୨᭪ a/n .ᐟ starting out strong in saying that this is age gap (nothing crazy but ik how people get) so if you don't like, don't read!! this is kinda short and came to me after seeing an edit of s19 Emily (lowkey larping cause i've only watched s16) BUT NEVERTHELESS this'll be a massive reference catch to a certain audience!
masterlist
Emily's lived a long life.
At the ripe old age of fifty-five years old, she's been beat, shot, and even faked her own death.
She's lost lovers and people who've felt like her family, but never, not even once, has she let the iron clad grip she has on her self control slip.
It's what's kept her together, what's kept her connected to her humanity despite her job determined to take everything from her.
Until you came along.
Young, sweet, and halfway to thirty; you're bright eyed, bushy-tailed, and so eager to help.
You offer to get coffee, and waddle around the carpeted halls in pitch black pumps that she only gets the pleasure of hearing when you go down the short steps leading down to the bullpen.
The team treats you like a princess, and it reminds her of when Morgan and Hotch were still around.
Penelope loves you, Rossi treats you like you're his own, and Emily wonders when life without you seemed bleak. Where the silence that'd been left there by her dearest friend's absences stopped hurting as much, where the smile on her face actually met her eyes.
Where her stomach twists when she sees you, when her hands tingle when your fingers brush handing her files, when her face warms when she sees your cleavage.
She'd thought she'd been a trooper about this entire thing, but sometimes she forgets that she's in a room full of profilers for weeks at a time, and a majority of them don't really give a shit about minding their business - they're all terribly codependent, so she digresses.
Emily had just announced that they'd had a case when everyone came clambering up the steps.She doesn't really know why she was standing outside the door - she does, she'd been looking at you - but when you pass by, giving her a sweet smile and a cheeky 'coming boss', she finds herself leaning closer, and before she can control herself, she's trying to subtly inhale the air where you'd once stood.
Her eyelids flutter close, and her jaw tightens, and she hadn't even registered that Rossi was behind you, until he regards her with a raised, grey white brow when she opens her eyes.
"Seriously?" He asks, his voice drenched in amusement.
Emily huffs, straightening with her gaze narrowed. "Not a word."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Rossi chuffs, before brushing past her and engaging in the idle conversation taking place behind her.
She stands there, slightly trembling - your fault - and wholly embarrassed - hers.
She deduces that she's really got to get this figured out.
꒰ Aaron learns that there are some things he can keep ꒱ .ᐟ
୨᭪ a/n .ᐟ HELLO!!!! the title is lowkey buns but i wrote this during a very uncomfortable bathroom excursion, and this was supposed to be a nsfw post but uhhh the plot kinda got away from me so now it's whatever this is!! you all have met me in a very lana del rey time of my life so expect some devastatingly fluffy fics!!
masterlist
Aaron Hotchner is a grown ass man.
He's at a certain age where casual dating is few and far in-between - which basically means zero - and the concept of having a one night stand makes him want to sigh. He'd much rather use his meagre free time getting ready for bed, thank you very much.
He tries his best to not get caught up in bad habits, because in his mind, bad habits create bad patterns, and said patterns could affect the who he is as a parent and a boss.
With that being said, at some point between quiet nights at the office and late night after work bar excursions, you and him have developed a certain... relationship.
Which it isn't, not really.
But it's a relationship where, with enough alcohol in your systems, eyes get heavy, hands roam, and the layers of clothing between you get scarce.
It never goes further than making out or the occasional dry humping. It's a line that Aaron absolutely refuses to let the both of you cross, because as said before, he's a grown man who practices holding himself together, but there's just something about you that makes his self control tick.
It's like a constant clock in the back of his brain, counting down to the inevitable doomsday where he brings what you do in the dark to the light.
It makes him feel delusional in a way that resurfaces from his youth. A willful ignorance that this kind of situation is one that could somehow find its way to be long term, no matter how much younger you are than him or how much life you have left to live.
You're young and spry, and generally untouched by the darkness that plagues your occupation. The world is your oyster, and you are at a point in your life where you're still able to cut off the things that don't serve you anymore.
He's being vague, isn't he?
What he's trying to say is, if you ever one day want more for yourself than this, he'd dreadfully follow. He'd listen with open ears and try to find a way to fix it, to make it better between the two of you.
Because he's still your boss, and you're still subordinate, and you spend weeks out of the months together. It needs to get better because it has to.
He's lost in his thoughts, and you pull away from his lips with a wet pout.
"Aaron?" You murmur. "Are you okay?"
His hands sit heavy on your hips, and he allows his thumbs to slip underneath your blouse to caress at your naked skin.
