Description: My only New Year's Eve plan is to help my best friend Penelope entertain her many party guests. When I find myself alone with her coworker, Spencer (who I've had a crush on for ages), it seems that my New Year's might turn out different than I had planned.
(Content/Warnings below the cut)
Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI] smut, protected (condom) PiV sex, oral sex (F receiving), brief mention of being drunk or high in the past
A/N: This fic is part 1 of a duo. Part 2: New Year's Day is in the works, and will hopefully be posted on time! I came up with this idea literally yesterday, and I've been writing like a madman since then, so edits might be made to this one after posting. I'm posting it right before midnight my time! Credit to @saradika-graphics for the divider graphics, including the one I cropped below.
Names used: Baby
Words (this chapter): 2,025
Words (total): 5,759
Penelope has always thrown stellar parties, but this one might be her largest to date. I can hear the music streaming from her apartment all the way down the hall. I sift through the keys on my keyring to find the one I need: my copy of her house key.
Streamers, balloons, and shimmery garlands cover the walls of Penelope’s apartment. There are somehow more guests than I’d expected. Penelope tends to make friends wherever she goes. Still, I didn’t expect for what seems to be everyone she knows to be free tonight. Many guests don party hats. Some are also wearing those silly New Year’s glasses with lenses in the shape of numbers. Not even two steps in the door, and I jump as someone prematurely blows a noisemaker.
Different dishes that partygoers have brought cover every inch of Penelope’s kitchen island. A potluck of appetizers and various salads, from the leafy green kind to the macaroni or potato variety. I squeeze around the guests loitering in her kitchen, leaning against the counter, probably because there’s nowhere to sit. Inside her fridge, it’s like playing Jenga, trying to find a spot to shove the champagne bottles I bought.
Penelope’s dazzling emerald dress sticks out in the sea of black and metallic fits. Nobody can upstage the hostess, dare they try. I wrap my best friend in a hug from behind and she reflexively smacks my arm before realizing it’s me.
“Oh, my god!” she shrieks. She looks annoyed, rolling her eyes, but my behavior has garnered chuckles from the group she’s chatting with. Two knitting club friends. “Look who finally showed up! She conveniently had to work all day while I finished setting up.”
I was here on Sunday doing all the decorating grunt work, but I choose to not argue the semantics. I’ll let her have the upper hand. Consider it an apology for the jump scare, Penelope.
“It’s not my fault that New Year’s Eve isn’t a holiday, and I, like most people, work a Monday-to-Friday, nine-to-five. You are aware of that, right?”
Penelope pecks my cheek before swiping at it with her thumb to wipe her bright red lipstick off. I ask her if she needs help with anything, as a good best friend to the hostess does, but predictably, she’s on top of everything.
I make my rounds, catching up with the many people I already know and greeting those I haven’t met. “Hi! I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet! I’m Penelope’s best friend.”
Hours pass, filled with stories of so-and-so’s new baby or graduation or other meaningful milestone. Then there are the few party games I’m roped into. On the plus side, every time I loop back around past the kitchen, I pick at the hors d'oeuvres. After work, I picked up the champagne, and then came straight here. The finger foods will suffice as dinner, I suppose.
From the spot I’ve claimed as my own against the wall, I watch my best friend, with her seemingly infinite social battery, open the door and gleefully welcome a couple I’ve never seen. How are people still showing up!?
With a quick flick of the wrist, I glance at my watch. Still two hours to midnight. Ugh, shit.
I push myself off the wall and snake my way through the field of bodies, metaphorical white flag a-waving.
“Pen, I know we’re getting closer to midnight, but I need to go take a nap or something. I’m absolutely drained. Just let me recharge for a few, and then I’ll be back out here. Promise.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Penelope says, guiding me a mere two feet to the side—all the crowd will allow. “I’ve seen you chatting it up all night. You know you don’t have to do that, my love. I’ve had the bedrooms locked, but Spencer was feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I let him into the guest bedroom if you want to join him in there.” She’s sincere, but teasing, gently bumping my shoulder with hers. Her innuendo is far from lost on me.
Huh, yeah. Spencer’s the only one on her team, besides Aaron Hotchner, who I haven’t already bumped into tonight. Hotch is probably at home with the family. Where has Spencer been all night? He is usually a bit of a wallflower whenever he does show up to parties. Being friends with Penelope since childhood and moving out to D.C. with her, I’ve gotten to know everyone she’s close with, especially her coworkers. I’ve had a teensy-weensy crush on Spencer Reid since I first met him, not long after I moved out here, and Penelope’s teased me about it ever since.
I pull my lips tight and nod. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”
Yes, I’ve gotten to know Spencer quite a bit over the years, which has not helped ease my crush, but there’s no way he thinks of me as anything more than a friend. He probably just thinks of me as a friend-of-a-friend or as an acquaintance. Even worse…
It’s kind of become a cycle. I start seeing someone or get into a whole relationship, and then I don’t have to think about Spencer at all, which is great. But, when I inevitably become single again and Penelope mentions his name, the longing starts all over again.
It’s just a crush, though. Everyone has crushes. And most people don’t act on these types of crushes. Why would I put Penelope in the middle of that?
The hall where Penelope’s bedroom, the guest bedroom, and a bathroom are is already much quieter than the rest of her house. All the noise is coming from behind me. The quiet is calling to me like a siren’s song; hopefully just luring me into a 20-minute catnap, if I’m lucky.
I gently tap my knuckles against the guest bedroom door twice before opening it. Only the nightstand lamps are on, and this cozy, warm room feels like escaping to actual Heaven right now. Spencer is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.
“Hey, mind if I join you?” I ask, my heart rate ramping up instead of slowing down.
“[Y/N], hey! Of course. Did Penelope tell you I was hiding away in here?”
I close the door behind me, and the roar of the party dies down to a rumble. “Well, I told her that I needed to get away from the crowd for a little bit, maybe take a nap or something, and she said she had just let you in here. My social battery died like, an hour ago.”
I join Spencer on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectable amount of distance.
“I’m not much of a party person if you haven’t already figured that out,” he says.
“I don’t think I am either, honestly. Well, not anymore, at least. I was a little bit of a partier when I went off to college. But as I’m sure you could guess, me and Penelope weren’t really a part of the ‘in’ crowd as teenagers.”
“Is college the only time you and Penelope weren’t attached at the hip?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Basically. Right before I sent off my college applications, we had gotten into a fight over something stupid. It was so stupid, that neither of us can remember what it was over. But, instead of applying to CalTech with her, I applied to a couple schools I knew she wasn’t applying to. I ended up getting accepted to Georgia Tech. Literally, the other side of the country. I think that I had it in my head that I was going to show her that she’d miss me.”
“And then you guys made up?”
“We literally made up two days after I sent off my applications, yeah,” I nod, my story earning a laugh from Spencer.
“I can’t believe I haven’t heard that story before.”
Another rogue noisemaker is sounded, muffled by the wall between us and the chaos, but it’s enough of a surprise to startle both of us.
“Sorry,” he says, “I should’ve asked. Did you want the room to yourself? I don’t mind if you need me to step out.”
“Oh, no. I’m completely fine. If I wanted to be alone, I could’ve just gone to Penelope’s room. It’s not like you’re a stranger or anything. As long as you don’t mind if I accidentally pass out.”
I sit up and round the bed to the far side, and when I slip under the sheets, I regret my choice of a black skirt and tights for tonight. Spencer sits on top of the sheets on the other side.
“I really wish I hadn’t left my book out in the living room,” he jokes.
“So, you’re saying I don’t get a bedtime story?”
I try, as discreetly as I can, to slip my tights off under the sheets. Every time I adjust my position, I tug them down a little bit more.
“If you want me to read to you, I can,” he says.
Got ‘em down to my knees.
“I forgot about that whole memory thing,” I laugh. “What’s that called, again?”
“I have an eidetic memory. It’s primarily for things I’ve read, though.”
So close.
“I mean, you definitely don’t have to, but if wanted to read me something, it would be really helpful to mask the noise.”
Yes! Finally. I’m freeee.
I kick my tights off my feet under the covers (a problem for me to deal with later, when I’m more awake) and I can breathe a sigh of comfort at last.
Spencer begins to speak, but I cut him off.
“Sorry. Just don’t let me sleep more than 20 minutes. I’m aiming for 15, even. I should be out like a light. I’m a good napper. Gold-medal worthy.”
I flop back down onto the bed and let my heavy eyelids fall shut. Spencer reads some story aloud with no text in front of him. As I drift off, his voice lulling me to sleep, I know this is going to be something that I playback from memory in the future. A decayed version in my own, fallible memory.
The world is dark, but noisy. I haven’t yet gathered the strength to open my eyes, but the rest of my senses are slowly feeding my brain information. I feel a steady rise and fall against my back. Breathing. A man’s face nuzzled into my neck. I’m being spooned from behind, but he isn’t under the covers with me. He’s above them. Even through the fabric, I can feel him against my ass. The hardness between his legs pressed into my backside. Where the hell am I?
It’s New Year’s Eve. Penelope’s guest bedroom. Spencer.
Spencer’s breathing picks up, and as my eyes flit open, I’m ripped from my sleepy bliss and plunged into utter panic. He’s woken up too. Spencer jumps out of bed at the same time I do, clearly stunned.
