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Wrong Person, Right Time

Summary: A mishap in your phone contacts leads you to send Spencer a picture very much not intended for him.

Ship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Sexting, Phone Sex, Needy!Spencer, Wrong Numbers, Mutual Masturbation, no use of Y/N

WC: 4.1k

A/N: Hey guys, this is based off of that wrong texting trend I've seen going around. It inspired me to write a fic about it! Also please let me know if the formatting is messed up it was kinda wonky on my end Enjoy x

You and Spencer were friends—yes, that was the best way to put it. Previously, you might have said you were strictly coworkers, but with the number of times he called you—discussing cases, your shared love of Dr. Who—you thought you had veered further into the category of 'friendship.'

You had joined the bureau a little over three years ago after completing your training at the academy, which has led you now to develop an almost family-like dynamic with your team. You were always closest with Spencer, not only because of your interests, but because you both were the closest in age.

Oftentimes after work, you would find him knocking on your door, take-out in hand and a big smile adorning his features, ready to marathon a new show. He would spread out his long limbs, stretching like a cat across your sofa, unwinding from the strain of the workday. He always looked like he fit in and belonged in your space, as if he was some sort of permanent fixture in your life.

That brought you to tonight; Spencer had begged to call you with a new theory for your latest case, dubbed 'The D.C. Ripper' by regional forums and newspapers. Since it was local, you were able to stay at your apartment, curled up in your bed under the covers, awaiting the next day that you knew would come with little sleep. After all, it was hard to rest when you knew there was a killer in your neighborhood.

Spencer—someone who rarely texted— had sent you a flurry of messages saying that you needed to call him immediately, to which you would normally happily oblige. But you had other plans tonight, and the thought of being interrupted made tension build behind the thick of your skull, a trait rarely associated with Spencer for you.

You see, that very restlessness from the killer is what made you text Ryan— a guy you met at 'Off the Record,' a local bar that you found yourself far too often. He was blond and muscular, a far cry from Spencer—not that you were comparing. You had exchanged numbers in the hopes of whatever you had going further. He had been charming, flashing the kind of charisma you only found in movies. You knew he was only looking for something casual, the same as yourself. And to be honest, you needed to get laid— needed, not wanted, a very important distinction. It was a primal urge that only awakened further with the anxiety that this case was causing. After you were done with what Spencer needed on this phone call, texting him would be the first thing you'd do.

You sat up in bed and pressed the call button; it only had to ring once before Spencer picked up, as if he had been staring at his screen waiting for you. The day's case files were scattered around your nightstand, there for when you needed them bright and early in the morning.

"Hi!" he beamed excitedly on the phone. You could hear that he was at his desk with the way his chair squeaked, rocking him back and forth. You figured he was bouncing his pen between his fingers, a habit you came to recognize when he was plastered deep in thought.

"Hey, Spence, it's quite late. You sure it's not past your bedtime?" you teased, an exaggerated sigh escaping you.

"Statistically, the majority of Americans go to bed at an average of 11:37 pm. The current time is only 9:16 pm. I think I'm fine," he retorted, a distinct lilt to his voice.

"I'm only teasing," you admitted. You shifted in your bed and pulled your duvet up to your shoulders, the warmth seeping into you. Finally, you put your phone on the side of the bed on speaker mode near your head.

"What's up, Spence?" you asked as you settled further into your mattress, the soft glow of the phone illuminating your face.

"I was looking over the geographical profile again, and I wanted to get your opinion on a theory I have before I bring it to Hotch in the morning."

"Okay, shoot," you said as you listened to him rustle around some papers with the occasional tap of his finger on a desk.

"I referenced the geographical locations of the kills and ran some probabilities on the furthest location the offender would kill based on his past victimology. The most recent killings are inconsistent with our unsub's typical operating zone. He generally had clusters in the south portion of D.C., which led us to believe that was close to where he lived. But as you know, the most recent murders took place closer to Rock Creek, which is a far cry from the south," he was rambling; you could tell he was smiling, proud of himself, over the phone.