"Sorry," He mumbles gruffly. "Just thinking."
"Well that's never good." You remark with a small grin, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes him.
Your palms trail curiously from where they were cupping his face down his chest, fiddling with the buttons of his work shirt that he still hasn't found the time to take off yet.
"I already know what you're thinking." You admit quietly.
This... thing, between you two has always felt so fragile. Like if you spoke too loudly in the moment, it would end before you guys were ready to let it go.
"And I want this - well - whatever this is." You reach up and play with the little stray hairs that fall over his forehead. "I'm not going to tell you how to feel, but I'll tell you how I feel." You continue.
He's staring at you intently, like he's trying to peel back the layers of your skin to stare directly into your soul.
"I... Like this. And I like you, and I want you to get out of your head and be here with me because I'm here." You whisper. "Because I am here. I'm always here, with you. Whether it's kissing in the dark or in an office in a state I've never been in. I want to be wherever you are."
"Because I don't know if you've figured it out yet," You muse with a small smile. "But I don't think I could ever fathom a life without you in it. Even if we never talk about what's between us during the day, being here with you. Now. Is what makes it worth it."
You cup his cheeks again, and his large hands cradle the gentle bone of your wrist.
"So just be here with me, okay?"
He stares at you for a moment, deep brown eyes - almost as deep as a treacherous, raging sea - search yours, for the other proverbial shoe to drop.
His stomach is twisted up in knots, and he's nauseous in a way he hasn't been since him and Haley had first gotten married.
It was like getting to experience life again, and for the first time in what feels like years, it's almost like his chest finally constricts to take in the much needed air that'd been stolen right out of his lungs.
He leans forward, still giving you the space to pull back just in case you change your mind - because he's always ever-so the gentleman - and you let out a sigh of relief when his lips encapsulates yours.
You wrap your arms around his neck, tightening your legs around his waist and practically plastering yourself to his body, like a monkey in a tree. He crosses his arms around your back, anchoring you to him.
When he pulls away to breathe, he gazes up at you.
"Okay." He rasps. "You have me."
The smile you give him is almost blinding when you lean back in again.
summary. you've been getting settled into life at the bau, but penelope seems to be worried about the well being of the team; so it takes a bar trip, a challenge of pool, a slip up, and many games of billiards for the ice between you and spencer to not to be so chilly.
wordcount. 4.3k
tags/warnings. before anything THE AUTHOR KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT PLAYING POOL, this is part of a series but it can be read as a stand-alone, references to drinking, mentions of being inebriated/drunk (not reader or spencer), uhhh thorne is very morally gray and i felt the need to remind everyone, another look at reader's abilities as well as a smidge of demon lore, again i don't want to say enemies-to-lovers but they're a secret third thing, banter, some flirting in the form of bickering (they just don't know it yet), spencer is a little petty shit, reader is hungry but she doesn't even know what for, emotional constipation, and another game of eye tag!! no use of y/n (the reader's last name is thorne but this is not an oc!).
୨᭪ a/n. YES HI HELLO!!!! i'm back!! kind of sort of. just popping in here to post this because i literally can't stop thinking about them like - they genuinely make me sick to my stomach. i see them in everything and i constantly listen to their playlist and update their moodboards and UGGHHHH i was just like FUCK IT i need to write about them again!! this is beta read and edited but if i missed anything please let me know, because i stayed up all night writing this LMAOOOO!!
⤷ demon!reader masterlist
It’s been a long time since you’ve had to make a place feel familiar.
You’d been with Sex Crimes for almost a decade before the BAU plucked you straight from the sunshine state that was Florida, and dropped you straight into the cold Profiler hot-seat.
Nowhere’s ever really felt like home, regardless of the time you’ve spent there or the people you’ve met. You’ve never had a family, and you never will; you didn’t at SC and you won’t have it here, no matter how co-dependent and pushy – as well as loud and invasive – the team is.
It was easy to take life by the balls when you’ve seen several civilizations rise and fall, when you basically have a biological cheat code that helps you navigate any kind of social interaction.
There was something different about them, and how you watched them work.
They were pure chaos together, yes, but they were the worst kind of endearing, like a litter of puppies trampling all over each other; messy, and clumsy, but they somehow make it work and save people. They tug on the emotions you don’t have. They fascinate you.
You like it here, to say the least.
Your only plight was the fact that you hadn't known how much on-field work you'd actually be doing.
Not that you were complaining, of course.
When you were back in your old field, a majority of the case loads were piles of files that took weeks to sort through. Luckily, you had climbed the ranks quickly – naturally. You might be a demon, but why would you cheat when you have nothing but time? – or you would've still been stuck behind a desk making what feels like never-ending calls; but even then, the field work wasn't anything like this.
