certain age. so if anything, I feel sorry for people who say “adults shouldn’t write fanfics or make fan art” because what these people really say is that they expect themselves to stop having fun and finding comfort in things that bring them joy and comfort the second they reach a certain age. it’s sad that they put an expiration date on their own fun and source of comfort.
which smutty spencer fic would you like to read the most?
due to my extreme overthinking and a few ideas i’ve had on my own, i have an abundance of spencer fics. sooo, i’ve decided to take votes on which to work on first to clear out my drafts. pls lmk!! and i’ve also included snippets w the tags for each below ;)
which fic do u prefer?
post prison! husband! spencer coming back
teacher’s assistants! spencer & reader
spencer w baby fever
reader proves to spencer she thinks him talking is hot
Remaining time: 6 hours 54 minutes
nsfw below cut!!!
OPTION ONE: POST PRISON SPENCER
includes: praise, very affectionate fucking, hurt/comfort, love, unprotected piv, married! spence and r, switch! spence & r but all soft
“fuck, baby, i need you,” spencer breathes out against my lips, wandering hands holding my shoulders as he pulls away enough to look at me.
he’s so pretty. he always has been. since he was 23 and i first met him with penelope, he’s always been pretty boy, even without morgan’s insistence on the nickname.
he’s a different kind now though. scruffy hair, stubble, a wild look in his eyes, more broad and muscular. he was driving me absolutely crazy with how he looks now, like a starved man.
i nod, breathless. “yeah, yeah, whatever you want, okay,” i ramble, letting him guide me to the bedroom. he stands by the bed, waiting, and i carefully climb on, perching myself near the edge but moving backwards as he goes to climb on top of me.
he kisses down my jaw, neck, collarbone, all the way down to the valley of my breasts, his kisses ravenous yet reverent.
“do you know how many days i waited for you? i spent every night, every day, doing nothing but thinking about you, but god, i missed this the most. being able to actually touch you,” he murmurs, voice breaking and softening into a whisper at the end. “i just need to be close to you,” he adds, more vulnerable, moving back up to kiss me again.
OPTION TWO: TEACHERS ASSISTANT SPENCER
includes: nerdy! spencer, early seasons! spencer, whining, begging, dry humping, reader making moves on him, semi perv! spencer
“spence?” you ask softly.
his head snaps up, startling. “uh- yes?” he mumbles, blinking quickly.
“are you… okay?” you frown. “you seem distracted. do you need to go home-?”
“no! no. no, i’m fine,” he stutters. “just… the case really got to me i guess,” he tiredly smiles an apology at me.
you suck in a breath. “can i… help at all?” you murmur, placing a hand on his knee.
his eyes practically pop out of his skull. he whimpers, and you can feel heat burn in your stomach just at that. he’s already hard, straining his slacks. you internally pride yourself on that before returning to the mission at hand.
“seems like you’ve got a… big… issue there,” you whisper breathily, gesturing at his crotch.
spencer squeaks. “oh! oh, i- oh god. oh my god. i’m- i’m so sorry, i’ll-“ he rambles anxiously, looking around for an escape.
you grab his wrist gently. “spencer. it’s fine. you’ve lasted a lot longer than i thought you would. and i’ve been waiting,” you laugh a little.
he’s confused, it’s written plain all over his face in the lines of his furrowed brow and his soft mouth pulled downward.
“spencer. i’ve been trying to get with you for a while now,” you confess, laughing again.
“i- oh. what? why?” he asks rapid fire, narrowing his eyes.
patience drawn thin, “do you wanna kiss me?” you deadpan.
spencer blinks. “uh…yes-“ he can’t get another word out before your hands are on his face, pulling him in.
you kiss him hard, like you’re trying to force the proof of your want for him through your lips. he freezes. slowly, he melts, kissing you back, hands coming up and settling on the back of your head.
he grabs your waist, trying to pull you closer. you slide off the desk and into his lap, straddling him. you both suck in a gasp as you adjust, grinding down onto his aching erection.
“ffffuck…” you breathe out, hands sliding to his shoulders to steady yourself, digging in slightly. spencer’s eyes are shut tight, body tense as if focused.
but you’ve been nothing if not one to push the limits. especially his. so you roll your hips down onto his again.
OPTION THREE: BABY FEVER SPENCER
includes: breeding kink, talk of pregnancy, talk of babies, body worship, praise, creampie
that had been all it took for you. your awkward, geeky, ever so sweet and thoughtful boyfriend holding tiny henry in his arms- and quickly assuring him how he’d never let him go to some school- you don’t even remember because your mind went blank and your womb was now VERY unhappy you weren’t carrying spencer’s child.
“fuck,” you muttered, shaking your head. but it stuck. you could already feel the familiar heat start to curl in your stomach.
the whole ride back, you were zoning out.
spencer, meanwhile, was freaking out.
you’d barely closed the door before you were on him, kissing him hard and needy and desperate.
“mph!” he made some shocked, muffled noise against your mouth. you tangled your hands in his hair and felt him melt against you, his noise of shock turning into one of pleasure.
you only broke apart to kiss his jaw and neck, needing to feel more of him under your mouth.
“ah- angel- angel, what is this?” he asks, hands fisting in your shirt. “i mean, i- i’m not complaining, it was just out of nowhere…?”
you pull away, looking him dead in the eyes. “i wanna have your babies,” you state.
and before either of you knew it, you were pulling spencer to the bedroom, kissing him between him mumbling protests and statistics and blah blah blah while your whole body was screaming touch me touch me touch me.
OPTION FOUR: SEXY YAPPER SPENCER
includes: fingering, cunnilingus, soft dom!r, service sub! spencer, riding, praise
“you’re hot when you talk,” you state, reaching out and twirling a piece of his hair.
he flushed. “…hot? really…? that’s the word you’d describe me as when i’m talking?” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“yes, that’s exactly the word,” you declare.
he still looked a little disbelieving, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed slightly.
you moved a little closer. “you want me to prove it to you?” you whispered.
“so, how do we prove me talking gets you… aroused?” he asks shyly, eyes darting around.
“well, what are the usual statistics?” you breathe out.
“um… elevated heartrate, increased temperature and blood to the surface of skin, shallower breathing…” he offered, finally looking up at you.
you raised your eyebrows. “well? go ahead and check all that.”
he swallowed thickly, and you watched the movement of his adam’s apple. he slowly reached up, fingers gently pressing into your neck for your heart rate. “… your heart rate does appear to be elevated,” he whispers. “additionally, your face is flushed, and your skin is warmer than usual to the touch. your breathing…” he pauses, leaning in to listen, “does appear to be more rapid.”
you smirk. “see, i can be right too,” you tease. “but y’know what the most obvious clue is to tell if i’m turned on?” you leaned in, “is if i’m wet.” spencer’s eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up. “you wanna go ahead and check that for me, baby?” you ask sweetly, leaning back on the couch and spreading your legs.
The De-Radicalization of Jennifer Jareau: How Fandom Misogyny Re-Wrote the FBI's Most Elite Profiler
Hey y'all, welcome back to the blog. Grab your mugs, settle into your seats, and let’s get into the deep, dark trenches of criminal profiling, institutional bias, and how the internet loves to shrink hyper-competent women.
Because honey, we need to talk about the absolute media-literacy tragedy that is the fandom treatment of Jennifer “JJ” Jareau from Criminal Minds.
If you look at my header, you see Season 5 Catra typing away in the "Corridors" episode. If you look at my avatar, you see her in that iconic pink spacesuit from "Shot in the Dark." That is not just an aesthetic choice, honey. That is a warning. This blog page is a sanctuary for fierce, deeply complex, neurodivergent-coded anti-heroines and alpha women who refuse to be put into a digestible little box.
And right now? The Criminal Minds fandom has JJ trapped in a traditionalist, misogynistic shipping box, and I am about to tear that box completely to the ground.
Let’s lay down the canonical, chronological receipts.
The Chronological Blueprint: Putting Respect on the Media Liaison Era
Let’s start with a hard factual check that has been decades in the making. On September 22, 2005, television audiences were introduced to a fiercely determined, highly empathetic young woman who acted as the indispensable bridge between the Behavioral Analysis Unit and the rest of the world.
For the first six seasons of Criminal Minds, Jennifer Jareau was the elite Media Liaison of the BAU.
And let’s clear up the uncritical fandom lie right now: JJ was never just a secretary.
Being the Media Liaison required a masterclass in psychological warfare, communication strategy, and extreme emotional intelligence. JJ was the shield. She was the one who had to look grieving families in the eyes and promise them justice. She was the one who had to manipulate the savage, bloodthirsty vultures of the 24-hour news cycle to protect the integrity of active investigations. She was highly trained in crisis negotiation and tactical response from day one.
In Season 2, Episode 23 ("No Way Out, Part II: The Evilution of Frank"), when the absolute worst, most sadistic serial killer in the show’s history—Frank Brightkopf—had the team cornered, it was JJ who kept her composure under extreme duress. In Season 3, Episode 9 ("Penelope"), when the tech queen herself, Penelope Garcia, was shot and fighting for her life, who was the woman who stepped up, tracked the killer, and literally shot the perpetrator dead through a glass window with raw, tactical precision to protect her team?
Jennifer Jareau.
She was an absolute alpha, commanding rooms full of grizzled local police chiefs who didn’t want to take orders from a young woman. She earned her stripes in blood, grit, and bureaucratic warfare.
The Pentagon Era and The Forced Ascension
Yet, how does the system, and subsequently the fandom, repay years of masterful character development? By punishing her for her own competence.
In Season 6, JJ was forcibly transferred to the Pentagon—a narrative move that mirrored the real-world behind-the-scenes network misogyny where executives tried to fire the female cast members to cut costs. But when she returned in Season 7 as a fully-fledged Behavioral Analyst, she didn't just step up; she evolved. She survived literal torture in Season 9, Episode 14 ("200"), enduring brutal psychological and physical warfare while protecting national security secrets, showing an iron-clad soul that would make Natasha Romanoff proud.
She became a legendary profiler, a fierce mother to Henry and Michael, a master of hand-to-hand combat, and the absolute operational spine of the BAU.
The Stagnation of the "Jeid" Delusion: Shrinking an Alpha Into a Shipping Prop
So, explain to me how a massive portion of the Criminal Minds fandom looks at twenty years of elite institutional excellence and decides to reduce her entire existence to a validation tool for Spencer Reid or Emily Prentiss?
The subconscious objectification is staggering.