"Yes, I know, but I thought he just found another kill zone. What was your hypothesis?" you asked, a loud yawn escaping your throat.

"I mean, it's probably nothing…but what if there were now two killers? It would match the location change and why the unsub only stabbed the victim 5 times instead of the typical 7-10 we saw on the bodies at the morgue. That information wasn't publicly available, which is what led me to believe that there's a copycat."

"Oh shit, Reid, I think you might be right. It would also explain why we found traces of Rohypnol in their bodies. The original ripper never did that."

"Thank you! Okay…we can bring this up to Hotch in the morning. Have a good night," he exclaimed excitedly.

"Get some sleep, Reid," you laughed.

"Will do."

You hung up the call and went back to your planned activities for the night, namely Ryan. Lucky enough for you, you didn't even have to initiate. Within minutes of hanging up your call with Spencer, your phone buzzed softly with an incoming notification from 'Ryan G.,' as it was saved in your phone.

One new message from: Ryan G.

[Ryan G.] u up?

[You] yeah I can't sleep

[You] you?

And it was true, you couldn't sleep. But not because of insomnia or nightmares, just the curse of your human desires. And this was it, your window into satisfying the unruly hunger you could feel deep in your stomach.

[Ryan G.] nah… too busy thinking

[You] about what?

Before he had a chance to respond, you got a text from Spencer.

[Spencer] Hello. I know we said we were going to bed, but I am sending you the data I referenced for my probabilities. I highlighted certain parts so that you could find it easier.

Why was he still texting you? You had thought it was the end of his theories after the phone call. You considered yourself a patient woman—really, you did—but he was starting to get back on your nerves. Frustrated, you opted for checking your texts from Ryan instead:

[Ryan G.] im thinkin about u

[You] anything about me in particular?

You could feel your heart start to flutter in anticipation and a hint of arousal. You quickly switched contacts and sent Spencer a final message to end the conversation so you could focus more on what you really wanted.

[You] Thanks Spencer. I'll take a look at it in the morning. Good night

One new message from: Ryan G.

[Ryan G.] ur body? send?

One new message from: Spencer Reid

[Spencer] Goodnight.

Finally, you were getting somewhere. You quickly undressed yourself, revealing a matching pink lace pair of panties and bra. It contrasted well with your skin, especially with the pale moonlight trickling in, cloaking your features in delicate light. You rested your hand on your thigh at its juncture with your panties, suggestive but not outright explicit—yet. You snapped a few pictures and chose the one you thought looked best.

You quickly sifted back through your phone until you landed on your most recent text message—the message you had thought was from Ryan—and quickly sent the picture, setting your phone down in giddy anticipation.

You heard your phone buzzing again moments later, and you quickly snatched it up, hoping that Ryan had sent back, but surprisingly, it wasn't him who texted you.

One new message from: Spencer Reid

[Spencer] Um…I…Was this meant for me?

You looked at Spencer's message in confusion, eyebrows furrowing and head tilting. Why was he still texting you? Hadn't you already sent your goodnight?

One new message from: Ryan G.

[Ryan G.] hello? u ghosting me?

This confused you even more, so you tapped on the texts between you and Ryan, only to find you sent nothing. You remember hitting send; surely this was a glitch. Your face paled at the realization that the photo was probably sent to someone else—the obvious answer being Spencer. Your hands trembled in fear, finally opening up your text messages to find what you knew was inevitably there.

Front and center on your texts was that same suggestive picture of you in your pretty pink panties.

At this point, you were indisputably shaking; what were you going to do? What if Spencer told Hotch? Oh, god— Coming up with no coherent answers, you frantically shoot him another message, the only thing you can think of.

[You] Oh shit.

Your heart continued its assault against your ribs. The silence in the room—a sound that was once forfeited by your desire—had become deafening.

[Spencer] The…image you sent…I don't think that was meant for me.

You saw the text bubbles rapidly appearing and disappearing from Spencer's end.

He was concerned… at first, but the devil is his ear undoubtedly stirred the tiniest bit of arousal from the pit of his stomach. He was only human after all. But he also felt guilty; you were his coworker—his best friend—, and he thought seeing you like this was the highest form of sacrilege. In an attempt to remedy the situation, he texted you back.