You've never been this hungry while you’ve worked. You thought you'd gotten used to being around grief on a daily basis, but you'd never been surrounded by this much of it.
You're smack dab in the middle of what could be considered a demonic buffet if the wrong entity got their hands on it. You're centuries old, so you have your control downpat, but that doesn't mean your gums don't ache or the back of your mouth doesn't salivate.
On the topic of such, Reid is still… a death chased enigma.
Aside from the forced proximity that is solving a string of murders across states, you've only shared a few words with each other.
Not for the lack of you trying of course, but Reid continues to be an emotionally ambiguous brick wall. You're never sure whether or not he's annoyed with you any time he answers. He never ignores you or leaves you hanging, but he makes it a point to not give you the reaction you want.
It's refreshing.
He still stares though, but it's a lot less critical than it was your first week here. He'd eased up on the narrowing, and it's now more like a silent watching. It's never a big thing or a loud ordeal, and whenever you catch his gaze, he either returns to whatever he was doing, or he just simply looks away. It's intriguing as much as it is creepy. You don't know if you should be freaked out.
You aren't.
You get lost in the lull of the bullpen; of the rhythmic typing of computers, the occasionally ringing phone, and the never-ending cascade of doors opening and closing. The BAU is in full swing, buzzing and alive, and you hear one little worker bee in particular before you see her.
“This is just sad.” Garcia declares dramatically as her kitten heels click against the flooring.
JJ looks up from the files she’d been working on, and she snorts. “Our jobs?”
“Yes, but no. Totally not what I meant, anyway –” She waves the other blonde’s words away, and JJ settles her with a bemused expression. “We're going out tonight.”
“I can use a drink, or two.” Emily says, and winces. “And maybe a massage.”
JJ takes a second to mull it over, rolling her teeth over her bottom lip before smiling with a light shrug. “Sure, I don't see why not.”
You’re not surprised the ladies of the BAU are the first to give into Penelope’s whims, because the colorful woman is absolutely radiating with satisfaction, and she turns her attention towards where you’re watching her with your chin balanced on the heel of your hand.
“I can already tell you’re one for the night life, Thorny lady. So, you’re going.” You purse your lips to hold back a smile, and give her a thumbs up. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
“What about you, pretty boy? You in?” Morgan chimes in.
Spencer doesn’t look up from where he’s writing, a long, lithe finger trailing down the text before flipping the page when he answers him. “I think I’ll stay behind tonight.”
“Oh, c’mon man.” Morgan protests to the point where he sounds like he’s whining. He’s too manly for that, of course. Control and all the good things that come with years of repressed trauma.
“There wouldn’t be any point in me going anyway.” Reid says simply, eyebrows furrowing when his concentration catches a snag. “You know I don’t drink.”
“Hotness.” Morgan turns his ire for the genius’ refusal towards you. “Please convince boy wonder here that nothing in this office is as fun as whatever could be happening out here.”
Your brow twitches in surprise at the fact that he asked you of all people. “And tell him what?” You ask with an amused scoff. “Sorry Morgan, but rationalizing with stubborn geniuses is above my pay grade.”
“Even Aaron and Rossi said they’ll come!” Penelope adds, and you laugh, parts startled and a little pleased at her pre-planning. “You ran this by the boss man first?”
“You know Rossi is low hanging fruit, sweetheart.” Morgan muses, and the colorful woman shoots him a small glare, and he raises his hands in defense.
“Regardless –” She grits. “I thought that was implied when I said we're.”
“You really never do anything half-assed, do you?” You grin, impressed. “Fine.” You relent, and turn to Spencer. “You heard the woman and her verbs, Dr. Reid.” You double down with a smirk. “Everyone’s going, unless…” You tilt your head – and you must admit, you are slightly taunting him. “You have something else better to do.”
You don’t even know why you’re entertaining this entire thing, or why you’re so entertained by his reaction, because whether or not the man comes doesn’t affect you at all.
“I don’t –” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “Have anything. Better.”
“Then that settles that, then!” Penelope interjects through the building tension.
“I suppose it is.” Spencer grits.
“I suppose so.” You purr with a sharp grin, settling your chin on the palm of your hand.
Stand off averted.
For now.
—
The sad part about being a demon is that you don’t get drunk.
Well, in hindsight, when you actually think about it, it’s not like you necessarily don't, but it’s more like you can’t.