If you scroll through legacy fanfiction spaces or modern edit tags, you are immediately bombarded with a toxic, uncritical distortion of JJ’s character. This brilliant, authoritative, self-made woman is routinely stripped of her tactical competence and rewritten as a weeping, emotional damsel-in-distress whose only function is to be the comforting maternal figure or the hidden romantic prize for the "misunderstood, neurodivergent underdog" archetype or the raven/silver-haired Spy-turned Agent-turned Chief of the BAU.
Sound familiar? It’s the exact same script the TMNT 2012 fandom used to shield Donatello’s entitlement, and the exact same framework used to turn Olivia Benson into a 27-year waiting room for Elliot Stabler.
The fandom treats JJ’s canonical husband, Will LaMontagne Jr.—a supportive, emotionally secure, respectful detective who holds down the home front while his wife hunts monsters—like an obstacle. They villainize an incredibly healthy, stable marriage because they are obsessed with the codependent, fan-fictionalized fantasy of "Jeid" or "Jemily".
In Season 14, Episode 15 ("Truth or Dare"), the writers gave in to the uncritical echo chamber, forcing a bizarre, out-of-nowhere confession where JJ claims she "always loved" Reid. It was a complete bastardization and fetishization of linguistic and narrative boundaries. It insulted single mothers, it insulted happily married women, and it was a blatant rejection of canonical facts.
JJ’s value is not an accessory to Spencer Reid’s emotional growth, nor is she arm candy for Emily Prentiss. Her worth is embedded in her tactical brilliance, her survival, and her deep, soulful empathy. Her story belongs to the victims she fights for, not the simps who demand she be slotted into a traditional, digestible shipping box to validate their self-projection fantasies.
The Intersectional Reality: We Are Done Letting Fandom Gaslight Us
As a young woman with a curvaceous hourglass body type who navigates the real world with ADHD, Bipolar, and my own intense mental health battles, I know exactly what this brand of objectification feels like. Toxic spaces immediately use a woman’s physical intensity, her beauty, or her outward "softness" as an excuse to strip away her right to have a fierce mind, an iron-clad boundary, or complex trauma. To them, an alpha woman cannot simply exist in her own authority. She must either be a silent trophy, a helpless victim, or a flattened, hyper-sexualized maternal caricature.
I am completely done letting uncritical internet echo chambers gaslight us into thinking this is "just a fan thing." Media analysis matters because how we treat characters reflects exactly how we value real-world human beings.
When you minimize Jennifer Jareau’s lifelong tactical and strategic excellence to a cheap shipping punchline, you are telling real-world women, survivors, and neurodivergent individuals that our safety, our boundaries, and our professional dignity are less important than your internet fantasies.
Jennifer Jareau is an elite, independent queen. She is a fierce, protective mama bear who has stared down the worst monsters humanity has to offer and never blinked. She is not up for debate, and she does not exist to satisfy a lazy, uncritical fandom box.
like genuinely tho. i’m a jemily shipper!! but i like it because they’re sooo much better than jeid don’t even get me started on that honestly j hate it (not just bcus i’m mentally dating spencer lol it’s just so awkward for either of them to like either other. it’s just so incestual idk like they act like sibling love to me. idk.). but jemily where it’s them being the support for each other. good jemily. emily being saved by jj when she leaves. jj welcoming emily when she joins. i love jemily platonic and or romantic.
jj has been there since the beginning and holy fuck i have missed her since she left in s6. who the fuck is this random ass other blonde they put in her place. i literally screamed when she came back for ep18/19. i lit don’t think u understand.
this woman was PREGNANT WHILE ACTIVELY WORKING CASES FOR THE FBI. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME SHES NOT A FUCKING BADASS.
and i’m so mad abt the jeid confession. THERE WAS NOTHING THERE LIKE EVER. AND SHES BEEN MARRIED HEALTHILY AND HAPPILY WITH TEO KIDS. i pretend it never happened icl. jj and reid both deserve better.
I LOVE WILLIAM LAMONTSUE. however tf u spell his name. lwk just william jareau cus he’s jj’s bitch as he should be (as i am). this man quit his job for her!!!! he chased after her!!!! he put in effort to make it work with her!!!!! also he was in one of my fav episodes ever teehee i love s2.
jennifer jareau is not your fucking plot or ship device. stay away from my wife
first you gotta do the build up and then the actual fucking and the fucking is pretty easy but you never know how long the fucking should last, and eventually you're like "okay I'm tired of this" so the characters cum, but you're not done yet because you can't just end it at "he fucking nutted everywhere" you gotta keep going, and the characters have to chat a little or cry or think about how horrible they are or something and then you kinda don't know when to end that either so now you're 2k words in and you might have put too much self hatred and not enough sucking dick. so you wrap it up, and think well it's done now.
or sometimes you have it all perfect in your mind and you knock the whole thing out in 2 to 3 hours.
check out the masterlist for more! spencer requests welcome
summary: you’re just like many other college students with a crush on your criminology professor, spencer reid. sweet, handsome, oblivious spencer reid. except you were never one to ogle from afar. you were determined to be the one to seduce him.
tags and warnings: smut, no use of y/n, sub!spencer reid x dom!reader, afab!reader, pretty mean dom reader, professor x student, slight dubcon, dynamic implies age gap but not specified, masturbation (reader), implied fingering during masturbation, reader is a nasty gal!, reader wears a very mini skirt at one point, degradation, reader gets off on shaming spencer, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), cowgirl position riding, face sitting (fem), slight blackmail for a moment, creampie, mentions of pregnancy but no preg bc WE DON’T DO THAT HERE, author is waaay into foreplay, most of spencer’s rambling is random stringed-together criminology jargon as i pretend to know what im talking about
a/n: inspiration for this fic! this is like if a smut fic was very silly. reader wants that cookie baaaad. this is a very small concept that stretched into a big long fic i hope no one gets bored. also IF YOU’RE READING THIS GET IN MY INBOX!!! I AM WILLING TO TAKE REQUESTS!!! I WANT SPENCER IDEAS, EVEN FLUFFY ONES!!!!
It was certainly hard to focus when in the class of Professor Reid. Almost every seat in the front row was taken up by a girl twirling her hair or chewing on her pen. Or both. And you really couldn’t say you were any better.
Spencer stood at the front of the lecture hall, adjusting his glasses with one hand while holding a stack of papers in the other.
He didn’t mean to be distracting, but he so very was. Tall, lanky, always dressed neatly in button-ups and vests, and his intelligence just radiated from him. And when he was teaching, his voice gained such weight and precision it was impossible for the attention of the room not to be drawn.
He was certainly handsome. And it was sweet of him to pretend he didn’t know it.
You couldn’t blame the ogling women. You'd be lying if you said you weren't taking this class at least partially for Reid. You sat near the middle, your notebook open but mostly blank. You’d spent the last ten minutes sketching tiny hearts in the margins instead of taking notes. you were listening. You just… liked looking at him, too. The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward onto his desk, how he bit his lip when concentrating, how soft-spoken yet assured he sounded. It was all kind of unfairly attractive for a professor who probably didn’t even realize half these girls were here for him and not criminology.
But you were a woman of drive. A woman of initiative. And a woman of... well, perverse sexual desires, honestly. And Professor Spencer Reid would see that soon enough.
You pretended it was a coincidence that you’d arrived earlier than could possibly be accidental.
And it was a coincidence, technically. A class of yours prior had been canceled last minute, and now roaming the halls of the building, the open door to Spencer’s hall was just too inviting to possibly ignore.
You hadn’t planned to show up an hour early just to secure a good seat. But now here you were, walking in at 8:05 AM for a class that started at 9, eyes roaming over the empty front row with a giddy greed.
Part of you had hoped to spare just an extra minute with the handsome professor before his lecture began. But much to your pleasant surprise, he wasn’t one to arrive two minutes before class was to begin like your other professors. As you stand in the door, Reid stares back at you with brown eyes like saucers, mid-scribble on the board, slightly alarmed to see someone so early.
His hair was unruly. The eyebags under his eyes, not dark enough to be troubling, but just enough to make you wonder if he had spent more than a few hours resting.
Spencer straightened up quickly and nearly knocked over the empty coffee cup on his desk. He clears his throat, and gives you a stiff wave. “Oh! Uh… good morning.”
You clear your throat and shift your bag on your shoulder, moving to secure a front row seat. “…First one, huh?” you say, like it’d been accidental.
Spencer nodded, still slightly flustered by your presence. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re… pretty early! 53 minutes early, actually.”
He turned back to the board and picked up his marker again, but didn’t resume writing just yet. Just stood there shifting it in his grip awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that someone was watching him work.
He slowly turns back around. “Did you… uh… have a question? Or something I can help you with?”
It makes you a little giddy inside that he was talking to you directly now. Like being alone with a celebrity. It was quite invigorating to have a crush.
“Oh,” you wave your hand, settling into your chair. “Nope. No questions here.”
He stares at you for a moment, eyes just subtly roaming over your figure. “…Cool,” he said lamely, then turned back to the board and started writing again, a subheading to yesterday’s lecture notes.
Crossing your leg over the other, you tap your fingers on your knees. You sit front and center, watching Spencer like he’s on display. The silence is a little uncomfortable, the only sound in the room the squeaking of the marker as his hand flies across the board, but you didn’t care. You were too busy getting an eyeful of his derriere each time his blazer rode up with his arm.
Eyes still fixed on the prize, you muse, “You like to be early too, huh?”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I like to get everything set up before class starts. Y’know… organize the slides, make sure the projector’s working,” He gestures vaguely to the ceiling. “Helps to not feel, uh, overwhelmed, actually.”
“Ah. A lot to do, I imagine.”
“Mhm!” he hummed in agreement, scribbling more notes on the board, something about a list of common stress triggers in violent offenders.
“Anything I can help with, sir?”
He turns slowly, marker in hand. “Uh… no? I mean, I’m good.” He smiled awkwardly, then immediately went back to writing before the conversation could continue further.
Your face falls. The slight sting of embarrassment makes you grimace behind his back. “Not even get you another coffee? …You look like you need it, sir.”
At that, Spencer considers. “…Actually,” he said slowly, “that would be really nice.”
You pop up from your chair like a spring. Spencer is slightly startled. “I, uh, take it with a lot of sugar!” He calls as he watches you move to the door, then retracts it as soon as he feels too demanding. “Actually, just— just bring the sugar here, I’ve got it.”
“Aye, aye, professor.”
Five minutes later, you returned, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a generous amount of sugar packets between your teeth.
You climb up the steps to the stage, for the first time being on the same level as your professor. And just a few feet away at that. You bite your cheek.