“[Y/N], I am so, so sorry. I completely didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Shit. No, I’m sorry.”
Does he know I have a crush on him? Is he going to think I planned that? In my barely-awake daze, I jump to the worst-case scenario.
Spencer just keeps rambling apologies and swearing up and down that he fell asleep by mistake. My disorganized words of reassurance don’t seem to be cutting through.
“10... 9…”
The chanting from outside our bubble only takes a moment for me to register. It’s already midnight?
“8…7…”
Spencer still hasn’t shut up. Before I can fully realize what I’m doing, I round the bed to where he’s standing. He stops mid-sentence.
“6…5…4…”
He hears it. He realizes. Our faces are so close; mine, angled up to his. Was I going to say something to calm him down? I don’t remember anymore. His eyes are darting across my face, mirroring my gaze. Eyes, lips. Eyes, lips.
“3…2…1…”
Our lips crash together right as a chorus of Happy New Years and noise-makers chimes.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader // Second chance
Description: You're stunned when your former friends with benefits shows up at your new job—and nearly a decade after you ghosted him. It turns out, he works in the same building, and he definitely hasn't forgotten about you. Will your apologies be enough? What happens if he does forgive you? Does time truly heal all wounds? (Content/Warnings below the cut)
Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, friends with benefits, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, condomless sex, IUD birth control, mention of abortion (in the context of being on the same page prior to sex), riding, soft dom M, praise kink F.
This fic is quite emotionally heavy, and both Spencer and Reader delve deep into past traumas. None is current. If any of these topics may be triggering or upsetting to you, please skip this one: child abuse, child abandonment, attachment issues, foster care, adoption, CPS, bullying, trust issues, mental health issues, misunderstandings, ghosting, and Reader mentions that she possibly committed emotional infidelity in the past, thinking about Spencer while with another partner.
A/N: This is my (very late) fic for @imagining-in-the-margins's FWB challenge! Life's been a bit crazy lately. Your girl now has a boyfriend who takes up a lot of her time. 🥹👉👈
Names used: Baby, good girl
Words (this chapter): 1,706
Words (total): 12,462
There’s only one person you had hoped to never face again in this lifetime, and he’s standing a mere twenty feet in front of you.
You hear him before you see him. His laugh echoes off the walls of the large, airy library, and the normal hushed murmur goes silent in response. Working the front desk today, you have nowhere to hide.
A flush sweeps across his cheeks as he scans the room. A few people at tables nearby lift their heads but lower them just as quickly. Nobody can be bothered to care. Nobody except you.
As you wait for his gaze to fall upon your face, time lags to a snail’s pace. An inescapable cataclysm of fate.
This must be punishment for some unspeakable crime committed in a past lifetime. Or maybe this is just karma biting you in the ass? It has to be. How else could he be here? This place is locked down like Fort Knox.
He bounces on his feet, looking at the floor. Left, right, left, right. He was never that good at staying still, especially when nervous. An FBI badge dangling from his belt loop catches your attention as he shifts. A firearm is holstered at his hip on the other side of his body.
He belongs here.
“Okay, Garcia. Well, I just got down here, so I’ll call you back once I find it,” he says quietly.
Realization crosses his face as soon as his eyes land on you. The thump of the kick drum in your chest rattles your body, and everything in your peripheral fades until all that exists is him.
He presses his lips together and slides his cell phone into his pocket.
The last time you saw those lips, you traced the crease of his dimple with your finger, without hurry. Early morning sun. His sleepy smile. He was so happy. The soft, thin cotton bed sheet draped over your naked bodies, and Spencer looked at you like you were his everything; his worshipping stare turned you translucent.
The light caught his face, and the blue-green of his eyes glistened with an auric sheen. As you watched the dance of color, a vice grip tightened around your rib cage. In that one brief moment, something clicked within you.
How hadn’t you seen it before?
A newfound clarity painted him maroon. A flag waved in warning. That was the morning you left without another word. That was the morning you had to accept that, for his sake and yours, you’d never be able to see Spencer Reid again.
This has to be some sick joke.
You snap out of your daze and look at the new Academy recruit standing in front of the desk, still patiently waiting for an answer to his question. “I’m so sorry about that. I had completely lost my train of thought,” you laugh, trying to maintain your professionalism.
“So, on the lower level,” you continue briskly, “is the law library. That’s where you’ll find law books, periodicals, and any government documents. Those have to be used in-library, though, and you can’t check them out. Older, more sensitive documents—and anything requiring special authorization—are kept in climate-controlled, locked storage, so you’d have to inquire with one of us regarding any of those items. The 2nd floor is where we keep any books designated for leisure reading. Other than that, if you need help to locate anything, you can come ask me or any of my colleagues.”
Wow. Practicing that little spiel in the mirror like the dweeb you are did actually help.
You beam a smile at the kid, no older than his early-20s. To your relief, he thanks you and walks away.
You don’t have to wonder if Spencer recognizes you. He hasn’t looked away yet.
The library’s front desk is a stocky, rectangular enclosure, dwarfed by the grandeur of the sunlight-soaked atrium. The large skylights battle it out with the building’s air-conditioning, and even though it’s a cool fall day, you have to continuously blot the dampness from your forehead to save your makeup. Suddenly, you’re far too warm for your usual blazer, though. You stand and drape the jacket over your office chair.
Still warm as an oven, you pass behind your coworker, Sarah, the other librarian working the front desk with you today, and place a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m going to be right back. Can you cover for me for a few?” you whisper.
“Only if you cover for me later so I can get an extra smoke break in,” she says, not bothering to look away from the email she’s writing.
You shake your head. “Sure, whatever. Fine.”
A half door built-in to the large, rectangular desk is all that separates you from the rest of the library. You walk, but Spencer remains parked until you look at him, finally acknowledging him. You jerk your head to the side, gesturing for him to follow you, and his feet finally start.
Ironically, you met Spencer in a library. Loving parents funded your English Lit degree and living expenses—not that you ever lived anything but frugally. All through undergrad, you worked in the university’s library, pushing your little book cart around and putting things back where they belonged. All your paychecks went straight into a savings account. Your parents would eventually tire of you, and you’d be left high and dry, you’d assumed, though you never let that thought escape your subconscious.
“Who’s the lanky nerd in the corner?” your new 18-year-old, first-year coworker whispered far too loudly. She had a bad habit of being extremely blunt, you’d quickly learned.
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “He’s been here most days either working or reading. Doesn’t seem to have any friends. Joann said he’s some freaky genius on his 3rd PhD, but he always puts his own books back, so I’ve never had to deal with him.” You grabbed another book and returned it to its home on the shelf, hoping that if you didn’t look her way, she’d drop the conversation. Quietly escaping into your own thoughts while shelving was your respite. It was serenity… Until she showed up.
“Hey, freaky genius guy,” she whisper-yelled, somehow getting his attention, “my coworker thinks you’re cute!”
Yeah, she only lasted two weeks in that position before the librarians had enough of her antics.
You mouthed an angry and confused “What the fuck?” to her before going to apologize. He was so awkward, but he did try to keep the conversation going. An enigma. Maybe the loner didn’t want to be so lonely? In regular chats, you learned a bit more about the guy. Though, on the surface, you had very little in common, you and Spencer ended up being better matched than previously thought, and you became fast friends.
The conversation shifted from classic literature to niche science topics that shouldn’t have interested you, but his passion was infectious enough to capture you. He taught you how to play chess, and you’d sneak over to his table mid-shift to get a few turns in at a time. You always lost to him, but you liked the challenge and started skimming chess books at the library for different plays. One day, he related something in the conversation to Star Wars. When you admitted to never having seen any of them, it led to the first of many movie nights at your place. He showed up with his personal copy of A New Hope and a big bag of popcorn.
Those horrid two weeks of babysitting the coworker were good for something, at least. It was strange, but nice, to have a friend.
Beep, the card reader chimes. The green light flashes, and you push into an empty conference room of the library. Spencer follows you inside, putting a solid five-feet of distance between you.
“Hi,” is all you say. The forced chirpiness of your customer service voice is on its last legs, only a single word into this conversation. A trip to the gynecologist for a pap smear would be more fun than a conversation with a man whose heart you smashed into a million pieces like a fucking coward.
Spencer gestures to the badge on your lanyard with a flick of his head. “You, uh—work here?”
Taking the badge between your fingers, you quickly examine it. Your mugshot-esque headshot and the required stone-cold expression are in direct contrast to the radiant smile and cheery disposition you paint on while at work. You’ve seen FBI badges on TV and in the movies, and even though yours signifies you belong to the Library and Information Services department, it still feels odd to be wearing it.
“I do, yeah. Just started two weeks ago, actually.”
He nods, rocking back and forth on his heels. Your performative amiability slips from your grasp. False pleasantries won’t work with Spencer.
“Look,” you add, “we don’t have to interact after this, if you don’t want to. One of the other librarians can help you or check you out when you stop by, if that makes you more comfortable.”
“You’re a librarian?” he asks; less like a question and more like a stunning realization.
After you left Spencer’s apartment a decade ago, you packed up the essentials and drove eight hours home. You took leave from school, but you’re sure classmates and acquaintance assumed that you dropped out, and with only a few months left of your degree. You didn’t just cut contact with Spencer; You cut contact with everyone.
“No,” he continues, “it’s not that. It’s just… I have so much I want to say and no idea how to say it all. I obviously wasn’t expecting to run into you.”