You don’t really know where your inability to become inebriated comes from, or how that somehow got wired into your biology – you’re supposed to be the face of pure sin, afterall, but you think maybe it was just a manufacturing error, or demons’ never-ending need to feel like the superior creature.
Whatever.
Regardless, that doesn’t mean the act of throwing back shots isn’t fun.
The tequila burns down your throat like acid, and your gut clenches when you feel it trickle down your esophagus and settle into your stomach like an inflamed rock. It runs straight through you, and you clench your eyes shut when you throw back your third. You're not immune to disgust.
You can hear the girls cheering you on faintly, and you hide a small smile behind the rim of the glass.
The bar is dim and smoky, the faint sound of music trickles through the old jukebox from where it sits tucked away on the other side of the room. It combs through the air that’s briefly interrupted by the clanking of billiard balls hitting each other. You don’t hear it fall into one of the corners.
Huh, must’ve been a miss.
“Remind me to never challenge you.” Morgan remarks with a flushed face, and everyone in the sticky booth laughs, even Spencer.
You haven’t even broken a sweat when you slam the sixth empty shot glass onto the stained table.
“Years of practice my friend.” Your rasp, but it’s mostly an inside joke to yourself.
You got to experience the good shit, the unlawfully-made-in-someone’s-backyard, kind of shit. It was a rough thirteen years from nineteen-twenty-nine to nineteen-thirty-three, but god if it wasn’t the best liquor you’d ever had.
“Water, ladies?” Rossi smirks as he and Aaron approach the tables with waters in hand.
“God,” JJ groans. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Seriously.” Emily coughs. Penelope’s tending to a fruity cocktail after tapping out at shot number four, sipping lightly and gazing around the table with hooded eyes. She’s tucked under Morgan’s arm, and you wonder if they’ll address the elephant that’s been in the room with them for years.
You can smell the contentment flowing off of them, and you suppose that whatever they have going on can be platonic. You couldn’t be alive for thousands of years and not move with the political climate, and you certaintly don’t support the notion that men and women can’t be friends. You suppose Morgan and Garcia are a secret third thing.
It fits for them, funnily enough.
Aaron just shrugs the praise off while you see Rossi’s chest puff, and you roll your eyes to yourself. He places an extra water in front of Reid, and the genius’ lips tighten into a line as his own version of a smile.
It’s weird seeing Spencer so carefree.
You would think the weird thing would've been being able to call Hotch by his real name outside of working hours, or seeing him in a henley that does wonders for his chest. There’s been a group of women ogling the table for the past fifteen minutes, and you’re sure that the raven haired man has seen them. If he had your senses, it’d be impossible to not smell them, either.
You let your eyes trail over to the three men hovering over the pool table, and you watch as one of the guys lines his pool cue up to the ball, and you already know the shot is going to be too soft.
“Thinking about who you're gonna go home with already, hotness?” You turn your head to see Morgan grinning at you hazily, nursing his own cup of water. You’re thinking he’s Penelope’s designated driver for tonight.
“No.” You scoff, and smirk. “That guy in the grey t-shirt has missed the shot the past three times.”
“It’s because his positioning is off.”
Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes take their time trailing from Derek to the blonde man tucked to the right of him. You lace your fingers together. “Oh, please. Do tell.”
You hear a faint ‘here we go’ come from Rossi’s section and it makes your smirk deepen.
“He’s practically bent over the pool cue.” Spencer states simply. “Technically your head is the only thing that’s supposed to be low over the cue’s line.” He plays with the condensation on his glass cup. “He’s holding himself at his shoulders instead of creating a steady base with his feet, and his form is awkward. The back of his arm is supposed to swing like a pendulum when he goes to make a hit.”
“Hm.” You hum, mulling an idea over in your mind before settling on it.
The mischief creeps into your face before you can control it, and Spencer already looks like he’s bracing himself for the challenge. You’ve heard that the others had promised not to profile each other, but it doesn’t take an FBI agent to see the tension that ripples under his white button up.
You like that you keep him on edge.
It makes your teeth ache.
“Come shoot a couple balls with me then.” You say with a tilt of your head – goading. “Since you must be a good player. Because, you know so much about it, of course.”
“Those guys don’t look like they’re all that willing to share the table.” Spencer leans over to peer over your shoulder. “Oh, come on.” You wave a dismissive hand at him. “That's a total cop out!”
“I’m just saying.” He continues with a slight pout. It’s endearing as much as it is annoying. “Just think about the sheer amount of bacteria that are probably on those pool sticks.” He looks as if he’s going to shiver. “Statistically, only thirty-one to eighty-five percent of men actually wash their hands after going to the bathroom.”