He carefully takes the cup with a tiny, grateful smile, but hardly makes eye contact with you, much to your dismay. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”
He immediately ripped open three sugar packets, dumping them in at once. He stirred it with a spoon from his desk, watching the swirl of cream and sugar mix. When he finally sipped it… perfect. Strong. Sweet. Just how he liked it.
Still not looking at you directly, too aware that you were just standing there watching him oddly, he gave another quiet thanks.
You were lingering a little longer than necessary if you were being honest, eyes following the way his throat bobs as he swallows another gulp of the coffee.
Spencer stares at you awkwardly. You give a sheepish grin as you catch yourself. “Sorry! I’m not, uh,” you bite your lip, humming, “bothering you or anything by being here so early?”
“Oh, no! No, it’s— it’s fine,” he said quickly, setting the coffee down. He fidgeted with his cufflinks and finally looked at you properly for the first time since you arrived. Maybe you were obsessed and ready to froth at the mouth over scraps, but something about the eye contact felt intimate. “It was really thoughtful of you,” he says again, gesturing to the coffee. “Besides, your performance in this class is excellent, might I say,” he compliments.
You suppress a grin. Score. You knew furiously scribbling down those notes as your head spun from all the criminology jargon, studying all night until you could recite the pages back to him was all worth it just for that tiny compliment.
“—So I don’t think you’re in any need of extra help outside of class,” he continues, smiling with a nod, “Therefore you’re… more than welcome to come in right at the time of the lecture. Don’t feel like you need to arrive early or anything.”
You deflate a little at that.
Goodness, you hadn’t even considered that. A little private tutor session? Just you and Professor Reid? Goddamn it, none of it was worth it at all. You should’ve been failing.
Spencer seemed to notice the shift in your expression, how your smile faded. Whoops. You forgot to be subtle.
He backtracks quickly, “I mean… unless you wanted extra help?” He offers, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“Always more to learn!” You smile brightly, voice a little too chipper.
Spencer’s eyes brightened at your enthusiasm. “Okay! Cool,” he nods. “If you want, you can come by my office after class? I can go over some advanced profiling techniques for crime assessment and inputs.”
You struggle to keep the fireworks booming in your body from exploding out of your mouth. God, he had no idea. “Yes! Y-yes. yeah,” you nod rapidly. “Sounds great.”
He smiled, a genuine one that made her insides clench. “Awesome! My office is 208B,” he said, pointing down the hall with his thumb. “I’m usually there until around five?”
With a final nod, Spencer turns to organize some papers. You see the opportunity and seize it.
Leaning on his desk, you ask casually, “Ah, five, huh? Gotta… get home to the wife?”
His eyes snap back to yours, confused and startled.
“Oh! N-No, no, I’m not married.”
“Whaaat? Get outta here. Not even a girlfriend?”
He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then looks down at his papers, suddenly very interested in alphabetizing them. “…Nope.” Why was this conversation happening?
Meanwhile, you could practically fall over and die. “Wow. That’s… yeah, that’s crazy.”
He opens his mouth with the strange need to defend himself. “I… I mean… I just haven’t—” He cleared his throat and gestured stiffly to the board. “Anyway! Should probably finish this, uh, lecture prep.”
“Right, right! No, of course.” You shuffle away, moving to the steps to make your way off the stage. But you halt, pivoting on your heel. “…Aaanything else I can help you with?”
Spencer thinks. The room was quiet, the air thick with the smell of coffee and faint scent of whiteboard markers. He turns to spare you a glance, and realizes you seemed… eager to help.
“…You could hand me those slides?” He asked, pointing to a stack of pages on the side table that needed sorting into order.
“Hah, fuck…”
Laying back on your bed in your vacant dormitory, you let the back of your head hit the mattress again. Hair tussled, cheeks warm, a layer of sweat on your body.
As your fingers work between your legs, the only thought in your mind was your handsome professor. The thought of his lips greedily sucking your heat, dark locks falling over your thighs, as those long, wiry fingers work in and out of your cunt. The fantasy played out vividly in your mind, every detail sharp. His wide brown eyes shining with tears, his erection straining against those stiff pants he insisted on wearing to each class. His lips would be swollen and glistening from lapping and suckling. How sweet he’d sound, you think, with his moans muffled into your pussy as you grind against his face.
You fantasized about your Professor more often than you were ready to admit. When you were sure you were alone, the words “professor”, “teacher”, or “college” found itself in your laptop’s search bar frequently, often accompanied by your fist down your panties.
It certainly wasn’t the one fantasy you had. Gripping his wrists like a vice, fucking yourself on his dick while he could only watch helplessly— that was another contender. God, the sound he’d make if you yanked his hair just right. Or clamping a hand over his mouth as he sat between your legs, your fist working his cock faster than he could possibly keep up with. How flustered he’d be, stammering something sweet and nervous between kisses.
You thought of stuffing that tie in his mouth, of tugging that unruly hair, of bending him over your knee, of—
You lay back on your mattress, panting and flushed with a sheen of sweat, basking in the afterglow with your nerves still buzzing.
You hadn’t meant to get that carried away, but once you started thinking about him like that… it was impossible to stop.
You kicked your legs in the air, letting a breathless giggle escape you, the excitement of seeing him again so soon enough to send another rush of arousal through you.
You’ll admit, you were a little disappointed with the result of the small tutor session, none of the fantasies exactly coming to life.
“Well, I gotta say, I think you’re keeping up incredibly well,” Spencer flips a page in a file as he sits in his office chair across from you. “You’re remarkably competent. I mean, I don’t think you’re in need of any help outside of my class at all.”
You sat stiffly in the chair across from his desk, knees pressed together.
Remarkably competent. Keeping up well. That was… great. But also so boring. You wanted him to say something like “you’re stunning,” “I think about you constantly,” “let me kiss you.” But instead, it looked like you were losing the opportunity for these sessions.
“It’s… nice,” he says, looking up at you properly now, “to have someone actually enrolled who cares about the subject. It’s funny, did you know you’re just about one of the only students of mine actually registered?” He laughs lightly. God, you would eat him alive. “Turns out, most of the people I get in my lectures are only auditing, it’s… it’s a little disappointing, actually.”
“Yeah, I know,” you nod casually, far less oblivious as to the reason for that.
Spencer pauses, sensing something. “You… do?”
“Yeah,” you shrug.
“Oh!” He glances off to the side for a moment. “Well, it’s, uh… kinda weird, right?”
“I mean… have you noticed it’s only the girl students doing the auditing?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “…Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I have.”
With a slow, strange shock, you realize. “Oh, you actually don’t know.”
Spencer’s face scrunches slightly. “Don’t know… what?”
“Uh, well. They audit the class for you, sir.”
His lips part slightly. He blinks at her for a moment in surprise. “For me?”
“Yeah. Like… they think you’re cute.”
The color drains from Spencer’s face, then floods back in a rush of red.
“Oh,” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Oh.”
“Mhm. Kind of flattering, no?”
Spencer is already not handling this well. His fingers tap nervously against the file on his desk. He can’t look at you. His eyes keep darting to the ceiling, then back down.
“It’s… um,” he stammers, “I mean… I don’t— I never considered that.”
He was so oblivious. Painfully so. “Yeah.” You fiddle with your pencil and decide to test the waters. “You could, like… fix your whole ‘single’ problem with just about any one of them.”
Spencer looks mildly horrified by the idea. “I don’t—” he starts, then stops, “I mean… I could, but I wouldn’t want to.” His nose scrunches slightly.
“You wouldn’t?” you ask quickly.
“No,” he says automatically. Then he suddenly gets a little shier. “I mean… it’s not appropriate. I’m their professor.”
“Oh,” you say softly. “So it’s a moral thing.”
He nods, happy to be understood. “Yeah, professional boundaries, and all that. It just… wouldn’t be right.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never liked something that’s wrong?”
Spencer frowns. That was a very specific question. He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling very warm under his button-up. “…No? Not like that?”
“No?”
“I mean…” he swallows hard, “not in a way that would ever matter.” This conversation had suddenly veered very personal before Spencer had even realized.
You’re leaning closer across the desk than he remembers you were five minutes ago. “So, if you did, hypothetically, happen to like one of those students, you wouldn’t date them?”
Spencer’s hands clench slightly in his lap.
“…No,” he says quietly, but there's a strange waver in his voice.
The sly tease flies out of your mouth before you can help it, “…Are you considering it now, Professor?”
“I’m not—!” he starts, defensive. His eyes flicker to yours for half a second before darting away again.
Got him.
After letting the silence linger for just another tense second longer, you stand abruptly. Your chair screeches against the floor, and Spencer nearly jumps out of his seat at the sudden movement. Slapping laptop down and sliding it under your arm, you flash him a smile. “Much to think about!”
“Uh— wait,” he blurts, standing too. “M-Miss—!”
But you were already halfway to the door, bag tucked under your arm. “See you in class, sir!” you call over your shoulder.
The door clicks shut. Spencer stands there, frozen in the middle of his office, staring at where you’d just been.
His palms are sweaty.
He slowly sinks back into his chair and stares blankly at his desk.
What just happened?
A few days later, he’s a little startled the by the sound of a cup enthusiastically landing on his desk.
His eyes trail up the arm attached until he meets your sparkling eyes, and he immediately relaxes. “Morning!” You chirp.
This had become routine between the two of you now. Every morning you’d show up, steaming cup in hand, sugars and all.
“Ah, my prized student,” he says back warmly, and accepts the cup with both hands.
“Oh! Will that graduate to favorite student if I keep bringing you these coffees?”
Spencer’s lips twitch into a smile, his lips around the rim of the cup. “You’re already my favorite,” he admits without thinking. After a moment, he seems to catch on to his own words, and suddenly backpedales. “I mean— not in a weird way! Just… you bring me coffee.”
The smile on your face is downright perverted. “And sugar,” you remind him.
“And sugar,” he echoes, smiling shyly. He rips open four packets of sugar and dumps them in one heap.
You tap your nails against his desk idly and muse, “Y’know, I was studying for your class last night when I realized, I think I’ve finally found something I’m stumped on.”
Spencer perks up. “Oh! Okay, what is it?”
“Geographical profiling. Don’t understand it a lick.”
He brightens. “Ah, that’s actually really fascinating!” He says, setting his coffee aside. “What is it specifically you’re struggling with? Are you struggling with the mathematical algorithms or more the theoretical framework?”
You wave a hand. “All of it,” you lie, miming something flying over your head. “Whoosh.”