You keep your focus directed at the sting of your nails pressing into your palm as you attempt to steady your breathing. Work isn’t an ideal place to be crying, attempting to apologize for all the pain you caused.
“Do you want to grab a coffee sometime and talk?” you ask sheepishly.
“I happen to be free tonight after work, if that’s good for you?”
“Yeah, I think I can make that work,” you nod, flashing him a shy smile.
This is part 2 of a duo, so please go read part 1, New Year's Eve, if you haven't yet!
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Description: My only New Year's Eve plan is to help my best friend Penelope entertain her many party guests. When I find myself alone with her coworker, Spencer (who I've had a crush on for ages), it seems that my New Year's might turn out different than I had planned.
(Content/Warnings below the cut)
Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI] smut, protected (condom) PiV sex, oral sex (F receiving), brief mention of being drunk or high in the past
A/N: Again, down the wire! I've been writing literally all day. It's 10 PM and I haven't yet made dinner... I wrote and edited this one basically just today?? So if there are any mistakes or I missed any warnings, pls lmk tysm. Again, credit to @saradika-graphics for the divider graphics, including the one I cropped below.
Names used: Baby
Words (this chapter): 3,734
Words (total): 5,759
The kiss is desperate, but not rough. He’s kissing me back, right? I pull my face away. He leans his forehead against mine, both of us panting into the mere inches between our lips.
He doesn’t loosen his hold on my body. “Is everything okay? We can stop if you want.”
“I don’t want to stop.” I grip the fabric of his shirt where my hands lie on his back. “Do you want to stop?”
His hand snakes down to my ass, splaying wide across it. He pulls my body into his, letting me feel his hardening cock.
“I really don’t want to stop,” he breathes into my neck, just below my ear, “but I have to confess something before we go any further.”
What the hell? Does he have an STI that I need to know about? Trouble keeping it up? I mean, that doesn’t seem to be a problem, but you never know. Is he already with someone? Penelope didn’t say he had a partner, but maybe he’s kept them a secret?
We both still, Spencer breathing against my neck. I’d consider it ticklish if not for the jolt it sends straight to my core.
“I’ve been attracted to you for a long time, but I was too scared to say anything.” The words come out of Spencer’s mouth. Not mine. Holy shit.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I laugh, dropping my head to Spencer’s chest in utter bewilderment. “I’ve had a crush on you since the first time we met. Penelope hasn’t stopped teasing me about it since.”
“Glad I’m not alone in that,” he laughs.
“Happy New Year, by the way,” I say, lifting my head to look at him again. Eyes, lips. Eyes, lips.
“Happy New Year,” he breathes, hovering against my lips. Oppositely charged magnets falling in order with the laws of physics. Complying with the will of the universe.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Maybe it’s the thrill of unrequited lust finally requited, or maybe Spencer is just a really good kisser. His hands cradle my head on both sides. It’s like he could kiss you for hours and never be sick of it. Every soft, lush kiss plays against the intermittent roughness. The desperate ones, where lips are bit and tongues are engaged in the fervor. It feels wholly consuming and incomplete at the same time.
“We don’t have to do anything else,” I say, “but to be clear, I’m definitely down if you want to.”
He shakes his head and steps back, putting distance between us. He clenches and unclenches his hands and then rubs his palms against his dress pants.
My eyes catch on the bulge in his pants, and shamelessly, I can’t stop staring at it. I’ve imagined it before, in my most desperate, lonely moments. Right after breakups, when I’d rather escape into my imagination to soothe me. After running into him at one of Penelope’s get-togethers. I’d steal every shy glance at him, trying to memorize his features. Then I’d go home and imagine myself kissing every inch of him.
I know I probably just need a good eight to…twelve hours of sleep to clear the fog in my brain that’s making this feel like another one of my erotic daydreams. But maybe being a bit out of it is what led me to kiss him like that. If I had been at my most rational, I probably wouldn’t have.
Spencer wipes at his face. He can’t stop moving his hands. Biting a nail between his teeth. Gripping the material of his pants. Crossing and uncrossing his arms.
“[Y/N], you have no idea how badly I want to.” My heart sinks into my stomach. There’s always a but. “But I don’t want it to happen like this.”
I nod slowly, genuinely trying to avoid letting my disappointment come across as pouting. “Okay. That’s fair.”
He looks utterly exasperated, trying to keep his hands off me, and I’ve never felt so horny and so dejected at the same time. If he didn’t clearly state that he’s into me, I can’t lie and say that I wouldn’t feel extremely rejected right now.
“I’ve thought about it before,” he says. “What it would be like… to be with you. I just don’t want the first time to be at a party, in Penelope’s guest room”
I sit back down on the bed, willing my body to cool down, but it’s a non-starter. “I’ve thought about it before. What it would be like… to be with you,” playing back in my head on an unending loop. Clenched thighs give my clit the slightest bit of attention and ease the ache every so slightly.
“I’ve thought about it too,” I say, reminiscing about the numerous dirty fantasies I’ve crafted in my head over the years. I owe far too many orgasms to my vibrator, and to imaginary Spencer praising me, begging me to cum.
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “God, this is so hard.”
Hard, indeed. I selfishly ogle the tent in his pants again, taking advantage of the fact that he’s struggling to look in my direction.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask. “Do you want to leave?”
He joins me on the edge of the mattress. Again, a respectable distance between us.
He sighs. “If I don’t leave now, I don’t think I’ll have enough self-control to stop myself.”
Yet, he’s sitting beside me, wringing his hands in his lap.
Before I can formulate any response, he starts. “What about when the party ends?”
“I locked the door on the way in. I didn’t want anyone barging in here trying to find the bathroom. And,” I gesture to the door, the party even louder now that the champagne is flowing, “this party doesn’t die down until three, maybe four.”
“I don’t have a condom, either,” he says quietly.
I push myself up off the bed and walk over to the bedside table. I’ve stayed in this room many times. Usually, when I get drunk or high and can’t drive home. Penelope snores. As much as I love her to bits, if she didn’t have a guest bedroom, I’d be sleeping on the couch.
I rifle through the top drawer. A couple of individually packaged toothbrushes. A couple of mini bottles of mouthwash. Charging cables. Nope, nope, nope.
I squat down to look through the bottom drawer, consciously arching my back and popping my ass out a bit. I know they’re in here somewhere. In the back of the drawer, tucked away, is a small, colorful zipper pouch. I’ve stumbled across this pouch before, but I can safely say that I’ve never used it. I hope nobody else has, either, honestly. Tucked inside is a roll of male condoms and a few individually packaged female condoms.
I (mentally, emotionally, spiritually) cross my fingers as I check the date printed across the wrapper. They aren’t expired. Thank fucking god.
I rip one off at the perforated line and place it in Spencer’s hand.
He fiddles with the foil wrapper in his fingers. Not opening it. Just turning it in his hands.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks. “Here? Like this?”
“Before tonight, I honestly thought there was zero chance you liked me. I’ve wanted this for so long, and I’m so incredibly horny right now that it’s actually hard to think straight.” I wrap my hand around his, and he stops fidgeting. “Is there anything else?”
My question is sincere and gentle. Is there anything else that you need to reassure you that I want this? Is there anything else you need?
“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, but I was tested after,” he says.
“I was tested after my last partner.”
I start undoing my blouse. Button by button. Lower and lower. Spencer mirrors me, undoing his crisp, blue dress shirt. Button by button. Lower and lower.
“And we can stop at any point, so please let me know if there’s anything you want or don’t want,” he says.
“Same goes for you.”
I slide my blouse off and unzip my skirt at the side. With my tights already off, I’m left in just my bra and underwear, my clothes in a pile beside the bed. Spencer takes his shirt off and his pants follow. He tries his best to quickly fold them, and in two large strides, he places them on top of the dresser.
He turns to face me. In just his underwear, I have quite the view. I don’t even think he’s fully hard, but my mouth is watering at the outline of him. The butterflies are gone, replaced by a pang of hunger. I want to lick and taste every inch of him. The mental renderings I’ve crafted of Spencer in the past are all wiped from my memory. I have no use for them anymore. I have the real thing, actively being encoded into memory.
He comes to stand between my legs. Still seated, his veiled cock is right in front of my face.
“[Y/N], there’s just one more question that I have to ask first.”
I can only imagine what he sees looking down at me. As I look up at him through my lashes, my wet lips and flushed, glowing cheeks sit right next to his hard cock.
Does he know that I’ve been rocking my hips and squeezing my thighs together just to pacify my throbbing clit?
“Can we go on a real date too sometime?” he says. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, and I also don’t want this to ruin my chances with you.”
I feel stupid for not thinking that far ahead. If he had just wanted this to be a one-night stand, I would have accepted that, even though I know I want more with him.
I nod and kiss the front of his hip, earning a stuttered breath from him when my cheek grazes his bulge.
“I’d love that, Spencer.”
I drag my face across his covered cock. Everything about this—about him—is intoxicating. I breathe him in, my hands on his hips, and the scent feels like a drug I could get high off of.
“Can you lie down?” he says.
I have no objections.
I rip my bra and underwear off as fast as I can manage, pulling my bra over my head instead of undoing the clasps. I toss them to the floor to join the rest of my clothes. I’m, maybe a bit shamelessly, too eager to waste any time.