He’s purposefully being difficult, and you stare him down before speaking. “Fine.” You huff. “Since I'm the only person here with incentive, watch and learn, people.”
You unbutton a few buttons at the top of your dark maroon-collared shirt, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows before grabbing at the straps of your bra and giving your boobs a little shimmy so they could fall into place.
“You’d think spending almost forty-dollars on a bra would prevent uni-boob, but I guess not.” You mumble in dismay when you stand and pull up your slacks, tightening your belt so the stiletto part of your heels are visible. “The first lesson is that men are a lot more simpler than they’d like to admit being.”
You're greeted by amused looks and a small whistle à la Morgan, and you finally allow yourself to give them a carefree grin.
“I’ll cheers to that!” Emily raises her beer to your words before taking a sip, and the other women hoot their agreement with their respective drinks. “Here, here!” Penelope slurs.
“C’mon Reid, a billiard game awaits.” You don’t bother to see if Spencer follows, but you can hear some rustling coming from behind before you hear the heel of his loafers meet the brick flooring.
The thing about having a heightened sense of smell when it comes to emotions is knowing what people will let you get away with. For example, you can tell the men who’re crowded over the pool table would probably happily hand over the cue to you, but you turn up the aura of your allure, just for kicks.
“Well, hello there, pretty lady.” One of them says with a smarmy grin, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “Hi.” You answer with faux sweetness.
The guy isn’t even making an attempt to act like he’s trying to make eye contact with you, instead his gaze takes turns to look at you and then down at your breasts. Which – granted, was the whole point of the show you’d given back at the table, but you digress.
The brunette chews on a piece of gum, and you can hear the obnoxious smacking from where you’re standing. It’s clear he’s taking this entire interaction as you somehow being into him, because his grin melts into a smirk.
“My friend and I –” You gesture behind you flippantly with your thumb, “Just wanted to come over here and play a couple games. But it looks like you guys are in the middle of something, so…”
The man throws a lazy look over your shoulder, and you watch his face change when he sees Spencer. It twists into a look of pity and slight disgust. Your gut tightens, your eyes narrow, and your lips pull tight over your teeth.
You want to rip his throat out.
The allure card clearly isn’t working so instead, you step closer, putting a hand on his wrist and digging the tip of your blood red thumbnail into the pulse point of it. You can see him wince, but before he can say anything, you send out a small push of fear.
You hear the game stop when you smell their blood pressure spike and start rushing through their ears. You try not to, but you can’t help but feed off them, breathing deep through your nose with flared nostrils. It's warm and smells like metal, but it clogs your senses like you're inhaling straight from the source.
“Would you look at that?” You muse a condescending smile, your mouth thick with saliva. “Looks like the game’s over.”
You feel the guy tremble under your grip, so you let go, and he blinks two, three times before finally getting his bearings. He looks back at his friends behind him, like he's dazed, but they’re already looking at him.
He goes beet red.
He reaches the hand that you'd been digging in up to rub at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Right – we're just gonna, um… C'mon guys. I need another beer.”
He shrugs right past you, and you make sure to turn your body to the side so his stumbling body doesn't touch yours. You can hear Spencer say a quiet pardon me as they pass.
“Well!” You huff through the heaviness in your chest, swallowing the hunger and putting your hands on your hips. You rotate on your heels to face him.
“How about that game?”
Spencer's staring at you with furrowed brows, like he's bamboozled by what just happened in front of him. “What did you do?” He asks in slight suspicion.
“What do you mean?”
“What did you say to him?”
“I just flirted a little bit.” You say dismissively. “Gave him a fake number. It's probably just a coincidence that his thirst and his buddies' finishing overlapped.” You simply shrug off his suspicion. “Who’s to say being embarrassed doesn’t make you thirsty?”
He studies you for a second longer before relenting. “Fine.”
You pick up a pool cue and settle at one of the ends of the table. Reid doesn't move.
“C'mon!” You laugh incredulously. “It's not like I have magic or I cursed him or something. Now stop being a weirdo and pick up a stick.”
It takes a beat longer before he picks one up too.
You gather all the balls and put them into the triangle rack that sits in the middle. “Best out of three?”
Spencer's eyes narrow. “Make it two.” You can see the side of his mouth twitch.
“Oh, ho, ho.” You chuckle with raised brows, impressed. “You’re lucky I actually want to play, or I'd double down and make it winner takes all.”
“I grew up in Vegas.” He murmurs when you lift the rack up after making sure the billiards held their shape. “My dad left a pool table in the garage before he left.” He squints as he lines up the tip of the stick to one of the balls. “And it’s all about measurement and kinetic motion.”