Spencer quiets for just a fraction longer than normal. All of it? That… seemed extreme for someone who had been acing tests so far. But he plays along. “Okay, well… let’s start at the beginning—”
“—After class, right? In your office?” You interrupt him eagerly.
“Oh! Uh, yeah,” he nods. “Sure. After class.”
“Wonderful. Wouldn’t wanna distract my mind before your lecture today, y’know?” You tap your index finger against your temple and smile at him warmly. Shifting your bag on your shoulder, you begin to walk to secure your front row seat.
But the moment you step out of the way of the desk, Spencer’s gaze drops before he can stop it. His eyes can’t help but roam over your lower half. Specifically your legs. Practically the entire expanse of your legs, in fact. You were wearing just about the shortest skirt he thinks he’s ever laid eyes on. A skirt that if it was even an inch shorter, there’d be a problem.
His brain short-circuits for a solid two seconds, long enough that the coffee cup tilts dangerously in hand. Then he chases himself away, his throat tight, awkwardly adjusting his tie. He busies himself with pretending to organize files that don’t need organizing.
As you shuffle down the steps, you call over to him, “Don’t you just hate when your mind’s distracted?” You don't dare peek at him over your shoulder, fearing he’d see the coy smile plastered on your face.
Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah,” he croaks out, “Hate it.”
That lecture is practically public humiliation for Professor Reid.
He stands at the front of the class as usual, his voice echoing across the hall as he speaks, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But his fingers keep twitching. In minute and a half intervals— because yeah, you were counting— his eyes accidentally flick down to you, front row center, legs crossed primly.
He’s usually quite a smooth lecturer. Articulate. Confident. Lost in the thrill of sharing his knowledge. But today, he keeps stumbling over words, noticeably missing transitions between points, and a few of the students are beginning to exchange glances. Since when did Professor Reid lose track of his lectures?
Meanwhile, you’re watching it all unfold smugly from your seat. Your eyes haven’t left your dear professor since this class began. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. After all, everyone in the class had their gaze on him. But Spencer’s only painfully aware of one.
You notice the way he begins to subtly avoid looking in your general direction. Each time he glances up to check for engagement, his eyes skip a whole section of students like there was a bubble around you.
He discreetly wipes his perspiring palms on his pants.
Unhappy with the lack of attention, you shift in your chair. Under the guise of getting more comfortable, you sink in your spot, legs uncrossing, your mini-est skirt in the world at risk of riding up with any strong movement. You casually lean back, stretching one leg out just a little further, the fabric of your skirt rising up just an inch.
Your shoe taps against the floor like a quiet Yoo-hoo, over here. And when you’re certain he’s looking your way again, albeit in his peripheral, and with the slowest, softest, subtlest movement you can manage, you idly flex your legs open and shut, open and shut. His throat bobs, and your lips curl.
You keep the motion slow, almost lazy, like you weren't even aware of it. Just tiny, imperceivable movements. Rhythmic, absentminded. The way one taps their fingers or twirls a strand of hair. But it might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying Look at me, with your thighs tensing under the thin material of your skirt over and over before relaxing again.
Each time your legs spread, if Spencer looked close enough, he’d catch the color of your thong.
He grips the edge of his podium, knuckles whitening. The lecture drags on, every second an eternity. He finishes his last point five minutes early, voice trailing off awkwardly. “…And that’s— that’s all for today.”
A beat of silence. The students blink at each other. Each person shuffles out quickly, confused by the abrupt ending, but not exactly complaining. Spencer just wanted it to end.
You take your sweet time packing up. Slinging your bag over one shoulder, then pausing to yawn, arms high above your head in a long stretch that makes your shirt rise up at the waist.
Spencer watches, against his will, as your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, then as you reach higher, pulling your muscles in a different angle, and this time your back arches slightly.
He’s speechless atop the stage.
Frustratingly, you don’t spare him a glance as you file out alongside the other students that trickle through the door. “Bye, Professor,” he hears your voice above the rest.
“Bye,” Spencer mumbles back, robotic.
The second the door clicks shut behind you, he exhales like he’d been holding his breath the entire lecture. Miserably, he drops to his chair and presses both palms into his eyes.
What was wrong with him?
A light knock comes to his office door, and Spencer’s head jerks up. That's you.
He clears his throat. “Come in!” he calls.
In comes you, with the brightest smile, one he can hardly tear his eyes from. “Hi, Professor!” You chirp.
“Hi,” he says back, softer than intended. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, whenever you’re ready.” His hands are folded neatly in front of him. A professional, composed posture. But his heart isn’t listening.
Spencer notices the absence of the skirt immediately, the expanse of your legs hidden from view again. But why was he looking? Was he hoping you hadn’t changed?
You plop down in your seat across from him with a bounce. After light conversation and a moment to get settled, he grabs a folder labeled Geographical Profiling and cracks open a textbook. “So,” Spencer begins, flipping open the folder. “Geographical profiling is basically a way to predict where a serial offender might strike next based on their previous crime scenes.” He pulls out a map, already marked with locations. “It uses statistical analysis and spatial patterns—”
“—Can I come over to your side?”
Spencer stops, staring at you a little oddly.
You shrug a shoulder. “I just think I’d get it better looking at it from your angle.”
“Oh! Yeah, for sure,” he says, scooting his chair over to make space.
You stand and circle around the desk, dragging the chair behind you. As you sit down with your shoulders just barely brushing his, the smell of your perfume engulfs him. Pleasant, not too overwhelming. Girly in a way that made him nervous. He clears his throat, “Where— where were we?”
Refocusing on the map, his steady, academic tone returns easily. “So we’re looking at these crime scenes here and here—” His finger taps two dots on the paper.
As he talks, you lean closer to the paper. Which naturally results in you leaning closer to Spencer. Your arms brush at some point with featherlight contact.
He doesn’t react. Instead, he keeps pointing at the map, voice even despite his body temperature suddenly rising. “…And based on this pattern,” he continues, “the offender likely lives somewhere along this radius.”
Abruptly, you turn to open a drawer on his desk. You scan the contents inside, then move to the next.
“Uh…” he starts, watching you with bewilderment.
“Looking for a pencil.”
“Ah!” He fumbles in his own pocket and pulls out a clicky ballpoint. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. “You can use mine.”
“Ohh, your’s huh? I’m flattered. Promise not to chew on it.” You wink.
Spencer’s lips twitch. He watches as you take the pen, your fingers brushing. On purpose? Or was that just wishful thinking?
“Y-yeah, for sure. Just, um… just ask me next time, okay? I’d prefer it if you didn’t dig through my drawers.”
“Ah, I see,” you chuckle behind your lips.
“…See what?”
“I dunno. You hiding something dirty in there, Professor?”
Spencer’s face is mortified. “W-what? No!” He sputters, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just… paperwork! Notes. Th— that I’d prefer to keep organized.”
You bite back your grin. “You don’t have to be shy about it!”
“I-I’m not shy! There’s nothing to be shy about!” Spencer insists, a little too loudly.
He clears his throat awkwardly and tries to turn back to work like nothing happened. The paper and textbook stare back at him, completely uninteresting now. All he could focus on was how close you still were. How your perfume kept wafting over every time you moved. “So… statistically speaking, the offender likely lives within a three-mile radius of these clustered crime scenes.”
You nod along, but you're not really listening. You’re still watching him. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how his fingers tap the paper absentmindedly.
Spencer feels a poke on his shoulder.
“Hey.”
He turns his head sharply, eyes wide. “…Yeah?”
There’s a heartbeat of silence where you just stare into each other's eyes, your faces far too close. And for a moment, Spencer thinks this was going in a very different direction.
Then you smile. Soft, playful. “You talk with your hands a lot,” you observe casually. “I like it.”
“Oh,” is all he says at first. “Thanks?”
“Yeah, you’ve got good hands, you know?”
“Uh… yeah, thanks,” he mumbles again, voice weirdly small. “You too? I think?”
“Yeah? Mine?”
“Yeah, your—” Spencer gestures vaguely to your hands. They were nice. Soft-looking, well-manicured. Holdable. “I mean… they look… clean?”
“Hm. Clean.” You examine your own hands, spreading out your fingers and flipping them back and forth. You seemingly nod in agreement. “Don’t like to be messy, Professor?”
Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, I hate messes,” he admits. “Germaphobe, honestly. The sheer amount of pathogens passed in a handshake alone is staggering, actually.”
“Really? What about… in a kiss? Now that’s gotta be dirtier.”
“Actually,” he says immediately, leaning forward slightly, “saliva contains millions of bacteria. Some studies estimate that a single kiss transfers 80 million microorganisms between people.” His voice gains the same weight you recognize from his lectures. “And it’s not just bacterial exchange either! There’s enzymatic activity too…”
Spencer’s scientific rambling slowly trails off mid-sentence as he takes notice, finally, of where your gaze is locked. His lips. His brain also finally acknowledges the warmth of your thigh deliberately pressed against his through the fabric of his pants, and he feels something stirring in his lower half he’d really rather ignore.
As Spencer’s mouth goes dry, a slow, wicked grin spreads on your face. “Sorry, I’m getting you all distracted again, aren’t I?”
He squirms slightly in his seat. “Y-yeah, a little.”
You nod to the paper. “You wanna… go back to telling me about geographical profiling?”
What was this, the third time now he’s had to begin again?
“Yeah. So… like I was saying, the offender’s most likely residence is here—”
For a while, you seem, to him, to be listening well. You occasionally nod, ask a question here and there to keep him talking. But your attention once again is curved by the handsome man sitting not even an inch away. And as he talked, the gears in your mind were turning.
You knew what came next. The big part. The one you’d actually practiced a humiliating amount of times. You squeeze your thighs together, your skin prickling with the thrill running through you.
Spencer doesn’t notice your distraction, too focused on explaining the logistics of distance decay. “And based on these crime scene locations,” he says, “we can calculate the mean center, which is essentially how all these points would balance if we put them on a scale.”
“Hm. Yeah, I just feel like I would see it better from your angle.”
Spencer stops as you interrupt him for the nth time. There’s no space left to scoot closer, but he still shifts a little— an instinctive, subconscious lean toward you. His shoulder is pressed flush against yours now. “Yeah… okay,” he murmurs, tilting the map slightly so you could see better, the proximity making his pulse erratic again.
You shiver a little at the closeness, subtly biting your lip. It practically takes all of your self-control to shake your head. “No, no, now you can’t see it.”
Spencer huffs a tiny, almost-laugh. “I assure you, I can see it. Not to worry. Besides, you should really be the one looking—”
“May I?”
“…May you what?”
“Move to a better angle for both of us, obviously.”