Spencer is standing next to the bed, naked, jaw slack, just stroking himself to nothing but my naked body. That’ll do great things for the ego.
“You are…” he breathes, shaking his head. The words he’s missing hang somewhere in the air, but he doesn’t look away from me long enough to search for them.
He opens the foil wrapper, rolls the condom on, and crawls onto the bed between my legs. I expect him to just shove it in there, but instead, he drags two long fingers through my wetness, absolutely mesmerized.
“Perfect,” he says, staring at my pussy. “So perfect.”
He slides one finger inside me and I gasp. It doesn’t fill me, but when he takes it out a moment later, I still mourn the emptiness. He takes the same finger into his mouth, eyes closed as he admires the taste of me.
I’m pretty sure that I can’t get any hornier than I am at this moment. It’s physiologically impossible.
“Please, Spencer. Fuck,” I whine. “I need you inside me.”
Quick pecks trace a line up my body, and Spencer kisses me, bodies pressed together like he’s never going to kiss me again. It’s deep, sloppy, and passionate. Moaning into each other’s mouths as I grip his hips. His cock is nestled in my center. I grind against it.
Breathless, Spencer lifts his body just enough to reach between us, guiding his cock to where we need it.
I close my eyes as he enters me; I have to turn off one of my senses to process it. In the black void behind my eyelids, I can feel everything. I can hear everything. A choked moan at the back of my throat breaks free. He pushes in further. Spencer shifts from his hands to his elbows, using the leverage to slide in even more.
“Oh, god. This is so much better than I imagined,” he says, his voice strained from pleasure.
Was Spencer thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him? Like two lovers wondering if the other is gazing up at the moon at the same time. I open my eyes. The tufts of hair framing his face flop down, a few stray strands sticking to his face. The room is already warming and his skin glistens in it.
“What did you think about? What did you imagine?” I ask.
He fills me to the hilt, and his lips find mine; the kiss a fierce declaration that this shared sensation in our bodies is indeed shared. Spencer is feeling the same utter bliss that I am, and the thought of that alone sends a spark to my core. I’m making him feel this good.
Spencer remains unmoving, huffing breaths intermixed with muttered curses as he adjusts. The part where we’re united throbs like a beating heart, both of our bodies diverting blood from our brains to fuel this tryst.
“I felt so ashamed thinking about you like that,” he whispers against my cheek, “not knowing if you wanted me, too.”
Pinned beneath him, I push my hips up against him as much as I can manage, desperate for more. Spencer’s eyes flutter closed as he matches my movements, his cock sliding in and out as we grind into each other.
“Did you think about what I’d feel like the first time? Because I thought about what you’d feel like inside me.”
Earning moans from Spencer feels like a gift. A secret that has been bestowed upon me. For my ears only. I want to wrap this secret up and hide it under my bed. To throw it in a box and padlock it shut. I want to place it in a fancy locket, one I hide under my shirt, tucked up safe against my skin where nobody else can reach it.
“I thought about that far too much.” He shakes his head. “But you’re even better than I could’ve imagined.”
He pumps into me a few more times, hard and fast, as our bodies take the wheel, chasing the zenith of pleasure. We move together as a duet. The song? A lullaby of moans, whimpers, and whispered praises.
With each thrust, his body presses against my clit.
“Oh my god. You feel so fucking good, Spencer.”
He reaches a hand up to the side of my face, cradling my head and stroking my cheek with his thumb. I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. His thumb is icy in comparison.
“You are so fucking beautiful.” He glances at my chest, and then his eyes dart as he takes in the rest of my body. “Your body is perfect.” He peppers kisses across my lips, my shoulder, my neck. Every place his lips touch stings like I’ve been branded. “Perfect,” he breathes against my neck.
“How did I taste?” I ask, remembering Spencer licking his finger clean.
“Addictive” is the word he chooses, and thoughts of Spencer’s head between my legs—in my own bed—consume me.
He slows, almost to a stop. “Would you mind if I…?”
I finish his trailed-off sentence, not entirely sure if I’m right on the money or not. “Go down on me?”
He nods, and a breathy, “please,” is all I can manage to squeak out. It would be damn near impossible to think of a single reason to deny this man in his request.
Between my legs—framed like a work of art—Spencer keeps his eyes locked on my face as he trails his tongue up between my lips.
“Oh, fuck. Oh my god. Please. Please keep going.”
He moans into my pussy, wasting no time in getting into it.
“Can I grab your head as I get close?”
He whines, “please,” against my skin, and I tell him to pinch me if he needs me to loosen my grip.
Spencer’s long arms wrap around my thighs, keeping me from squirming away. I’ve never had anyone go down on me like this. He is feral, barely coming up for air. I reach down to slide my fingers into his hair, feeling myself inch closer and closer by the second. He’s humping the bed, large dimples forming in his plush ass. I just want to dig my nails into it.
One arm lifts from its spot around my leg. Spencer is a man on a mission. He needs that arm, that hand, those fingers. Two fingers slide inside me, and I know I’m not going to last. I squirm against him and he lets me control the penetration, keeping his hand still. His mouth, however, continues in its relentless pursuit.
I feel like I’ve unlocked something here. This version of Spencer is unleashed. He’s had his taste of the forbidden fruit, and he’s fully invested.
I grip his head, needing to pull him into me. Needing to control the pressure.
“Spencer, fuck.”
“Yes, baby. Please cum in my mouth.”
“I—” is all I spit out before it hits me. A tidal wave of heat and pressure that radiates from my core. I grip Spencer’s hair between my fingers and he moans even harder. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard that, when I open them, my vision is a pinhole vignetted by fuzzy white light. His tongue continues lapping at my center until my thighs trap his head, my clit unable to take anymore.
My whole body is tingling. Every nerve in my body is on high alert. My ab muscles twitch with each jerky breath as the lingering shockwaves work through me.
Spencer is kissing my thighs as if each space his lips touch is better than the last. He is relishing in my body. Worshipping it.
In this state, having cum so hard that my ears are ringing, I probably wouldn’t hesitate to declare my ardent love for him. Thankfully, I have some logic system deep in my brain that remains online and protects me from stupid mistakes like that.
“Spencer, please. Get back inside me.”
The moan that spills from us both as he slides back inside me, my pussy still throbbing with aftershocks, should be tattooed somewhere on my body. The waveform of it or whatever. My new New Year’s resolution: get a tattoo. Add that to my other New Year’s resolution: let Spencer Reid fucking rail me in every way possible.
His thrusts are already sloppier than before. “Yes, fuck. Yes. Do you know how fucking good you taste, baby? I could eat you out for hours. So perfect.”
I grab his jaw and kiss him, tasting myself. Tasting me and him mixed together.
“Spencer, I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
I feel tears brimming in my eyes. Exhaustion, overwhelm, pleasure, and lust well up right at the finish line. Every sporadic back-arching thrust flutters my eyelids, pushing a small tear down both sides of my face.
“The first day I met you,” he says, struggling to get the words out fluidly, “you were the most beautiful thing. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
My hands slide to his ass, and I grip the flesh. I want my nails to leave a mark. I want to claim him as my own.
“Cum inside me, Spencer.”
He pounds into me, hard. The passion he showed while giving me oral is back in full force.
His head falls into the crook of my neck as he works himself to the edge, muffling the dirty string of words that escape as he falls apart. His cock twitches hard inside me as he spills into the condom. I wish he was condomless, shooting his ropes of cum deep within me. But maybe that’s just a dirty fantasy that will never come to fruition.
Spencer peppers me with some more kisses before getting up to discard the condom in the small trash can beside the door.
“I’ll change that garbage bag before I leave,” he says.
“I’m going to have to tell her,” I say, pulling my underwear up. “I’ll have to do some laundry for sure.” I gesture to the disheveled, dirty sheets.
“Yeah, I know. She’s nosy, so I bet she’d figure it out regardless,” he laughs. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need. With the cleanup.”
The party noise is more subdued, but it sounds like the majority of guests are still here. The small digital alarm clock beside the bed reads 1:15 AM.
“Wanna just wait it out?” I ask, straightening out the sheets just enough to crawl under them. “I promised Penelope I’d help her clean up, anyway.”
Spencer slips in beside me and I snuggle into his side, draping my leg over his and wrapping an arm across his chest.
“I much prefer it in here,” he says, pressing his lips to my temple.
I kiss him one last time, long and tender, before resting my head on his shoulder. I don’t even get a word out of my mouth before I crash once more.
A sharp knock on the door jolts me and Spencer from our very deep slumber. Morning light filters through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. I rub my eyes, swiping away the remnants of such a sleep. On the plus side, I feel fucking fantastic. Spencer sits up and stretches his arms above his head.
Another knock. Much harder.
“[Y/N]?” Penelope asks through the door.
We hop out of bed to hurriedly finish redressing ourselves.
“Shit, I fell asleep last night! I’m sorry, Pen!” I yell to her.
“Is…Spencer still in there with you?”
“Yes,” I say, annoyed. “Happy now?”
“I cleared off some space on the counter and started making breakfast whenever you two are dressed!”
Description: My only New Year's Eve plan is to help my best friend Penelope entertain her many party guests. When I find myself alone with her coworker, Spencer (who I've had a crush on for ages), it seems that my New Year's might turn out different than I had planned.