You’re almost one-hundred percent sure he hadn’t been drinking, but maybe his deviousness had been lost to you at some point in the night, because he’s only ever been this playful with everyone else but you.
“Oh really?” You smirk.
You line up your pool cue to the bright orange ball.
You’re sure that Spencer hadn’t taken into account centuries of playing, because though he could bring mathematics into this, you know shorter tricks and faster ways of getting a hole-in-one.
Or maybe he knows too, because that would be on par with the theme of tonight.
Three of your balls fall into the netting compared to his two, and you smile to yourself.
“I’ll just say I’ve been around some pretty talented players in my time.” You speak with a shrug.
You straighten up when he bends back down, throwing a quick look at where his shirt tightens around the skin of his back, and the knobs of his spine press into the thin white cloth as four of his billiards fall into their respective holes.
Your eyes fall back down to the green, stained fake silk on top of the table.
“Six out of eight balls already?” You nod to yourself, pursing your lips. “Not too shabby.”
You make a point of waxing the tip of the stick, squinting an eye as you slowly bend, and you can feel the hemming of your pants pull against the crack of your ass when you kick your legs out lightly. You sway.
“Think I can make it a lucky five?” You ask, letting your gaze flutter up at him. “Well, it’s a fifty-fifty chance if we were playing a coin toss, twenty in the case of a skill challenge, or a 1 in 79,235,168 chance for a single number.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “Always trying to outdo me, Dr. Reid.” His brow ticks up. “It’s not out-doing you if I know the answer first.” You can’t help but scoff a laugh. “Wow, you know what? Scratch that, I think it’s more like you’re being a smartass.”
“Good luck.” Is all he says.
A thick smell of reluctance and amusement swim under your nose, and you can’t help but smile.
“I’ve been known to be very likeable once you get to know me, Reid.”
That’s what you’d said the first time you’d ever worked with him, and he’d just bit right back at you like he didn’t believe you.
You liked it.
You liked that he didn’t like you.
It’s strange to know how it feels when he does.
You’re not sure if you should pick on him about it, so you don't. Instead, you go completely still, almost like stone.
The thing about it is, realistically, you actually don’t have to breathe, but you’ve made it a habit since it was only so long until someone had noticed the fact that your chest wasn’t rising or falling.
You don’t have a heart that beats, or blood that rushes through your veins or adrenaline that pumps through your body in the face of a gun.
The immobility helps you focus, but when you shoot only two balls fall in, and one of them wasn’t your eighth. You sigh in defeat, and you look up to see Spencer looking at you smugly.
“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You point out in disbelief, “You’re actually enjoying this.”
“No!” Spencer says, defensive. The end of his voice goes up a pitch, and you want to point it out, but you resist. “I’m just… thinking.”
“Well, your thoughts are being loud.” You huff, “Think quieter."
He looks at you like you’re stupid, and your grins match for a split second – his small, yours shit eating – before he chuffs and makes the shot. You groan in annoyance when his billiards are completely off the table.
“Son of a bitch.” You swear and rub at your forehead.
Spencer throws his hands up in a small cheer. “Am I – what was it you said? – besting you?”
“Yeah, yeah, one more match, genius. C’mon.”
Best of two turns into best out of three, and then four, and before you know it, there’s twenty dollars on the table.
You can feel yourself running hot despite the fact that you don’t have an internal temperature. If you were a human, your shirt would’ve been damp with sweat.
Spencer’s cheeks are flushed, and you guys are tied three-to-three. You can see that his hair is wet and curled at the ends, and they kiss his chin whenever he bends over.
“You think you can make it an even number, smart guy?” You ask through clenched teeth as you line up the tip of your cue to make your first, and probably last, shot of the night. Two out of seven fall into the net.
“Oh I know I can.” He stands back up when two of his fall in as well. “But I’m curious. What happened to those skills you were talking about?”
You shake your head in amusement at his ribbing, and tongue at the inside of your cheek. “Patience, Dr. Reid.” You remark when, during your next shot, three of the billiards disappear. “Hm,” You hum. “How about that?”
“I’m waiting for when I’m supposed to be impressed.”
“Ha ha, so you’ve got jokes, now?”
“Quite a few of them actually.”
“Riveting.”
Four of his billiards fall into the nets.
“Hey Thorne.”
“No.” You groan, because you can already tell what he’s going to say. “Where does a pool table keep its loose change?” You shake your head again. “No, absolutely not.”
“In its pockets!”
You hate the fact that you grin, or even let out an unattractive chortle, but he looks all too pleased with himself when you lose again.
“Wow.”