“Oh, right! Right,” Spencer scoots his chair back a generous amount to give you room, a little sheepish about having moved closer to you in the first place.
But you don't even acknowledge this. You rise from your chair smoothly, casually adjusting your clothes. Then, much to Spencer’s surprise, you lay a hand on his shoulder and move to stand between his legs, lording over him. He was suddenly at a disadvantage, looking up at you with eyes wide as saucers and watching your every move like a frightened animal.
You lock eyes with Spencer as you slide your arm around his neck. You feel the tenseness in his body, each muscle taut with anticipation. With a jut of your knee, you spread his legs and calmly perch yourself atop his thigh, effectively sitting in his lap. He nearly jumps back in shock, but pinned under your weight, he doesn’t have far to go. His body is stiff as a robot’s, so you take it upon yourself to grab his arm and effortlessly maneuver it until it’s wrapped comfortably around your waist, pressing his palm flat against your hip.
Spencer looks as though he’s been electrocuted. He’s completely paralyzed. You were in his lap. Your weight settled against him, your warmth seeping through his clothes. For a moment, he wonders if he’s just died.
“…What? You said I could.”
Spencer’s lips parted, but no sound came out. When his brain finally rebooted, all it could manage was a weak “I—I didn’t—”
You could somehow feel his heartbeat, wild and frantic, from where you sat on his knee. The rapid thump-thump of his pulse circulating through every vein like a trapped bird. Spencer could feel it too, betraying every ounce of panic and… something else he didn’t want to name. His fingers finally twitched slightly where they rested against your hip, like testing you were really there under his palm.
“Well, go on,” you feigned innocence, patting his shoulder twice. “Keep talking.”
Spencer’s mouth opened. Nothing. All he could focus on was the girl in his lap, your scent, your warmth, the soft fabric of your shirt under his palm. “…I,” he started, then stopped.
Poor guy. You suppose you should give him some help after being so cruel. “What’s that one mean?” you ask, pointing to a diagram in the open textbook.
Spencer’s gaze followed your finger to the diagram. He swallows hard. “That one,” he starts slowly, voice slightly higher than usual, “shows how crime scenes cluster around the mean center based on statistical dispersion.”
“Oh, I see. So what else do you have to teach me?”
Not this. He wasn’t qualified for whatever this was.
But his mouth moved anyway, defaulting to academia, his safety. “Uh… there’s also the concept of hotspot analysis, which uses kernel density estimation to identify high-crime areas—”
You weren't listening. Obviously. You watch his lips move as he rambles, gently trailing a manicured nail down his scruffy cheek, which briefly makes Spencer stutter.
“…And— and the—” He takes a shuddering breath. “…the algorithm accounts for temporal decay too, which means crimes are more likely to occur closer in time to previous events than further away. Th— there’s an equation for it, but I can’t… really remember right now.”
“Oh, dear, am I distracting you again Professor?”
“…A little!” he squeaks, a tight, bashful smile on his face.
“I was starting to think you never forgot anything.”
“I don’t, I— I just… I’ve never been distracted like this before.” It was true he had an eidetic memory. Something he was keen to remind everybody of. But right now, he was sure he couldn’t recall his own phone number if someone asked him.
“Never had a student on your knee?”
The way you phrased it, like this was normal, almost made him laugh at the absurdity. “N-no, no, never.”
“Well. Don’t let me distract you. Just trying to learn.”
You lean into his side almost affectionately as he talks, your nose brushing against his cheek. Spencer swallows hard. He falters, just barely, but it was enough to make his next sentence waver. “…and the weight is inversely proportional to distance from the epicenter, meaning closer crimes have higher influence on predicting future locations…”
You blow once on his ear.
Spencer jumps, his arm tightening around you involuntarily and his head tilted away from the sudden puff of air. He whispered-shouts your name, scandalized.
You snort. “Oops.”
“You’re— you’re messing with me,” he accuses, voice low but tinged with something begrudgingly playful.
“Who, me?” You bat your lashes.
A tiny, disbelieving laugh leaves his lips, nearly a scoff. “Yes,” he says, “You!”
You giggle, and Spencer feels some part of his brain turn mushy at the sound. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Professor. I’ll behave.”
He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you,” he murmured genuinely. “…So if we apply this methodology to an actual case,” he said, pointing at a crime scene map on the textbook page.
Before he can say much, he feels the lightest press of lips to his stubbly cheek, and his words quickly fade into an unintelligible, flustered mumble.
“W-we can predict with… um… reasonable accuracy where... mm…”
“Can’t hear you when you mumble, sir. How am I supposed to learn?” You nose his cheek.
He tried again, louder this time, “I said we can predict future crime locations with statistical modeling!”
God, this was torture.
“You’re getting kinda sweaty.”
“It’s— it’s hot in here,” he lied weakly, tugging at his cardigan.
“You can take that off,” you gesture to the sweater. “You don’t have to be professional with me.”
He laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, I… think I stopped being professional with you the moment I let you sit on my knee.”
You pull at his cardigan. “Take it off,” you whine.
“No! No,” Spencer grasps your wrists, his grip firm. He says your name in a scolding tone. “We’re still… on campus. I can’t just—”
“What, taking off a sweater isn’t allowed on campus?”
He exhaled through his nose. “I just… don’t feel comfortable, that’s all.”
“What, are you thinking of something gross?”
“No!” He blurts. “I just—I mean—I’m not—” He flounders for words, horrified by the accusation.
You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. You double over slightly, still perched on his knee, shoulders shaking, and Spencer’s chest does a weird little squeeze. He didn’t know whether to be offended or charmed, but his frown softened into something almost shy.
Your laughter ends with one sweet sigh, and with your hand on his cheek, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to his temple. Grinning against his skin, you murmur, “Wanna know something?”
“…Yeah?” He whispers back, voice small and uncertain.
“I know this is turning you on.”
Spencer’s red down to his chest now. He sputters, “Wh— I— that’s not—”
“Mhm. Wanna hear what else I know?” You tilt his head up to peck his cheek twice. “I know you were staring at me in that skirt.”
Spencer couldn’t even form a coherent response to that.
“What were you thinking about? My legs? My ass? ‘Cause I’d say that’s pretty dirty, Professor.”
“No!” he whispers harshly, eyes wide. He squirms in his seat like he wants to escape. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—” His hand tightens slightly where it rests on your waist.
“So you were!” You giggle, pulling back from him and cupping his face in your hands. “C’mon, look at you. What happened to those… professional boundaries you were so worried about?”
Spencer’s expression twisted with shame and flustered panic. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a tiny voice, “You just… ruined them.”
“Oh, I did, huh? So it’s my fault? It’s my fault you were staring at me?”
Alarmed, he shook his head violently. “No! No, that’s not— I didn’t mean it like that, I-I meant it like—”
“Guess it’s just my fault you’re having all these perverted thoughts about your favorite student.”
“They’re not—” His chest rises and falls as he pants with desperate frustration. “I don’t have perverted thoughts!” he protests, voice pitching higher.
You laugh cruelly, “You do! Who knew? Professor Reid’s a big pervert who stares at the girls in his class.”
You shift in his lap, moving until your front is squished up against his, thighs clamped on either side of his legs, your hips putting unfortunate pressure on his pelvis.
Spencer presses himself as far back as he could in his chair, eyes darting everywhere except your face. “I-I’m not! No! No, it’s not like that!” His hands hovered in the air like he was trying to surrender. Every nerve in his body was screaming this is wrong, this is wrong, but his traitorous cock pulsed anyway.
“Gross. I can feel your dick getting hard.”
Mortification crashed over him like a tidal wave. “It’s not— I can’t help that!”
“What, are you turned on by this or something?”
Spencer just squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, grip tight on the armrests of his chair. His silence was answer enough.
“Pervert,” You hiss.
His face burns a deep, humiliated crimson. “I’m not… I’m not a pervert, okay?” He whispered, voice trembling with shame and genuine distress.
You dip down slowly, lowering your forehead to his, your breath on his lips. “Then why do you wanna fuck me?”
Finally, reality laid bare. And with the arousal very clearly straining against his pants, Spencer sees the uselessness in denying it, though his lips still part reflexively. For a heartbeat or two, you stayed like that, faces touching, breaths mingling. Then at last, he moves, and slowly he presses his lips to yours in the softest, most unsure kiss of his life.
At first, you don’t seem to reciprocate. Your lips stay upsettingly still, he’s not even sure your eyes are closed. Spencer whines slightly in his mouth in embarrassment. The moment his lips shy away from yours more than an inch, however, your grip suddenly winds into his hair. With an abrupt and furious force, you tug him back, teeth nearly colliding as you devour his mouth. Instantly, he melts back into your taste, completely unprepared for the intensity but his body responding instinctively. His hands fly back to your waist and his lips clumsily attempt to keep up with your hungry movements as he drowns in you.
One hand slides up your back while the other grips your waist tighter. He makes a small, needy noise against your mouth. You kiss him like you’ve been starving for it. like this was inevitable, like Spencer had been yours all along. You bite his lower lip gently before diving back in, tongue sliding against his with a hunger that leaves him breathless. He clutches you closer, fingers twisting into the fabric of your shirt.
Time seems to blur as the world narrows. The chair creaks under your combined weight as you shift atop him, pressing yourself even closer. Your thighs tightening around his hips, your body molding against him, beginning to grind over his erection.
Spencer groans into the kiss, his palms sliding down to grip your thighs. Your hips move against his with deliberate pressure, rolling down in slow, smooth circles just to feel him twitch. He breathes raggedly through his nose, trying to force himself up to meet your body every time it rises off of him just to grind back down.
“You’re stupidly hard,” you growl the moment you part for air.
Spencer looks up at you through his lashes with a dazed expression. His lips are kiss-swollen, his face flushed, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “S-sorry,” he breathes out automatically.
“I haven’t even fucking done anything to you,” you smile wickedly. “I kissed you and you’re throbbing.”
Spencer nods frantically, his cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal. “You’re… really pretty,” he blurts out suddenly.
The compliment elicits some kind of reaction from you, something he can’t quite place. You smirk again, eyes briefly rolling back like he’d touched you. You hum in satisfaction. “I’ve waited so fucking long to hear you say that.”
Spencer’s chest swells with something warm. His heart pounds harder. He wants to say more now, clumsy and sweet things that aren’t usually his style.
“You want me to touch you?” you coos condescendingly in a way that makes him dizzy, cupping his face. “Yeah? You want my pussy? Want me to suck your filthy cock?” you say crudely.
He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what the right answer is. Instead, his eyes dart down to your lips again, then lower, just for a split second, before snapping back up in panic.