(Content/Warnings below the cut)
Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI] smut, protected (condom) PiV sex, oral sex (F receiving), brief mention of being drunk or high in the past
A/N: This fic is part 1 of a duo. Part 2: New Year's Day is in the works, and will hopefully be posted on time! I came up with this idea literally yesterday, and I've been writing like a madman since then, so edits might be made to this one after posting. I'm posting it right before midnight my time! Credit to @saradika-graphics for the divider graphics, including the one I cropped below.
Names used: Baby
Words (this chapter): 2,025
Words (total): 5,759
Penelope has always thrown stellar parties, but this one might be her largest to date. I can hear the music streaming from her apartment all the way down the hall. I sift through the keys on my keyring to find the one I need: my copy of her house key.
Streamers, balloons, and shimmery garlands cover the walls of Penelope’s apartment. There are somehow more guests than I’d expected. Penelope tends to make friends wherever she goes. Still, I didn’t expect for what seems to be everyone she knows to be free tonight. Many guests don party hats. Some are also wearing those silly New Year’s glasses with lenses in the shape of numbers. Not even two steps in the door, and I jump as someone prematurely blows a noisemaker.
Different dishes that partygoers have brought cover every inch of Penelope’s kitchen island. A potluck of appetizers and various salads, from the leafy green kind to the macaroni or potato variety. I squeeze around the guests loitering in her kitchen, leaning against the counter, probably because there’s nowhere to sit. Inside her fridge, it’s like playing Jenga, trying to find a spot to shove the champagne bottles I bought.
Penelope’s dazzling emerald dress sticks out in the sea of black and metallic fits. Nobody can upstage the hostess, dare they try. I wrap my best friend in a hug from behind and she reflexively smacks my arm before realizing it’s me.
“Oh, my god!” she shrieks. She looks annoyed, rolling her eyes, but my behavior has garnered chuckles from the group she’s chatting with. Two knitting club friends. “Look who finally showed up! She conveniently had to work all day while I finished setting up.”
I was here on Sunday doing all the decorating grunt work, but I choose to not argue the semantics. I’ll let her have the upper hand. Consider it an apology for the jump scare, Penelope.
“It’s not my fault that New Year’s Eve isn’t a holiday, and I, like most people, work a Monday-to-Friday, nine-to-five. You are aware of that, right?”
Penelope pecks my cheek before swiping at it with her thumb to wipe her bright red lipstick off. I ask her if she needs help with anything, as a good best friend to the hostess does, but predictably, she’s on top of everything.
I make my rounds, catching up with the many people I already know and greeting those I haven’t met. “Hi! I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet! I’m Penelope’s best friend.”
Hours pass, filled with stories of so-and-so’s new baby or graduation or other meaningful milestone. Then there are the few party games I’m roped into. On the plus side, every time I loop back around past the kitchen, I pick at the hors d'oeuvres. After work, I picked up the champagne, and then came straight here. The finger foods will suffice as dinner, I suppose.
From the spot I’ve claimed as my own against the wall, I watch my best friend, with her seemingly infinite social battery, open the door and gleefully welcome a couple I’ve never seen. How are people still showing up!?
With a quick flick of the wrist, I glance at my watch. Still two hours to midnight. Ugh, shit.
I push myself off the wall and snake my way through the field of bodies, metaphorical white flag a-waving.
“Pen, I know we’re getting closer to midnight, but I need to go take a nap or something. I’m absolutely drained. Just let me recharge for a few, and then I’ll be back out here. Promise.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Penelope says, guiding me a mere two feet to the side—all the crowd will allow. “I’ve seen you chatting it up all night. You know you don’t have to do that, my love. I’ve had the bedrooms locked, but Spencer was feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I let him into the guest bedroom if you want to join him in there.” She’s sincere, but teasing, gently bumping my shoulder with hers. Her innuendo is far from lost on me.
Huh, yeah. Spencer’s the only one on her team, besides Aaron Hotchner, who I haven’t already bumped into tonight. Hotch is probably at home with the family. Where has Spencer been all night? He is usually a bit of a wallflower whenever he does show up to parties. Being friends with Penelope since childhood and moving out to D.C. with her, I’ve gotten to know everyone she’s close with, especially her coworkers. I’ve had a teensy-weensy crush on Spencer Reid since I first met him, not long after I moved out here, and Penelope’s teased me about it ever since.
I pull my lips tight and nod. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”
Yes, I’ve gotten to know Spencer quite a bit over the years, which has not helped ease my crush, but there’s no way he thinks of me as anything more than a friend. He probably just thinks of me as a friend-of-a-friend or as an acquaintance. Even worse…
It’s kind of become a cycle. I start seeing someone or get into a whole relationship, and then I don’t have to think about Spencer at all, which is great. But, when I inevitably become single again and Penelope mentions his name, the longing starts all over again.
It’s just a crush, though. Everyone has crushes. And most people don’t act on these types of crushes. Why would I put Penelope in the middle of that?
The hall where Penelope’s bedroom, the guest bedroom, and a bathroom are is already much quieter than the rest of her house. All the noise is coming from behind me. The quiet is calling to me like a siren’s song; hopefully just luring me into a 20-minute catnap, if I’m lucky.
I gently tap my knuckles against the guest bedroom door twice before opening it. Only the nightstand lamps are on, and this cozy, warm room feels like escaping to actual Heaven right now. Spencer is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.
“Hey, mind if I join you?” I ask, my heart rate ramping up instead of slowing down.
“[Y/N], hey! Of course. Did Penelope tell you I was hiding away in here?”
I close the door behind me, and the roar of the party dies down to a rumble. “Well, I told her that I needed to get away from the crowd for a little bit, maybe take a nap or something, and she said she had just let you in here. My social battery died like, an hour ago.”
I join Spencer on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectable amount of distance.
“I’m not much of a party person if you haven’t already figured that out,” he says.
“I don’t think I am either, honestly. Well, not anymore, at least. I was a little bit of a partier when I went off to college. But as I’m sure you could guess, me and Penelope weren’t really a part of the ‘in’ crowd as teenagers.”
“Is college the only time you and Penelope weren’t attached at the hip?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Basically. Right before I sent off my college applications, we had gotten into a fight over something stupid. It was so stupid, that neither of us can remember what it was over. But, instead of applying to CalTech with her, I applied to a couple schools I knew she wasn’t applying to. I ended up getting accepted to Georgia Tech. Literally, the other side of the country. I think that I had it in my head that I was going to show her that she’d miss me.”
“And then you guys made up?”
“We literally made up two days after I sent off my applications, yeah,” I nod, my story earning a laugh from Spencer.
“I can’t believe I haven’t heard that story before.”
Another rogue noisemaker is sounded, muffled by the wall between us and the chaos, but it’s enough of a surprise to startle both of us.
“Sorry,” he says, “I should’ve asked. Did you want the room to yourself? I don’t mind if you need me to step out.”
“Oh, no. I’m completely fine. If I wanted to be alone, I could’ve just gone to Penelope’s room. It’s not like you’re a stranger or anything. As long as you don’t mind if I accidentally pass out.”
I sit up and round the bed to the far side, and when I slip under the sheets, I regret my choice of a black skirt and tights for tonight. Spencer sits on top of the sheets on the other side.
“I really wish I hadn’t left my book out in the living room,” he jokes.
“So, you’re saying I don’t get a bedtime story?”
I try, as discreetly as I can, to slip my tights off under the sheets. Every time I adjust my position, I tug them down a little bit more.
“If you want me to read to you, I can,” he says.
Got ‘em down to my knees.
“I forgot about that whole memory thing,” I laugh. “What’s that called, again?”
“I have an eidetic memory. It’s primarily for things I’ve read, though.”
So close.
“I mean, you definitely don’t have to, but if wanted to read me something, it would be really helpful to mask the noise.”
Yes! Finally. I’m freeee.
I kick my tights off my feet under the covers (a problem for me to deal with later, when I’m more awake) and I can breathe a sigh of comfort at last.
Spencer begins to speak, but I cut him off.
“Sorry. Just don’t let me sleep more than 20 minutes. I’m aiming for 15, even. I should be out like a light. I’m a good napper. Gold-medal worthy.”
I flop back down onto the bed and let my heavy eyelids fall shut. Spencer reads some story aloud with no text in front of him. As I drift off, his voice lulling me to sleep, I know this is going to be something that I playback from memory in the future. A decayed version in my own, fallible memory.
The world is dark, but noisy. I haven’t yet gathered the strength to open my eyes, but the rest of my senses are slowly feeding my brain information. I feel a steady rise and fall against my back. Breathing. A man’s face nuzzled into my neck. I’m being spooned from behind, but he isn’t under the covers with me. He’s above them. Even through the fabric, I can feel him against my ass. The hardness between his legs pressed into my backside. Where the hell am I?
It’s New Year’s Eve. Penelope’s guest bedroom. Spencer.
Spencer’s breathing picks up, and as my eyes flit open, I’m ripped from my sleepy bliss and plunged into utter panic. He’s woken up too. Spencer jumps out of bed at the same time I do, clearly stunned.
“[Y/N], I am so, so sorry. I completely didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Shit. No, I’m sorry.”
Does he know I have a crush on him? Is he going to think I planned that? In my barely-awake daze, I jump to the worst-case scenario.
Spencer just keeps rambling apologies and swearing up and down that he fell asleep by mistake. My disorganized words of reassurance don’t seem to be cutting through.