[Spencer] I will, of course, delete it immediately. I will not bring it up.

[You] I am so so SO sorry Spencer

[You] I did not mean to send you that

[Spencer] You do not need to apologize… Accidents happen. I'm focused on the case.

Accidents did happen, and he knew this was one of them. But it was a fact that this accident yielded his cock to start stirring against his thigh. He didn't understand it—it was the only thing his mind could focus on. He prided himself on his self-control—for the way he never was like those men. But in the moment, he felt as weak as them all, dizzy with the way his pleasure was controlling him.

[Spencer] Mostly.

[Spencer] Good Night.

It was decided…you were never sending a nude over text again, not when you didn't have a work-specific phone.

You tried to calm yourself down, taking deep breaths with every passing second. You were relieved that Spencer deleted it, until you received another text, this time from Ryan.

[Ryan G.] hello???? u gonna send or what?

The whole thing with Spencer really killed the mood. To get out of risking sending another photo to the wrong person, you came up with the flimsiest excuse you could think of.

[You] sorry im not really in the mood anymore

[Ryan G.] yeah sure

[Ryan G.]whatever

You turned off your phone and set it on your nightstand with a thunk, in an attempt to calm yourself down. That was until your phone started vibrating again with a notification. You shot up at a speed that rivaled how hard your heart was beating, immediately snatching your phone off the table.

One new message from: Spencer Reid

[Spencer] I recalculated my geographical profile to include a second unsub.

[Spencer] Sorry. I know it's late. I should let you sleep.

[You] Its okay. Im still up.

[You] Sorry if I made things really awkward

Awkward? That was the best you could come up with? In the span of the past ten minutes, you had completely sullied your relationship with your closest coworker, as well as deprived yourself of the pleasure Ryan was supposed to bring. If you had any sense of competence, if your brain wasn't so horned-out, you would have paid attention, and this all would've been avoided.

[Spencer]It's not awkward. Well, statistically, it is quite anomalous for a text between colleagues. But I meant that I didn't think it was awkward.

[You] Then why does it keep showing you typing?

[Spencer]I was trying to think of a response.

[Spencer] Also, my heart rate has increased since you sent that photo. I'm finding it difficult to settle down.

You were never ecclesiastical, but you would be lying if you said you weren't praying to whatever god would listen. Just begging that Spencer would turn off his phone and forget about it. Alas, your prayers went unheard, and the bubbles kept on coming.

[Spencer] The lighting in your photo was really good. It created a good contrast on your skin.

[Spencer] Sorry.

[Spencer] I shouldn't have said that. It was inappropriate.

Oh. Pretty boy was flustered. You didnt expect Spencer to be attracted to this—to you—and you came to a realization despite your fear that you didn't mind it. You wondered what he was doing on the other side of the screen. If asked, you wouldn't admit it, but the thought of him liking the photo turned you on. You slipped your hand into your panties, feeling the slickness that had formed in anticipation.

[You] I thought you said you deleted it.

[Spencer] I did. The image is… ingrained in my mind. Eidetic memory, remember? It doesn't let me forget it. I'm trying to think of other things, but it's not helping…

[Spencer] It's not working.

Well, Ryan was obviously a bust, but that didn't mean you couldn't get the same thing you needed from Spencer. A little teasing never did any harm.

[You] Do you want me to send it again?

[Spencer] No!

[Spencer] I mean, that would be counterproductive; it would distract me more.

[Spencer] But yes. I wouldn't mind.

[Spencer] I meant no. Goodnight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

You scroll off the app and to your camera once more, positioning your hand in your panties, playing with your clit. With a few snaps of the camera, they were on their way to Spencer.

[Spencer]…

[Spencer] This is… I don't have a very good response. My palms are now sweating and…

[Spencer] The photo is better this time. There is a focal point.

[Spencer] I really shouldn't be texting you anymore. Goodnight.