Both of you turn your heads to see Morgan approach you guys from the lounge. “I never thought I’d see the day where you guys would actually get along.”
“Nah,” You brush him off. “He just wanted an excuse to be better at another thing I do.”
You go to look at Spencer, but he’s already looking at you.
His gaze is intense but not like it was when you first joined. It's different. Searching. He's got a furrow to his brow that tells you he's confused, and not for the first time, you're curious as to what goes on in that head of his. He takes a second longer to drag his eyes away from you before finally acknowledging Derek.
“Thorne.”
“Yeah?” You swallow, turning your head to look at him.
“I asked if you were ready to go.” Morgan regards you with a look of concern. “Do you need someone to drive you home?”
“I’m good.” You chuckle, waving him away. “Just a little tired. Heading out is probably a good idea.”
“Are you sure?” The question comes from Spencer this time and you squint at him strangely, for just a brief moment. “No… I promise. I’m good.”
You’re coming to realize that - despite the hundreds of years you've been on earth - you don’t know a lot of things, and for the first time you’re not sure how you feel about it.
One thing you do know, is that Spencer will continue to be an enigma that leaves little cuts on your skin to worm under, like bugs.
And there’s a part of you that's willingly letting him crawl all over you.
TLDR; likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! I love knowing what you guys think!
If you love this pairing as much as me and you're interested in seeing more of the demon!reader universe, you can find that post here! <3
꒰ derek and his girlfriend help give spencer a little more sexual experience ꒱ .ᐟ
୨᭪ a/n .ᐟ GUYS. i actually do NOT know what came over me when i was writing this, but i'm ovulating and rewatching criminal minds and SOMETIMES A GIRL WANTS BOTH OKAY?!??!
mdni 18+
masterlist || 1.0k
"C'mon man, use a little bit more tongue."
Your fingers pull on the roots of Spencer's mussed up hair, and your back bows when the tongue that'd been flicking at your clit circles your entrance.
A moan rips through your throat when he slurps, collecting a mouthful of your wetness and swallowing.
"There you go."
Derek's observing the both of you, arms crossed and his own fingers tucked over his mouth, contemplative.
Spencer whimpers in pain when the heel of your foot shoves itself into the skin of his naked shoulder blade in an attempt to pull him closer. The ache in his upper-back doesn't perturb him from grinding his hips down onto the mattress below him.
"Give her your fingers now." Derek says lowly. "Don't be afraid to go too fast. She can take it."
"Derek." You gasp, and he just chuckles instead of reaching for you like you want. "Spencer." You call for either one of them, and Spencer's left hand searches for yours blindly until it reaches you, and he intertwines them together. It settles you.
"He feel good, princess?"
Reid's fingers are thinner than Morgan's, and when his ring finger slips in next to his middle, he crooks them, adjusting his wrist before pulling in and out of you.
The experimental thrust snatches the air out of your lungs.
"So -" You choke. "So good."
"You don't think he wants you to tell him that?"
You look down from between the valley of your naked breasts, your nipples hard, aching, and wet from the relentless teasing that'd gotten you this soaked in the first place breaches your vision when your eyes captures the genius'.
His irises are blown out and dark. A thick fog clouds his focus, but he moans as he looks up at you. His wrist work is unrelenting, his digits curving themselves, searching and determined to find your g-spot.
You're shaking, and your legs tremble from where they're thrown around him. "You're doing so well, Reid." You praise, and he takes your clit in his mouth, and suckles. "He's a fast learner." You add with a whiny chuckle.
"I don't call him boy wonder for no reason." Derek remarks with a thick smirk.
Morgan's forwent his shirt, and his pants hang low on his hips to reveal a sharp v-line that disappears into his waistband. A part of you wants to beg him to put his cock in your mouth, but this is supposed to be a learning experience. You've seen Spencer occasionally throw a glance or two to the side at him before focusing back on you.
You can't say you blame him.
You're not sure how many professional boundaries the three of you have crossed in the span of two hours, but the chinese food you were sharing in your apartment sits abandoned on your coffee table, along with your clothes.
It was a stupid joke that Morgan had made, and it somehow spiraled into getting Spencer to open up about his lackluster sex life. The next thing you know, your boyfriend's offering you up to him, and after a moment of contemplation, you agree, and find yourself on your back.
You don't know what this means for you and Derek, but you don't think he's too worried about it, because the hand that was ghosting over his mouth reaches down to grip at the thick print in his jeans.
"You want in?" You ask breathily, and Morgan raises a thick eyebrow.
"You being greedy?"
You giggle and look down at Spencer, running your fingers through his hair. "Uhnt uh." You grin. "Just wanna help him out after I cum."