“10... 9…”
The chanting from outside our bubble only takes a moment for me to register. It’s already midnight?
“8…7…”
Spencer still hasn’t shut up. Before I can fully realize what I’m doing, I round the bed to where he’s standing. He stops mid-sentence.
“6…5…4…”
He hears it. He realizes. Our faces are so close; mine, angled up to his. Was I going to say something to calm him down? I don’t remember anymore. His eyes are darting across my face, mirroring my gaze. Eyes, lips. Eyes, lips.
“3…2…1…”
Our lips crash together right as a chorus of Happy New Years and noise-makers chimes.
I have a rule where I only post fics that I've finished, start to end, but I think I'm breaking that rule today. New Year's fic is going to be in two parts. Part 1: New Year's Eve, and part 2: New Year's Day.
I'm done writing part 1 and I'm editing it, but part 2 isn't done. I'm hoping to get part 1 out tonight and part 2 out tomorrow, but both of those deadlines are kind of up in the air.
I want to prioritize actually posting versus over-editing. I commonly do a lot of edits in my writing, and it's a part of my process, so the quality and depth of this one probably isn't going to be up to par for me. Good practice writing on a deadline, I suppose? 😬
The way I got an idea for a New Year's fic yesterday, and now I'm at 4k words and trying to wrap this shit up ASAP. Everyone, send good vibes so you hopefully don't get it late. 🤞
A Weekend In Paradise (Summer of Sin Bonus Chapter)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: A couples' weekend vacation with Y/N, her fake boyfriend, her mom, and her real boyfriend, who also happens to be her mom's boyfriend... What could possibly be more relaxing?
Category: MATURE (18+)
Content: Strong language, cheating, female masturbation, kinda non-con (previously mentioned masturbation is happening while an unaware party is asleep in the same bed), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, omorashi/piss kink, daddy kink, "little girl" nickname, car sex, grinding, brief handjob, praise, biting/marking. (This one is pure fucking filth, y'all, buckle UP LMAO)
Word Count: 7k
MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
NOTE: I know summer is literally over and we're all in autumn mode, but better late than never, right?
ANYWAY, it's been an absolute pleasure re-reading this series and finishing it out with more shenanigans. These two and their messy asses are always so much fun to write, and I think about them all the time.
In the timeline, this chapter takes place between parts 2 and 3 of “Your Favorite” if you want to put it in sequence with the other parts :) Have fun, and thank you for being patient with me. I hope this was worth the wait!
**********
FRIDAY
The only thing warmer than the blazing sun above me, the only thing that could burn me to the greatest extent until I was nothing but a pile of ash, is the way Spencer is staring at me right now.
Mom is reading a book quietly, laying her legs over his lap as they lounge on the loveseat, and Andrew is with me on the patio, rubbing sunscreen on my limbs. Even though we're far enough apart so no one can hear any conversation from the other party, the unspoken jealousy radiating from both Spencer and I is loud enough to drown out an entire concert venue.
Maybe it's cruel, and I'll probably catch shit for it later, but I can't stop smiling. It's easy for me to imagine that it's his hands gliding over my skin while I'm staring directly at him, and he's returning said stare with so much intensity that it might as well be magically willing my bathing suit to come off. Andrew's deft fingers tease the thin string at the edge of my hip and I laugh, playfully reaching back to swat at his hand.
"They're right inside, you know..."
He gets up to look, but still feeling Spencer's red-hot gaze, I quickly turn Andrew around and kiss him deeply, cradling his face in my hands and pressing into him with a laugh.
He pulls away just enough to speak. "Well, then let's go somewhere they aren't..."
"Mmm... Might be too obvious. He's smart, he'll know something's up if we're quick to run off."
"If you're quick to run off, you mean..."
I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I'm just an innocent bystander..." Andrew leans in and pecks my mouth sweetly, his voice just as gentle when he speaks. "Your only goal this weekend is to taunt him, and he knows it." Another peck. "If you run off with me this easily, you figure he'll be onto our little scheme." And another. "But if you play it right and act all inconvenienced by my... urgency..." Another kiss, this one a bit longer and definitely more sensual. "He might just feel bad enough to make it up to you later."
"You think?"
"I don't actually know. Probably." He reaches for my hands and helps me off the lounge swing, and I feel wobbly. "But what I do know is that you think too much. That man wants you so bad, he's going to find a way to spend time alone with you this weekend, whether we're making out in front of him or not. Just... Loosen up. Have a little fun."
The two of us are attached at the hip as we sneak out of eyesight from the patio screen door, and from Mom and Spencer.
"Loosen up? Do you realize how serious this situation is, Andy? One wrong move and my life is over."
"Look. I'm not judging you, and it's none of my business. But you put yourself in this situation on your own. And I'm happy to help you out, but you have to trust me. Can you do that?"
He's not wrong. I could stop this at any point, and I could've from the start if I wanted to... But I don't want to, and that's just it. I've dug the hole, and if it means getting to spend time alone with Spencer for even the smallest amount of time, I'd gladly lay down and die in it.
So. 'Loosen up and have a little fun' it is.
I take a deep breath and smile up at Andrew, patting him on the shoulder. "Yes. I can do that."
———
"I can't do it."
"Mmmmm, you and I both know that isn't true. You've come much faster under more stressful circumstances. Should be easy for you."
He's not wrong, yet I can't help but frown at Spencer's request anyway. I've been in a shitty mood all day, despite my discussion with Andrew earlier on. It's nearing nightfall, and with hardly any attention from the person I wanted it from, to say I'm now desperate is a severe understatement. There's still some time left until the two of us can properly sneak away, but even so, we have a moment alone and all he wants is to watch me get myself off in the bathroom upstairs while Mom and Andrew set the table out on the porch for a small, late dinner.
"Yeah, but you usually help me with that..."
Spencer only grins at my whining, tilting his head as he stands at the sink with his arms crossed, watching my hand at work. "If you're going to flaunt your boyfriend at me all weekend, then you're going to deal with the consequences."
"You're fucking my mom, Spencer, and you flaunt it at me every fucking day of my life... Cut me some slack."
"Aw. You're grumpy."
"Fuck you."
"You wish, don't you?"
I huff and get up off the edge of the bathtub, flipping my skirt back down and shaking my head. "You know what, forget it. If you wanna be difficult, then you can suck my dick."
"I'm not giving you what you want until I watch you come."
"Whatever."
I breeze past him and shut the door, hoping he'll follow and pull me into a bedroom and just fuck me anyway, but deep down I know he won't. He's a man of his word. It's simultaneously the best and worst thing about him.
The rest of the evening passes by slowly, which only sours my mood even more every time I look at my phone and realize that only a few minutes have passed.
I'd thought at least maybe Spencer would ease up and take the role of "Eve's Loving and Devoted Boyfriend" to the bare minimum, however that's promptly not the case. I don't know if he's doing it to piss me off and get me to cave, or if he's just over my bullshit and being his genuine, caring self to the woman he's in a relationship with... Either way, I practically feel my insides boiling over and my face burning red. I'm jealous, I'm grumpy as he so eloquently put it, and I'm so sexually frustrated that I'm seriously considering just running off to my bedroom and pulling out a vibrator, Spencer be damned. Fuck his rules, fuck his 'consequences', and fuck this whole damned weekend straight to hell.
My eyes wander to the lounge swing where Spencer and Mom are almost falling asleep, her head resting on his shoulder, and an inordinately evil image etches itself into my brain. Evil might sound harsh, but it's truly the only accurate word I could use to describe the feeling as it runs its course through my bloodstream. And when the breeze picks up and cools me off, within a mere second I realize just how insane I'd be for even entertaining it.
Even as our two groups say our goodbyes for the night, and I recount the day's failure to Andrew just before he falls asleep, I'm still going back and forth.
Loosen up. Have a little fun.
The situation at hand is decidedly not fun.
That being said, the possible look on Spencer's face after I'd do what I'm thinking? Taking his rules and throwing them in his face? That sounds fun.
My mind is already made up by the time I reach their door, gently pushing it open and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, which isn't terribly bad to start with. There is a giant open floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the beach, and subsequently the moonlight reflects off the water and into the bedroom. It's still dark, but not enough to where I can't see where I'm going.
Each soft step I take sends my heart rate higher and higher until I reach my destination at Spencer's side of the bed. Call it what you want, but I figure it's damn lucky that he's facing towards the room and not towards my mom, otherwise waking him up would have been a much more difficult feat.
I brush strands of hair away from his forehead and then tap him gently on the nose. I almost think it won't work, but then he shakes his head and flutters open his eyes, and that's when my heart leaps straight out of my chest.
This just became real.
There's no going back now.
He's shocked to see me standing above him, obviously, and before he can say or do anything, I put a finger to his mouth and imitate a shh with my own.
I wait for his eyesight to adjust and for him to realize what my intentions are, and right before it happens, my finger lifts from his mouth and rests on his bare chest as I balance myself, lifting my right leg to the pillow, right next to his head.
There's a deep, concerned warning in his eyes, but it dissolves the second he glances down to see that under my thin silk nightdress there's no tangible barrier between himself and my slick cunt. Even if the darkness prevents him from getting the best look, it's not a secret what I'm doing. My right hand drapes down as I start to touch myself gently, and fortunately it doesn't take long to start feeling that familiar sharp ache of desire pulsing through my lower half. Spencer's wide eyes and heavy breathing tacked on to the sheer danger I'm putting myself in to do this have made me wet in an instant.