What was he doing? What were you doing? His erection was undeniable at this point, his breath hot and heavy as he texted, trying to regain some semblance of control. But his brain wanted to be that hand in your panties, touching you, making you cum. He knew he could do it; he wanted to. He wanted to make you feel good in a way that rivaled reverence. He set his hand on his thigh, trying not to give in, but it was becoming borderline painful.

[You] Are you touching yourself, Spencer?

[Spencer] Why… why would you think that?

[You] Just wondering

[You] I am

[Spencer] Don't say things like that.

[You]I want to know what you are doing

[Spencer] My left hand is holding my phone. My right hand… is not.

[You] Where's your other hand

[Spencer] It's on my thigh. My sweatpants are tight. It's uncomfortable.

[Spencer] I'm not doing anything. Yet.

[You] What's stopping you?

[Spencer] The employee handbook. Our friendship. I don't think that I will be able to make eye contact with you tomorrow if I do this.

[Spencer] My right hand is no longer on my thigh.

Feebly, Spencer's hand snaked its way under his sweatpants, stroking the outline of his cock through his boxers. He could feel a distinct wet patch forming where the head of his cock strained the cotton.

He let out a long groan that broke off into a sigh, hips bucking into his hand in an attempt at relief. He wanted to feel his lips on you, to drag your underwear down your thighs.

He let out a huff of frustration. Fuck, what was he doing?

[You] I'm touching myself too

[Spencer] You are?

[Spencer] That. Complicates things for me.

[You] Why?

[Spencer] It's amplifying my physiological responses.

[You] You should send me a picture

[Spencer] I've never done that before.

[Spencer] Though in this case I find that I have no issue with doing it

Spencer switched to his phone camera, hands twitching in nervousness about taking a photo. He kept his hand over his cock, concealing what little he could, and snapped a few pictures. He didn't even know what guys did when they were sending these types of things. Sure, he'd seen dick pics before, but he'd never analyzed them in a way that he might have to repeat one day. His dark curls clung to his forehead, stuck to it, as he sent the photo. He was surprised in a way; it didn't look too terribly bad. He'd hoped you would like it.

[Spencer] Sorry. I don't know how to do this. It's not nearly as nice as yours.

[You] Its perfect

[You] I'll send you another. What would you want?

Another? You were going to be the death of him. He visualized you in your small apartment in the heart of D.C., the notion of you pleasuring yourself to a photo of him made his desire surge into something nearly animalistic.

[Spencer] I want to see… your hand. Moving.

At a new notification, he found a video of you fingering yourself, low moans escaping your lips that could be heard in the background. He could see the way your fingers glistened with slick, and the way you tried to control your hips as they thrust up in pleasure.

He couldn't control himself; it wasn't simply lust anymore. He had no words left for the feeling that the video evoked. It was all-encompassing, making him drag his sweats to his knees and to grip his cock, starting to slowly jerk himself off. He threw his head back against the pillow, sweat beading down his temple as he worked himself, stroking languidly from his base to tip.

[Spencer] Fuck.

[Spencer] My pants are off now.

[Spencer] I don't know why I am telling you this.

He doubted that you'd ever heard him talk like this. Hell, he rarely heard himself talk like this.

[You] Because its hot? Is my video helping you focus, Doctor?

[Spencer] Yes.

[Spencer] I need a minute.

God—you looked so beautiful. He continued watching your video, hips stuttering at the thought.

He wished he could be there, fuck—your thighs. They looked warm and smooth in a way that made him want to sink his teeth into them. He imagined them wrapped around his head, anchoring him to your core, rocking back and forth until he made you cum on his tongue. It was getting to be too much.

He was close, much closer than he would have ever expected so early on. He had to know if you were lost in the same level of pleasure he was drowning in.

[Spencer] Are you… How is it for you?"

[You] Very good

Your own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, imagining it was Spencer's cock pounding into you. You hadn't even seen his dick yet, and you were already acting this depraved. You didn't want him to know the effect he was having on you; your wetness pooled on your sticky fingers as you continued pleasuring yourself.