“Answer me, Professor.”
“…Yes, y-yeah,” he finally squeaks out, the words so quiet it’s barely audible. Then he adds in a slightly louder whisper: “Please.”
“Yeah? Just like this?” One of your hands slides down to press against the front of his pants, right where he’s straining. He strains to not buck into your palm like a virgin.
His breath comes out in short, shaky puffs. He nods rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, uh-huh. Like that.”
You rip your hand away suddenly like you’d been burned. In an instant, his collar is wrapped in your fist as you slide off his lap and yank him to his feet. He stumbles after you, wide eyed and bewildered. Spencer barely has time to process what’s happening before he’s being whirled around, practically manhandled, and he finds you both have swapped places. You seat yourself lazily in his chair and tugs him down with you, down until his knees hit the floor of his office, until his head is hovering between your thighs.
“Wha—?”
“Earn it.”
Spencer’s brain is scrambling. He stares at your spread legs and closes his jaw. He swallows hard. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do with them. He’s never done this before. But the thought of touching you, tasting you, it sends a thrill through him that overrides his nervousness.
You casually undo the button of your pants, stripping them from your legs and kicking them off carelessly with effortless confidence. Spencer watches, mesmerized. Without a word, you sling one leg until your ankle rests over his shoulder, the other sitting on his thigh.
Now here you are, half-naked in his chair while he kneels like a supplicant, and the view is unreal.
He’s suddenly hyper-aware of every detail. The warmth radiating from between your thighs, the faint scent that makes his stomach flip. His hands finally move, trembling as they reach for the hem of your fine, lacy panties— specifically chosen, to be sure. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and slowly peels them down.
The lace slides down your legs easily, unveiling your cunt. Spencer’s not sure he’s seen a woman like this up close before, not in person. Not like this. His face burns as he stares for half a second too long. With tentative, almost reverent hands, Spencer leans forward and presses a single, feather-light kiss to the inside of your thigh. It’s not where you want him, but he needs a moment to steel himself.
His lips are soft. Nervous. The kiss is chaste, too innocent for what you want, but the warmth of his lips against your skin still sends a little shiver through you. You tilt your hips slightly, nudging his back with your heel. “Don’t be shy. Lick it.”
His face is inches from you, so close he can feel the heat.
He swallows hard, then slowly, painfully slowly, he leans in and drags his tongue over you in one experimental stroke. The taste is new. Sweet, musky. Spencer does it again, a little bolder this time, his tongue moving with cautious curiosity as he explores the soft folds of you, his hands gripping your thighs to steady himself.
You inhale sharply through your nose, threading your fingers into his hair to guide him. “Fuck, yes,” you grin.
The praise shoots straight to his loins.
He redoubles his efforts, following the gentle tug of your fingers in his hair. He presses a few open-mouthed kisses before finally sealing his lips around your folds and sucking gently. His tongue flicks experimentally over your clit before he laps at it properly.
Your back arches slightly, letting airy moans slip. Spencer might be a virgin at this, but he’s a smart boy. He adapts fast. His tongue works in small circles now, swirling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pressing him closer, not that he even needs encouragement.
Spencer loses himself in the rhythm. Licking, sucking, following whatever makes you gasp. He drags his teeth very lightly over your clit before soothing it with a long swipe of his tongue. Fuck, he likes this. So much. He moans mindlessly into your cunt, the vibration of which travels through your body, making your hips jerk up into his mouth.
Spencer’s arousal is obvious, the bulge in his pants twitches with practically every movement. He’s so turned on by this, by the way you react to him, that it almost hurts.
You spread your legs further, pushing his head and shamelessly grinding up into his mouth. You laugh breathlessly, then let your head fall back in a moan.
He loves this. He lets you use him, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements as he devours you with messy enthusiasm.
The office is quiet except for the wet sounds of his mouth on you and your hitched breathing. Spencer’s lips are glistening, his cheeks flushed. He can feel himself getting dizzy from the scent of you, from how good you taste. Each moan he pulls from you goes straight to his cock, aching in its confinement.
Spencer has no idea how hot he looks right now. Wild hair, flushed face, lips slick with you. But you know. You’ve been fantasizing about this for months now, him between your legs, his clever mouth working on you like this. And reality is so much better than any daydream you ever had. Months of imagining this, and Spencer is even better than any late night, desperation-fueled fantasy. His lips are so soft, his tongue so eager, like he genuinely wants to please you. It’s intoxicating.
A particularly good flick makes you gasp “Fuck!” You gasp.
Spencer has lost track of time, only aware of the warmth between your thighs, the way you squirm and moan above him.
Your fingers twist tighter in his hair, and you start rocking against his mouth faster. The realization that you’re close makes Spencer’s stomach flip with excitement. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he doubles down with a greedy sort of focus, his tongue moving with more purpose.
Your thighs flex, hips jutting erratically as you near the edge. Spencer’s own body is strung tight, his cock leaking, his pants sticky, but he ignores it. All that matters is you and the way your breathing turns ragged, the cries escaping your lips. He wants to taste it when you cum.
Your back arches off the chair, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head as you cum with a sharp cry. He keeps going gently through your orgasm.
The aftershocks ripple through you in small twitches and soft gasps, and Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels. His lips are wet. His face is a mess.
When the last waves of pleasure subside, you slump bonelessly in the chair. Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels.
You exhale shakily, blinking down at Spencer, still between your legs, his lips wet and swollen. The rest of him disheveled. You laugh breathlessly at his ruined and endlessly attractive state.
Spencer wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still a little dazed, but your laugh makes him smile faintly. He’s never felt so satisfied, and he didn’t even get off.
“Did I…” he pants, “did I do okay?”
Through the bliss, you shrug, teasing him. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”
Spencer’s face falls slightly. “It was my first time,” he mumbles defensively, a little hurt.
“Still,” You groan as you fix your posture, sitting up in the chair, “coulda figured out geographical profiling while you were trying to figure out what to do with your tongue.”
His lips purse, embarrassed. He stares up at you from the floor with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “I-I was trying…” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
From your elevated position, your eyes catch his cock is still straining in his pants. “Get on the floor, professor,” You push him back with a heel against his shoulder.
“Okay!” Spencer goes down without resistance, lying flat on his back now. He watches you from the floor, wide-eyed and waiting.
You slide out of the chair and drop to the floor, crawling atop him. You pop open the top button of his shirt. “Lie there and let me use your cock, or I’ll tell everyone Professor Reid licked his student’s cunt.”
Blackmail? His brain jumps back and forth between panic and pathetic arousal. “…Okay,” He nods quickly, hands hovering uselessly in surrender. “Okay, do whatever you want. Just… just don’t tell anyone, okay?”
She smiles in satisfaction. “So you know this is wrong.”
He swallows. Yes, it was wrong. It was all wrong. But it also felt so, so right, and he wanted this too badly to stop now. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I know.”
“Then you admit it, huh?” Your fingers suddenly grip his collar, undoing the knot of his tie. “You admit you’re a pervert?”
“…I’m not a pervert,” He says resolutely.
“Right.” His tie freed, You bunch it into a ball in your fist. “Then you’re not gonna, like… cum or something, right? ‘Cause that’d be pretty bad for your case.”
Yes. “…Nope.”
“Oh, good!” You grin, “Now we don’t have to worry about a condom!”
He opens his mouth to protest, and you swoops in to take the opportunity to stuff his tie between his jaw, effectively gagging him.
His muffled sound of surprise barely escapes. Panic spikes in his chest, but it’s too late. You're already moving, and Spencer can only lie there helplessly as you unzip his pants with a hungry gleam in your eye.
His cock springs free, hard and aching, and completely at your mercy. Spencer’s eyes are huge behind the gag. “Careful,” You whisper dangerously as you hover over his dripping cock, “don’t wanna get your student pregnant.”
Spencer whimpers nervously.
You don't tease. No, you waste no time. In one smooth motion, you sink yourself down onto him. Spencer’s body goes taut, a choked noise escaping around his tie. It’s too much. You're tight and warm and he wasn’t ready for this at all.
You bite back a groan as you sheath the entirety of his length, every inch swallowed. “Fuck, this all for me?” You laugh mockingly, “Look at you, oh, you’re so fucking hard. It’s pathetic.”
Spencer lets out a muffled, shameful whine. His hands finally move, clutching at your hips like he doesn’t know where else to put them. You allow it, if only because the touch of his hands still sends a thrill through your body. “Poor thing… if only your body were half obedient as your mouth. Must be so frustrated.”
Spencer is frustrated. Frustrated that he can’t kiss you, frustrated that you’re talking like this, frustrated you’re not moving. He squeezes your hips gently, begging without words as he squirms under you. Move. Please.
You admire the way his cock bulges slightly in your tummy. “What? Huh? I can’t hear you under there."
Spencer makes a muffled noise, a furious cry, and rolls his hips upward, trying to show you what he wants.
You gasp slightly at the movement, laughing under your breath. “Aww, are we getting impatient?”
Spencer nods rapidly. His hands slide up your sides, then back down to grip your ass this time. He’s already breathless.
“You want me to fuck you so bad it makes you look like a virgin.”
Spencer just nods again, his saliva soaking the tie.
“Last I checked, dildo’s don’t whine.” Finally, mercifully, you slide yourself back up to his tip, cock almost slipping out. “I’m gonna ruin you,” you purr, “and you’re gonna thank me for it. Won’t you?”
Spencer moans as he nods frantically, like a bobblehead.
The slow drag of you taking him back in makes his toes curl, the sensation electric. It’s so good he almost forgets to breathe. The stretch is perfect, the heat maddening. But the slow, careful movements as you adjust don’t last long. You grip the collar of his shirt for stability as you begin to move yourself faster, then faster, immediately setting an unforgiving pace.
Spencer’s entire body convulses with pleasure. Each sharp bounce of your hips punches the air from his lungs. His hands scramble to hold onto your waist, fingers digging in as you ride him hard. Muffled moans spill out continuously from behind the fabric in his jaw as his vision blurs at the edges. His stomach tightens, his thighs tremble.
The pace is relentless and purposeful. It sends a message. That you’re taking what you want from him, and Spencer is just along for the ride.
Through your own bliss, you laugh at his state. “Oh, you are gone.”
The laugh vibrates through him and sends another wave of pleasure down his spine. His hips twitch up weakly to meet yours with every bounce.
You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, the pace never faltering. You bring your lips to his ear, your breath against his skin. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’ll show me what a whore you are.”
The words send a shiver down his spine, and he clenches his eyes shut. So vulgar, so degrading, and yet Spencer’s cock throbs at the sound of them.