I force myself not to think about the sleeping woman next to him and instead keep my eyes locked with his. It feels almost like a dream, like if I get distracted and lose his gaze then I will be doomed to lose it for good, and no matter how hard I try to remember it when I wake, it will be nothing but a distant feeling. The stakes right now have quite literally never been higher.
Now, there are a lot of things I'm not proud of. Helping my mom's boyfriend cheat on her is probably the biggest offender for obvious reasons. But as I've learned, sometimes those things end up being totally worth it.
Faking an orgasm also happens to be one of those things.
It's risky, I know. Spencer is the smartest person I know. It's not a stretch to believe that he could call my bluff. I also happen to be unfortunately seasoned in the art of faking orgasms (thankfully due to my time seeing men before sleeping with Spencer). The determination I have to get him to fuck me before this first night of our vacation is over is the cherry on top of my evil scheme.
So, I rock my hips into my hand, lock eyes with Spencer, and fake the fuck out of it. And thankfully, faking being quiet in this particular situation is ten times easier than faking being loud. It's a fool-proof plan.
I barely 'finish' before Spencer grabs my wrist and softly sits up in the bed. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, because his face doesn't even twitch. It almost looks like he's angry, but I have a hard time believing he would be. It could also be the concoction of desperation and anxiety coursing through my nervous system making me make that up. Either way, I know I'm going to find out very soon.
Spencer gets out of bed quietly, dragging me behind him. He shuts the bedroom door with barely any sound, and it's impressive considering he'd just woken up a few minutes ago. I suppose though, a man on a mission is a man on a mission no matter how drowsy; The moment we're down the stairs and out the back door to the porch, he's backing me up to the table where we'd eaten dinner, my legs nearly buckling before he lifts me up and sets me down on top of it.
"You're insane," he whispers, closing the gap between us just a millisecond after.
I welcome his kiss and melt into him, snaking my arms over his shoulders and wrapping my legs around his waist. He tilts his head hungrily, deepening the kiss, and I can't help but groan at the inclusion of his tongue.
"Insanely irresistible," I finally counter back when we part for air.
He kisses me again, quickly, adding, "Insanely bratty," and then he reaches down to touch the heat between my legs. I've gone long enough without it that I involuntarily drop my head back with a sigh of relief at his touch, breathing out, "Fuck, I need you..."
I half-expected him to keep bantering with me, but instead he leans forward and latches onto my neck, surely leaving hickeys behind as his fingers work inside me. It feels good, but it's not enough. I need more.
More...
I hadn't even realized I'd been breathlessly chanting the word into the air until Spencer groans and removes himself from me to pull his lounge pants down far enough to free his erection and slide into me with ease. He swallows my moan with his mouth, holding himself inside me and kissing me so deeply I can barely breathe. The cool night air sends a blanket of chills over my limbs, and for a moment in time, it's just me, him, and the ocean crashing beside us.
It's almost like we become a part of it, wave after wave of pleasure and relief passing through us with each harsh crash of water over sand. Skin against skin, tongue over lip and tooth.
We could have been out there for hours, and I wouldn't have known any different. All I know for sure is that it's me and Spencer. Just as it should be.
Even after we both reach our end, we remain still in our embrace, my limbs weak but still wrapped around him. Safe. He strokes the back of my head and kisses me lazily, drawing out every last ounce of happiness from my body and soul until he pulls away finally and I remember where we are. The situation at hand. How horrible I feel at what I'd just done in front of my sleeping mother.
God, you are so fucked up...
"You're right. I'm insane."
Spencer tenses at my words, then sighs. "I'm not any better."
"I don't know how I'm going to get through this," I confess. "I wish it was just me and you. I wish it didn't have to be this way."
"I know, Y/N..."
He doesn't say anything after that, and I don't either. Part of me wants him to reassure me that everything will be okay, but the rational part of me knows deep down that I don't deserve it. Also that it probably wouldn't even work anyway.
I'm too far into this pit of hell for any kind of redemption, and I'm just going to have to deal with it.
Which is why, when Spencer walks me up to my bedroom and gently kisses me goodnight after helping to clean me up, I simply slink away to bed and will myself to sleep, feeling completely numb despite getting exactly what I wanted.
SATURDAY
"Pancakes are done!"
I feel miles better than I did yesterday, maybe because Spencer had padded into my room early this morning to uh... Pay me back for the stunt I pulled last night. I couldn't deny the smile on my face when I woke to his body standing over mine, palming himself through his pants as Andrew slept soundly next to me.
Rather than watch him though, I quietly sat up and lent him a helping hand.
And mouth.
Whatever negativity we'd encountered yesterday had magically vanished, and now I can't help but feel like it's going to be a good day.
It also helps that Andrew made pancakes and bacon.
"These look great, Andy," Mom compliments, sitting down at the head of the table. "Better than mine."
"Nonsense," I tell her. "Yours have confetti sprinkles."
"Yes, but they're always burnt." Spencer kisses the side of her head as he stands behind her, but his eyes are on me, an evil grin on his lips. "No offense, Dear."
I want to strangle him.
"Not all of us can be masters of the frying pan... But I try."
"You do great, Mom, don't listen to him. He may know everything, but he doesn't know everything."
He feigns hurt, putting a hand over his heart and pouting, and I can't help but smile. Mom does, too, and for a moment, it feels like we can all get along without complicated feelings and desires putting a damper on our weekend.
Andrew fixes up his plate last, and when he sits down next to me, his hand finds mine under the table, tapping my palm twice—our signal for "everything good?"
I tap his back, a confirmation that for right now, I'm okay.
Breakfast is enjoyable, and I don't know what the day will bring, but I don't have any panic or dread settling in my bones, and Spencer and I aren't staring daggers into the back of each others' heads, so until that point arises again I decide to stuff my mouth with food and just revel in the calm.
Mom perks up as we're finishing the last few bites of our plates. "There's a big flea market a few towns over today, I thought we could go check it out after breakfast. It's supposed to be a nice half-hour drive along the coast, and they've got live music and tons of food."
"Mmm, sounds great, Mom," I say through a bite of food, swallowing it before continuing. "Maybe on the way back we can stop somewhere and get stuff to finish the patio."
Grandma's beach house is nice, but it's old, which means the patio screens are littered with holes and other wear and tear. Part of the reason we'd decided to come here was to make it look nice and figure out what repairs need to be done before we help her sell it, and that patio needs... Well, it needs a little more than some new screen-doors, but that was the start.
Spencer nudges my foot under the table and speaks up. "I don't do so well in the car after I eat, so I can actually stay back and start working on getting the porch cleared out and take measurements for what you need if you want to go ahead without me."
"Oh, are you sure, Honey?" Mom grabs his hand. "We can wait a little to go if you want."
"Really, it's okay. It's a beautiful morning, you should take advantage of it. I'll take the other car and meet you there in an hour or two."
"Well, okay, if you're sure. I just feel bad leaving you behind..."
He nudges me under the table again.
"I can stay and help," I offer then, suddenly feeling my chest warm up from the inside at the opportunity. Then it's my turn to do the nudging. I tap Andrew's hand under the table and look at him. "I mean, you don't mind hanging out with my mom for a bit, do you?"
I'm so glad he's quick at catching on. And I will love him forever for what he's doing for me. I make a mental note to send him gift baskets for life when he nods and gives my mom his best smile. "I don't mind at all."
I turn to Mom. "Yeah, I'll call you when we've got everything handled and then Spencer and I can just meet you guys down there." I turn to him then, hoping to make it seem more like a natural development of a last-second plan rather than an evil scheme. "If you want the company, that is. I didn't mean to intrude or anything."
He smiles. "I don't mind the help at all, but it's totally up to you and your mom."
Mom practically fawns over her boyfriend and grabs his hand with a lovesick pout, which makes me feel really bad for what we're probably about to do the second she leaves. "No, I think it'll be good for you two to spend some time together. It makes me happy to see my two favorite people getting along."
"Then it's a perfect plan for me," Spencer beams at her, kissing the back of her hand.
———
We wait until we can't see the car anymore, until it's so far in the distance that we're positive we won't be seen. Spencer wants to wait longer in case Mom decides she forgot something and needs to come back, but I know that Andrew will text me if anything happens. Spencer is right here next to me, his hand steady on my lower back as he guides me through the house.
We're alone, not doing anything yet, and it feels like torture.
So on the way to the bedroom, I squeeze his hand and depart, hoping to kill some time—to ease his mind as well as my anxiety.
"I'm gonna pee quick and then you can have your way with me, yeah?"
Spencer reaches out for my hand again, pulling me to him and not letting me go, a glint of something mischievous in his eye. It shocks and excites me simultaneously. "But I want my way with you now."
His lips are on mine, and he's backing me into the wall, picture frames gently rattling in the hallway once my back is flush to the drywall. I melt into him with a laugh.
"We have time," I tell him between kisses, trying to get away. "I'll be quick, I promise."
"No," he grunts, kissing me again, deep and earnest.
I whine at the excitement that burns in the pit of my stomach, but I also do really have to pee. "Spencer, please."
"Hold it," he demands through gritted teeth, kissing my neck and then slotting his knee between my legs.