[Spencer] Ok

[Spencer] sorry I am having diffucult typing

[Spencer] sorry i didnt mean to misspell

[Spencer] What am I supposed to do now?

[You] Send me something else. If you want.

He took the leap of faith that you would have never expected, sending back a picture of him stroking his member. The angle was a bit awkward, but you could see him; he was long and thick, blooming a deep red with how needy he was. You could imagine him there, fisting his cock, you wondered if he moaned, maybe whined?

[Spencer] I'm using my hand. I'm thinking of you. I'm not going to last long.

[You] Jesus Christ Spencer.

It turned you on knowing what effect you had on him. You continued rolling your clit in between your fingers. You pictured him, using that smart mouth on you. He was always talking; you thought that would be a better use.

[Spencer] What? Is everything okay? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable— I can stop.

[You] No no no. I just didnt expect that

Your hips started thrusting up to reach the base of your knuckles faster, and you knew you weren't going to last long. Fuck, how did he not know how pretty he was? How hot it looked when he was aching like that? All because of you, all for you.

You knew what to do next.

[Spencer] Oh okay.

[Spencer] Knowing that you are reciprocating right now… It feels really good.

[You] call me

[Spencer] Why?

[You] I wanna hear you cum

Within seconds, your phone was ringing, the familiar contact of Spencer invading your screen.

"H-Hi," he sputtered, his voice exuding a nervousness that was a stark contrast to how he sounded earlier. His neediness was unabashed and unparalleled, clouding his judgment so deeply he couldn't find words.

He was further gone than you anticipated, his voice rough with his near climax. You placed your phone down on the bed next to you, giving you the access you needed to use both hands. "Spencer, I can hear you breathing. It's so loud."

"Yeah. It's because…I'm c-close," he said, whining. It was nearly pornographic, the sound of his moans as he worked himself with his fingers. You could hear the slick noises of him stroking himself—fast—along with the faint rustle of sheets. He sounded so desperate, panting loudly at the picture he was painting of you in his mind.

"I'm close too," you bit your lip to suppress a moan and mirrored his every movement, spreading your fingers to part your folds while the other caressed the softness of your breast. You lightly pinched one of your nipples, rolling your fingers over the sensitive buds, only furthering your pleasure. The only sound filling the room was the reedy whines coming from your phone.

"O-Only about 3-37 percent of people are able to… achieve climax at the same time. It's s-statistically improbable. But when you do… the brain releases higher amounts of d-dopamine and oxytocin… leading to deeper connections between partners."

Oh man, was he fucked out, using information like it was his only saving grace. "Spencer, are you telling me statistics to try to make yourself last longer?" you asked, in a tone rather pitiful even to your ears.

"Y-yes. Sorry. I am struggling to speak—" He continued fisting his throbbing cock, it wept with pre-cum as he neared his release. He let out a loud groan; you could hear him picking up the pace, your name falling from his lips.

"Mmph, fuck. You sound so pretty when you whine like that," you moaned, applying more pressure to your clit as you felt your walls beginning to tighten in pleasure.

"Please—I'm gonna cum—" he desperately whined, holding his words back in the same way he was trying to with his orgasm.

"Cum for me, Spencer," you groaned as you heard him reach climax. You imagined him painting his fingers and chest in his release, his fist covered that was still on his leaking cock, his hips convulsing in pleasure, in an attempt to tip yourself over the edge. Over the phone, he sounded like he was a mess, and rather embarrassed at the low, needy noises he was making ('Please' and hisses escaping in the mix). You could hear him sniffle from overstimulation in the aftermath.

At the same time, your own pleasure came, a wave of relief that you had so craved in the early evening, finally handed to you on a silver platter.

"Sorry, I—didn't expect to be that vocal," he sighed. You could hear him settling further into his mattress with a creak.

"You, uh—sounded good," you said with a gulp. "It was hot."

"Oh. Really?" he questioned, sounding disbelieving that you felt the same pleasure from his noises that he did from yours.

"Yeah, I um…I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

"Yes, I-I'll see you," he stuttered out, ending the call with a click.

You were so fucked.

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