You're seeing how far you can push this, because nothing's been pre-established. You're letting him know you're down for anything, and the ball is in his court.
"Maybe after."
That's not a no.
You let your eyes flutter closed when a third finger adds itself to the mix, and your hips shoot up against his face when the pads of Reid's fingers meet your g-spot.
"Shit!" You cry out.
The twist to Spencer's wrist is brutal now, and his brief suckling turns into full on sucking, like he's trying to steal your soul out through your clit.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck -" You babble. "So, good. So fucking good."
You can see Spencer's humping get rougher the closer you get to your orgasm.
"Fuck yeah, give it to me." You moan. "Put your -" You huff. "Put your tongue in me. Rub my clit."
Spencer's quick to comply, the switch between pleasure seamless when the muscle in his mouth shoves itself inside of you, and his thumb swipes at you in fast strokes.
"Slow -" You pant. "Slower. It's not a race."
"Sorry." Spencer mumbles with a mouthful of you. It's the first words he's spoken all night since he kissed you earlier.
"It's not your fault." Derek scoffs. "She's a needy little thing."
"Don't be mean!" You mewl.
The tension lifts with your banter, but it doesn't stop you from spasming around him when sips at your hole.
"I'm almost there, just -"
He lets go of cradling your hand to come up for air. He's panting, his mouth is absolutely soaked, and he gets up on his knees in a hurry, pressing down on your stomach to hammer his digits.
"I got you," The genius breathes. "I got you." He licks his lips, "I didn't have a good angle from down there, sorry."
The sounds that come from between your legs are vulgar, and your boobs bounce with each thrust, and your neck grows hotter than it already is.
Derek looks on with pride as your hips jump, and your cries of pleasure grow higher and higher until they finally crescendo. Your vision goes white, and you claw at Spencer's forearms in desperation to keep yourself grounded.
You hear the two men talking when you resurface.
"Good job man." There's a slap and you know Morgan clasped his shoulder. "I knew you could do it."
"Thanks." Reid sounds as sheepish as he usually does when he's praised.
derek morgan who forces you to keep eye contact with him every time you fuck.
he breathes heavy in your ears and he never. stops. talking. they're either dirty encouragements or teasing praises that border on condescending. he can be cocky when he slips deeper into his dominating headspace.
his worshipping turns rough in a way that's flattering; a shift in the tides of control where it becomes less about your pleasure and more about his. it's not like he's a selfish lover by any means, but sometimes his own arrogance gets to his head, and the panty dropping charm he has turns into making you cry while he's deep in your guts; a strong arm wrapped around your throat keeping you in a headlock, making you take it.
or maybe you're in missionary, and when you go to turn your head or shut your eyes, he squeezes the fat of your face and keeps your gazes tethered together.
"c'mon. keep your eyes on me, princess."
there's no mercy to his pounding, and you're forced to look up at him with teary eyes and a drooling mouth as your nails rake down his rock hard abs that haven't seemed to soften with his age.
he's all consuming and dripping in sweat, and there's a certain rhythm to the stroking of his hips that's so uniquely him that keeps you anchored to reality despite the musk of sex and the faint remnants of his fancy cologne that refuses to fade away completely - and it probably won't until he showers, and even then, there's a round or two waiting for you in there alone.
he says things like:
"uhnt uh, don't run from me."
"c'mon baby, you know you can take it."
"you said you wanted it rough, sweetheart."
and he can just get so mean, and it completely contrasts how he acts in his everyday life. he's an absolute fucking powerhouse in the sack, and you'll be feeling him for days.
i can't stop thinking about the fact that since demon!reader's been on earth for so long, she definitely has a favorite period of time!
like i can see her absolutely adoring the roaring twenties, and knowing her, she was probably a flapper (she still has a dress from that era, but since it would be almost a hundred years old by now, the silk is pretty decayed, so she doesn't ever take it out). she's always kept up with the trends of centuries past, but i feel like a piece of her heart will always reside in the golden age of jazz; especially since it was the age of up-and-coming promiscuity and the start of prohibition.
whenever i was making her and spencer's playlist, i couldn't help but think that while she obviously enjoys modern age music, she prefers listening to songs made in the early-late 1900s. it comforts her despite her vehemence that she doesn't feel human emotions so, if she's ever listening to anything and someone pops a headphone out of her ear she respects the sanctity of wired headphones, thank you very much they'll be surprised to hear a mix of pop classic like frank sinatra or soul and R&B like marvin gaye.
If you love this pairing as much as me and you're interested in seeing more of the demon!reader universe, you can find that post here! <3