The pace doesn’t slow for a second. If anything, it gets harder, more punishing. Spencer’s muscles tense, his orgasm already building fast, and he knows he’s not gonna last. He moans and whines girlishly as he starts to writhe beneath you.
“Oh, poor baby,” you mock, “I thought you… mmm, said you weren’t gonna cum in me. Fuck. Don’t tell me I’ve got a little liar.”
His entire body is tensing, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts out his nose, but he shakes his head violently.
“Oh, so close. So close, aren’t you? I know. I know, and you don’t wanna cum. Don’t wanna get me pregnant, do you? Fuck, I bet you’d lose your job.”
He tries to hold back, biting down onto his tie. It’s agony trying to hold back. His balls are tight, his cock pulsing with every bounce of your hips. The threat of consequences makes it worse. He can’t cum, he really can’t, but you're making it impossible. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from desperation.
“Too bad,” You hiss, leaning down again to whisper in his ear like a devil on his shoulder. “C’mon, just cum for me. C’mon, who cares? Who cares I’m your student? Make me drip with you.”
He tries to shake his head, but Spencer’s body betrays him. With a silent, shuddering convulsion, his orgasm rips through him. Even through the gag, his choked moans escape as he cums inside you, pulse after pulse filling you as pleasure tears through his entire being.
You let out an airy, girly moan and laugh at him, giddy and triumphant.
Spencer goes limp underneath you. He breathes heavily through his nose, still whining and squirming. After a while, his eyes flutter open as he weakly lifts his head. He stares at where you’re connected with horror, the haze fading and the clarity hitting him.
You notice. “You wanna see?”
Spencer nods rapidly.
You lift yourself from his softening cock, the globs of his release sliding down his length. You're dripping with him. His cum, so much of it, leaking down his own cock and dripping from your thighs.
The sight makes him nauseous. His chest rises and falls rapidly in panic. His eyes are blown open wide and searching yours for an answer.
Finally satisfied, you end the game. “I’m on the pill.”
Spencer's entire body sags with instant relief.
You chuckle, then grasp his cock from between your thighs, realigning it with your dripping entrance.
Again? His cock is sensitive, overspent, he’s still coming down from the high of his last orgasm. But you don't seem to care, just guiding his half-hard cock back inside without hesitation.
The moment you push yourself back down, it’s too much. Too sensitive. The oversensitivity makes his writhe involuntarily, a whimper escaping around his gag. He doesn’t know if he can go again, but you clearly expect him to try.
You don't give him time to adjust. You start moving immediately, rolling your hips in slow circles. His body responds despite itself, his cock stirring back to life, slowly hardening again inside you.
Spencer’s hands clutch at the carpet beneath him helplessly. It shouldn’t feel good. It hurts. But the sensation is undeniable, and his hips give tiny little involuntary thrusts upward.
You lean down, finally pulling the gag out of his mouth. “There we go,” You murmur, then kiss him, deeply this time.
Your lips are warm, your tongue sliding against his as you start to ride him again. To Spencer, it feels intimate. He hums into your mouth, kissing you softly. But it doesn’t take long before your pace stops being gentle.
You’re using him. Using his cock like a dildo, and something about it is dizzying. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight as you pick up speed, chasing your own pleasure now. He just lies there, letting you take what you want from his body.
The kiss breaks as you focus on riding him harder, faster. Spencer’s head lolls back against the floor. He’s just a thing to you right now— a toy, a tool. He’s much comparable to a ragdoll. He watches you from the floor as you use him, gritting your teeth and moaning.
You’re riding him erratically, moving yourself and his dick whichever way hits that spot inside you best. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow, how you bite your lip, and decides it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even as a ragdoll, he can appreciate that.
Your moans get louder, coming out in shorter, clipped bursts. You're close. Spencer feels it, the way your thighs tense around him, how you grind down with purpose now. He stays perfectly still, letting your chase that high on top of him.
A sharp cry escapes you as your body locks up, and he feels the sudden tight clench around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride out the waves of pleasure.
When it’s over, you huff once, then slump forward, forehead pressed to his chest, and just breathe for a moment.
Spencer stays still, one hand hesitantly rubbing your back.
After a beat, You grab his face with a ferocity and force your lips back to his. With a dazed expression, Spencer eagerly accepts.
The kiss is messy and sloppy. Your post-orgasm haze mixes with any lingering adrenaline. And Spencer kisses back like he’s starving for it, his hands sliding up to cradle your face.
But you slip out of his grasp all too soon, and Spencer whines. Sliding yourself off his cock with a groan, you suddenly reach up to grip his hair, tilting his head back. “Open your mouth,” you command.
Albeit a bit confused, he obeys, lips parting. His heart is still racing, his body humming from everything that just happened.
You crawl up his body like a predator, and Spencer realizes with dizzying clarity, you want to straddle his face. And some part of him gets a thrill that he did it well enough the first time you would demand it again.
You don't have to guide him. He’s ready, eager even, holding out his hands to steady you. His palms slide up your thighs, and he tilts his head just right, lips parted expectantly. Please. That’s what the look in his eyes says.
You lower yourself onto his mouth with zero hesitation. Spencer inhales sharply through his nose, your scent is everywhere, before his lips press even against you.
This time, he doesn’t bother with the coquettish hesitation. He dives in. Immediately, he tastes himself on your tongue, the flavor of which strange, salty and musky. But he doesn’t mind. Spencer laps at you contentedly, his tongue exploring with more confidence than before, licking and sucking and kissing.
You inhale sharply through your teeth, your fist gripping his hair. You shudder atop him, your thighs squeezing around his head. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, genuinely surprised. His tongue is moving just right, his pressure is perfect. Your hips start rolling against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.
Spencer, for his part, is fully immersed, licking and kissing like he’s worshipping you. His cheeks and nose are damp with your arousal.
Your back arches into him as you practically ride his face, greedily taking everything his mouth has to offer. He holds your thighs steady, letting you grind against his lips, his tongue working tirelessly to give you exactly what you want.
You're close again, sooner than last time. Breathing raggedly, your grip on his hair tightens as you chase that second high.
Spencer can feel it, the way your body tenses, the tiny trembles in your thighs. A high, broken moan tears from your throat and you shake, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head. He keeps his tongue right where he is, letting it happen, letting you ride out the waves on his mouth.
You finally lift yourself from his mouth, taking the heat of your cunt with you. Spencer helps you crawl back to his lap as he catches his breath. He pulls your limp body gently into his arms. He can’t help but cradle you against his chest. It felt like the right thing to do. You slump against him without a complaint.
You’re both a mess. Sweaty, sticky, and exhausted, the smell of sex thick in the air.
You both lie there, boneless. The floor doesn’t make for the most comfortable spot to lie, but neither could especially move if you tried. The cool air conditioning, at least, is pleasant against your overheated skin.
Spencer exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. “So, uh… what… what now?”
Your breath is still coming out in puffs. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”
Spencer purses his lips, suddenly nervous. He swallows. “…Are we… um… gonna talk about what just happened?”
You lie there wordlessly for a moment. “…I dunno. I didn’t really plan this far.”
Spencer nods slowly. Silence stretches between them, heavy and awkward. Then he suddenly frowns in thought. “You… you planned this?”
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to fuck your brains out since I found out you weren’t another old, boring professor.”
Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. His cheeks flush again. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I mean… shit, everybody does. I just did it first. I tried to tell you.”
“Yeah, I, uh… thought you meant— well…” He thinks back to your conversation in his office, about the female students in his class, auditing only because they intended to spend the class ogling him instead of listening. “I assumed the fact that you were enrolled meant you… didn’t share the sentiment.”
“What, sitting in your lap wasn’t enough of a hint?”
“W-well, I think it hit me by that point, actually!”
You drop your head in exasperation with the knowledge that all of your flirting, this entire time, flew under his radar. Jesus, it was a miracle you’d gotten to this point at all.
You exhale theatrically, reaching up to pat his cheek. “You’re very dense. It’s very charming.”
He smiles, small and shy. “Thank you?”
You just hum. The both of you are silent again, slumped against each other. The clock ticks in his room, the AC rattles.
Spencer idly taps his fingers against your back, still staring at the ceiling. “Did you, uh… wanna… get coffee sometime? Or something?”
A lazy grin spreads across your face, Spencer feels it against his skin. “God, I could fuck you again.”
pls pls pls send in requests for him!!!! i love this stupid little nerd i need to fuck him so bad
“shhh, sh-sh-sh-sh-sh,” you whispered, pressing your finger to spencer’s lips. “baby, you really think too much. why don’t you just… turn it off, huh? turn that big beautiful brain of yours off,” you coo, nimble fingers working quickly at his belt.
“i- it’s not- not- ah!” he stammered, voice breaking into whimpers as you cup his growing bulge through his boxers. “ngh- god,” he groaned, his hips bucking up as you rubbed your thumb over him, feeling him grow in your hand.
he moaned in response, cock twitching as you freed him from his boxers. “oh, look at you, so pretty, so big…,” you murmur, stroking him slowly, running your thumb over his leaky slit.
he whined, big doe eyes rolling back in his head as his hips jerked. “oh- please!” spencer cried, fingers digging so hard into the couch cushions that his knuckles were white.
you slid down onto him, both moaned in tandem as you worked his length into you. “fuck, spence, god, you feel s’good,” you moaned, rocking your hips. a broken string of high pitched moans and whimpers were your only response. you giggled a little, tucking his hair behind his ear. “mm, is it working? where are you now?” you grin, giving him a test bounce, lifting your hips up and dropping them down.
“oh!” he cried out, hips gripping onto your hips desperately as you immediately threw yourself into a brutal pace. “please please please, angel, god, i need it,” he slurred, eyes rolling back in his head. “oh- oh,” he moaned, hips bucking up. you could feel him twitching inside you. god, was he already close?
“spence baby, are you close?” you murmured, stilling.
“no! no, no don’ stop,” he cried, his fingers digging painfully into your sides.
“ohh… i see, you’re already all pussy drunk and needy, huh?” you giggled, squeezing your walls tighter around him, causing another broken moan to escape.
“s’close,” he whimpered, cock pulsing inside you. all it took was a few more bounces before you felt him cum inside you, hot and pulsing as the thick ropes of his release spilled out of him, accompanied by the prettiest moans and jerking and twitching of his hips.
“oh, such a good boy…” you murmured before grinning wickedly at your poor boyfriend. “too bad i haven’t cum yet though.”
@mariasont made the cutest bestest quiz ever you take it and it tells you which BAU man secretly wants you (link to her quiz!! Take it it’s so fun) and I was like wowww this is so awesome
So I made a silly little quiz if anyone is interested!!! U answer some questions and it tells you what era of spencer reid is in love with you hehehheh
i got spencer for the first one and was so happy and got s3/5 spencer and was pretty much slapped in the face by how much my ex emotionally abused me 🥀
pairing: older! emily prentiss x younger! fem! reader
summary: when emily brings you to the club to flaunt you, you walk off to the dance floor feeling mildly irritated at how she practically described you as her pet. so you don’t stop a pretty girl from dancing with you, leading to consequences in the back of emily’s car
warnings/tags: smut, dom! emily who starts hard and ends soft, sub! r, age gap, degradation, mommy kink, reader is called baby, sweetheart, pry other stuff idk, eventually communication, r is kind of referred to but not directly as a pet, slight dacryphilia, spanking, fingering, jemily undertones i’m not sorry, edging, cunnilingus, slut shaming, humiliation, praise, car sex. not in that order. no desc of reader (no hair, no clothes etc) besides wearing a sexy outfit. no use of y/n.
word count: 1.6k
a/n: from two lovely anons come my first emily prentiss story!!! i love this woman so much holy moly i literally have one of those fuckass flags with her in my room
based on this request and this request!
it had started innocently. it really had.
“i told jj i like to think you know better than to misbehave, but you just seem to enjoy it, don’t you? you little slut. going around out there-” emily grunted, thrusting her fingers in and out of you, “and whoring around, huh? i don’t feel too bad, especially when you knew what could happen.”
you whine, canting your hips up desperately, held down by her forearms. “em-” you started, voice broken in one syllable before she cut you off.
“did i say you could talk, sweetheart?” she cooed, immediately stopping her fingers. you moab brokenly, writhing under her. “and i think you know that’s not my name. or are you too dumb to think already? just from this little bit? i’ve barely done anything to you,” emily added with a mocking laugh.
“mommy, mommy, i’m sorry,” you choke out, tears brimming in your eyes, desperation clear in every cell of your body. this was already the third time she’d done this, bringing you closer and cutting you off harsher each time.
“awww, my poor baby,” she coos, face void of any pity and clearly taking delight in her control. “you gonna cry? wow. bet you wish you just behaved earlier, hm?”
you really were wishing you had.
~
earlier, you were at the club. emily was flaunting you, hanging out with jj while you went to dance.
“she’s so well behaved. right, pretty girl?” emily murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear. you nodded eagerly, leaning into her touch.
“wow,” jj laughed, “i’m impressed. emily prentiss with a PYT, huh?” she looked you up and down, nodding approvingly. “now, does she actually behave, or does she misbehave sometimes,” she grins, mischief flickering in her eyes.
emily squeezed your waist. “i like to think she knows better,” she contemplates. “she knows if she does misbehave she gets punished,” she adds, pinching your other side.
“ow!” you whine, pouting. “hey, don’t make it sound like i’m some pathetic little thing,” you huff, miffed at how the description made you sound like a pet.
emily exchanged a look with jj, before both of them burst out laughing. “go dance, sweetheart,” emily grinned, waving her hand in dismissal. you huff, turning on your loboutin’d heel. “oh, don’t be a baby. ah- don’t you- come here,” she ordered firmly. you turned slowly. “where’s my goodbye kiss?” she tilted her head, eyes narrowed. you pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before stalking off.
“and you said she’s well behaved?” jj laughed.
that was the last thing you heard, was the two of them laughing at you. it seemed to ring in your ears, bouncing around your head. irritated and reckless, you took a shot (then another) to dull the volume of their laughter before stepping out onto the dance floor.
you looked good, that much was obvious to anyone. emily wanted you in a sexy outfit for the club to show you off, and she allowed you to use her credit card to make a purchase. you’d seen jj’s eyes darken with interest, seen the bartenders eyes linger. so, as anyone with pretty privilege does, you decided to weapon use your attractiveness.
sooner rather than later, you had a pretty girl grinding against you on the dance floor. she was gorgeous- and young.
the one thing emily cannot give you is youth, which had been a mild frustration of hers. while you had no issue with it, emily was occasionally miffed by it.
you were enjoying yourself, having fun, before a cold arm wrapped firmly around your waist. “wow. i leave you alone for a few moments and you’re already making rounds? after i just told jj you were so good too,” she whispered in your ear, making you freeze. her breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine, gooseflesh breaking out on your arms.
you open your mouth to try to speak, but the look on emily’s face shuts you down quickly.
“we’re leaving. now,” she says coldly, hand leaving your waist in favor of your wrist, dragging you stumbling after her.
“emily-” you tried, but she didn’t even look at you.
“not a fucking word,” she hissed. she pulled you out into the parking lot, her heels clicking sternly against the asphalt. she unlocked her car, shoved you ahead of her. “in the back,” she ordered.
you fought the urge to whimper and whine, instead opting instead to (smartly) take what she was going to give you silently.
you climbed in, and she did after you, closing the door and then locking the car. you swallowed thickly.
emily’s eyes were dark, her mouth drawn into a thin line (similar, as you would imagine, to her patience right now). her silver hair shined in the moonlight gleaming through the card window, highlighting her presence looming over you and giving her a glow.
“care to tell me what the fuck that was about?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “did you want my attention? because you’re going to get it.”
~
and that was how you ended up here, in the back of her car, crying.
she lifted your hips up, pulling her fingers out of your slick hole and flipping you over with your ass propped up in the air. she swiftly brought her hand down, giving you a sharp slap! right on your ass.
you choked out another broken sob into your arms that were currently holding you up.
“oh, so pretty for me when you cry, darling. too bad you do all the time, because you just have to go around being naughty, naughty, naughty,” she murmured, punctuating each naughty with another rough slap on your ass.
you sobbed brokenly, the sting of your sensitive skin only adding to the haze in your mind. “m’sorry mommy, i promise,” you cried, body heaving with sobs.
“you should be,” she sighed, gently rubbing the reddened flesh of your tender ass. “i only do this because i love you, sweetheart. you know that,” she murmured, rubbing slowly turning into massaging as she began groping you. “how could i not get jealous? when you look like this… so good for me, hm?”
you moaned brokenly as she flipped you over again, more gently this time. “i’ll take care of you now baby, okay? you’re gonna be a good girl for me right?” she mumbled against the skin of your thighs, trailing kisses up to your sopping, needy cunt.
“yes, mommy, i will, god,” you moaned, spreading your legs farther for her as she adjusted your legs over her shoulders.
she made quick work of you, who was already so sensitive. the space between your thighs was sloppy, covered in your arousal. she licked up and down your thighs, leaving faint marks as she went. cleaning you up, marking you as hers with every soft bite into your thighs and every lathe of her tongue and kiss over it.
the windows were fogged up, and the scent of sex was heavy in the air. your brain was scrambled, it felt like the only thing keeping you on earth was emily’s tongue as she licked stripes up your pussy, nose bumping your clit gently.
she pulled you closer, burying her face in your heat, eating like it was her last meal and she was starving. she moaned as she licked up your arousal, swirling her tongue against your clit, the vibrations going straight to your core.
“fuck- fuck, mommy, god i’m close-” you moaned brokenly, your hips bucking up against her.
“good, good, sweetheart. go ahead and come for me,” she murmured, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them just right against the spongey spot that makes your toes curl.
a string of incoherent words and noises strung together left your lips as the knot in your stomach finally snapped as emily swirled her tongue around your clit.
“fuck!” you cried out, back arching off the pleather seats. your eyes rolled back in your head as the white hot wave of pleasure crashed over you, legs shaking as emily gently worked you through it. you felt the last wave of your orgasm lap at your body, leaving behind a feeling of contentment and relaxation.
emily gently set you down. your legs were shaky, and twitched a little as she brushed against your clit. “there you go baby,” she murmured, wiping sweaty hair off your forehead. you sighed, your body feeling loose and warm. sweat gathered in the bends of your knees and gathered like dew on the back of your face and neck.
“thank you,” you mumbled, reaching up and wrapping your arms around her neck. “i love you, mommy. i’m sorry i was bad earlier, i just got upset how it sounded like you kinda talked about me like a pet.”
“i love you too baby,” she murmurs into my neck as she pressed gentle kisses to my jaw. “and you are my little pet. i spoil you, i give you treats, i cuddle and let and take care of you and adore you. so in a way, yes. but you’re also a valuable woman in my life with opinions, thoughts, dreams, and wants that i care about,” she murmured, brushing her slender fingers against your cheek.
you sigh contently against her. “thank you,” you add, eyes slipping shut.
“you’re welcome baby. let’s get home now, okay?” she said gently.
“okay,” you agree.
as you both get into your car seats, you both feel a sense of relief and love. and as emily drives with her left hand and her right hand slips onto your thigh, you both feel a sense that round two is happening when you get back.
~~~~~~~~
a/n: thank you for reading this the whole way!!! i really appreciate and i really hope you guys like it. i’m so excited to get back to writing and sharing it.
please reblog if you enjoyed and send me any requests here! xoxo lav 💜
hi lovely! this is my first time doing requests but could i please request like a jealous older emily smut at the club? maybe some degradation and mommy kink if possible <333
hi!! i’m so honored to be your first ask omg thank u sm!!
ugh i freaking LOVE me some older emily like silver fox era YUMMM 😋
i checked all ur boxes in this fic bar so don’t even worry about it
i hope you enjoy darling, i did my best for you and please enjoy it here! <3 mwah!!
Hi baby I literally just tucked my ass into bed when I got ur ask, if it takes a little long to answer, it's because I'm going all in on the advice + giving links and stuff haha I definitely wish someone helped me with aesthetic stuff when I started writing so I really wanna be thorough with my answer 💛
omg ur totally fine!! ur actually so sweet i appreciate that so much 😭 thank you for telling me and not just leaving me hanging 💜
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism (additional tags on individual chapters)
CHAPTER ONE : like machines do : spencer and our leading lady find themselves in a tricky situation
CHAPTER TWO : you know you're better than this : things start to heat up between our stars.
CHAPTER THREE : too late to stop : our pairs on screen chemistry is tested.
CHAPTER FOUR : and you look half dead half the time : our couple prepares for their final act.
OOOOOHHHHH MY FUCKING GOD HOLY SHIT THIS IS ACTUALLY SOME OF THE GENUINE BEST WRITING IVE EVER READ. EVERY WORD OF THIS IS SO GOOD. like i literally thought about this for a week straight it lives in my brain. best thing i’ve read in such a long time.