I clench instinctively, and I can't help but test the waters. "Or what?"
"Or I can tell your mother what a bad girl you were today. So unhelpful, wasting my time and giving me back-talk. She'll be so disappointed in you."
"Wow, Spence. Threatening me with my mother, how kind of you," I retort, even though his words are undoing me. I grind down on his leg and feel my bladder pulse with need. My teeth grit when he bites down on my shoulder.
"I'm a kind man."
"Kinda mean, maybe," I whimper.
"Not really. All you have to do is hold it, pretty girl. That's all I ask."
His knee lifts higher and I moan to the air. "Fuck. Spencer, I don't think I can."
"You will."
I have a brief moment of reprieve when he drops his leg, but it doesn't last long because he brings his hand down in its place, deft fingers slipping under the band of my shorts and toying with my clit.
"That's not fair," I sigh, weaving my fingers through his hair.
He smiles, nipping at my jaw. "Aw, poor thing."
His fingers are relentless, rotating between flicking at my clit and plunging into me and spreading me apart, and it's making it extremely difficult to do what he's asking. I feel an orgasm building rather quickly, but I can't quite tell if that's just because I'm so turned on, if it's my bladder, or both. My thighs are trembling and the pressure is getting tighter.
"Fuck, I— I can't... I'm g—onna..."
The orgasm rips through me beautifully, a brand new feeling that I have to sort-of subside to keep from completely letting go all over his hand, but I can't help it. My hips cant back and forth, and I feel my shorts warm a little as I come down, and suddenly I clench my legs together, whimpering and stopping myself from continuing. The pressure hasn't let up at all, and now it's even harder to hold back.
"I'm sorry... I'm... I'm still trying."
Spencer captures my mouth in a tender, teasing kiss as he coos, "I know... You're trying so hard."
His fingers glide through me softly, and then they're gone and taking my bottoms with them. The fabric falls to the floor, and soon his pants are gone, too.
"Can you hold it a little longer, sweetheart?"
"I can try," I sigh out in one quick breath, looking down and already feeling overwhelmed at the sight of his erection.
I'm not going to last long.
Spencer turns me around and bends me at the waist, using one hand to wrap around me and rub my clit as the other guides himself into me from behind.
I yelp, then groan as he fucks me hard.
My face is pressed flat against the wall, and I try to focus on that feeling instead of this new angle and all the pressure it's putting on me. I'm clenching so hard, and Spencer is loving every second.
"God I love how tight you are, trying to be good for me..."
I want to tell him to stop talking, because his words always push me over the edge, but I have to focus so hard on nothing but this goddamn wall in front of me to keep from making a mess. And with each searing thrust he throws my way, that just becomes harder and harder.
He shifts a little and hits a particularly good spot, making me yell again as I relax and start to lose control— but only for a second. I still want to try, so I clench again and whine as I feel the warm liquid roll down my leg and the beautiful burn I'm feeling.
Spencer groans and goes harder then. He wants me to break, and honestly, it might not be long until I do.
"I know you want to, little girl," he tempts, sliding his hand up to press on my bladder. "Am I making it harder for you? Huh?"
If I could punch him, I would, but I'm afraid all I can do is beg him for release, the pressure almost too much. But because I still like to make things difficult and I'm not completely fucked dumb yet, I decide to add some flare.
"Please, Daddy, can I let go?" I whine, and he pauses with one of his own. I feel his hand slide off my stomach and weave through the roots of my hair instead, pulling me up to meet him.
He whispers hotly in my ear, "If you want to act like a greedy little slut, then by all means. Go right ahead..."
It's hard to tell what his intentions are after we move on from this position, but right now, I don't really care. Because no matter what consequences come with it, it's still permission all the same, and I'm not going to last much longer anyway.
"But I'm not going to keep fucking you through it. That's on you."
There it is.
So, what?
He stays inside me, hard and pulsing with need anyway, so I rock myself back and forth on him and reach down to rub my clit as I bring myself to the edge again. I keep trying to hold it until I'm ready to orgasm, and thankfully that doesn't seem to take very long.
Within seconds, I'm coming. I feel it all with a shout, letting my body tense and release, and Spencer grabs my hips to keep me from falling over. His blunt nails digging into my skin only add to the insane pleasure that courses through my body, and then the dam breaks not long after.
I let go in small spurts, still trying to have some control over how I do this, because I still want to drive him mad. So I turn my head and try to look at him, throwing his words in his face.
"I know you want to fuck me through it, Daddy... I'm still trying to hold it for you, so you can. Please..."
"Fuck," he hisses, giving up and pushing me to the wall again. He snaps his hips back and then forward, and it takes all I am not to scream at how good it feels.
This time I really let it all go, allowing myself to relax and revel in all the sensations coursing through me. Just like I wanted, Spencer fucks me through every second of it, until I have nothing else to give but mindless whimpers of over-stimulation and gratitude.
I don't even realize I'm coming again until my body jolts with the sensation, and then Spencer follows, running his hands along the backside of my body anywhere he can reach as he does.
Once we're both tired enough, he pulls out and gently turns me around to face him. I almost whine at the loss of his warmth, but he's pressing me to the wall again and kissing me before I can protest.
I don't know how long we stand there and make out, but eventually I shiver, feeling cold and... dirty. Don't get me wrong, I definitely don't regret it, because it was hot as fuck, but... Now? In this moment, after the fact?
I pull away from him and sigh. "You should have just let me go to the bathroom. Now we gotta clean this up."
Spencer ponders for a moment, looking down between us and then back up at me before shrugging with a shit-eating grin.
"I told you to hold it. Maybe you should work on listening to me."
I punch him in the arm, and he laughs.
"In your dreams, old man."
———
Evening comes in the blink of an eye, and I swear it's the happiest I've ever been. Sneaking out of the house like a teenager in love with someone she knows is fundamentally wrong for her is probably the most accurate way to describe what's happening, though Spencer is only wrong for me in a completely different way.
All the same, no matter the reason, he makes it hard to remember why.
It feels so good—so deliciously right—after all.
And how couldn't it; I'm absolutely elated, heart beating wildly as I race down the highway with the windows all the way down. Spencer squeezes my hand, trying to let loose, but I can tell he's utterly terrified by my speed. It makes me laugh.
When I finally pull over into a small clearing some miles down a random side-road and put the car in park, he sighs. "Where are we?"
"Dunno. But it's secluded. Moonlit. Romantic."
Each word that escapes me is punctuated with a kiss on each of his fingers.
"It's... Unsettling."
I can't help but laugh again, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing over to his lap. He shifts uncomfortably but helps me straddle him anyway, rolling the seat back as far as it can go as I tease him with neck kisses.
"Are you afraid of the dark, old man?"
He groans my name in warning when my teeth bite down on his shoulder. I know I can't mark him. It upsets me greatly, but I have to at least give myself a little taste.
So, when his hands tighten around my waist, I whine and settle for his lips. I kiss him eagerly, and by the way he's responding, any qualms about being in this "unsettling" location seem to have vanished. His hands roam my body reverently and eventually help guide my hips as they rock into him with desperate conviction.
I welcome his tongue with my own and thread my fingers through his hair, already feeling the heat of the summer air cling to my body as the air conditioning dissipates. The windows are already starting to fog.
Spencer notices my urgency and breaks apart with a hum of amusement. "What's the matter?"
"I want out of these damn clothes."
"Well, why didn't you just say so?"
I don't even have the energy to tease him back. He's giving me what I want with no obstacles other than the fabric between us, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.
It's a little difficult in such a cramped space, but eventually I am completely bare in front of him, save for my underwear. I've removed Spencer's shirt, but his slacks are still on, and I'm in the process of helping him out of them when he laughs again.
"What?" I ask, eyebrow raised.
"Nothing... I'm just surprised you even wore any underwear to begin with. Surely you knew what was going to happen tonight..."
I roll my eyes, but my smile never wavers. "Do you or do you not remember how this whole thing started? You love my underwear, and you love taking them off of me... I did this for you."
In agreement, he tenderly slips his middle finger under the seam and pulls the fabric to the side, and I nearly whine as he looks me over, the corner of his bottom lip pinched gently between his teeth. He's so fucking hot it physically hurts me. It makes me pathetic.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he finally offers, dragging a careful finger through my seam. I gasp at the sensation and feel myself start to tremble when he gently flicks at my clit. It's so featherlight, barely a touch at all, but still enough to drive me mad.
I need him. Now.
"Anything for you," I breathe, lunging forward to kiss him again. He welcomes me with fire instead of the amusement I'd almost expected from him. Usually, it's a dig at my eagerness, but tonight he's just as eager, just as needy, and the equal reciprocation has me in shambles.
It doesn't take long to find my way to him. I've finally managed to free his erection from fabric confines, and instead of fully sitting on him, I slick him up with my arousal, grinding along the length of him as he leans his head back and curses to the air. The friction is low-simmering and beautiful, and nowhere near enough to get myself off, but that doesn't matter to me right now. It just feels so good, and seeing Spencer tensing and twitching beneath me, feeling his hands tighten over my breasts as I rock back and forth... Reveling in this tension before truly giving into our carnal desires is honestly just as good as the sex itself. If I could etch this feeling, this erotic slow-burn of a moment, into my soul for all eternity, to remember in vivid detail for as long as I was alive and breathing, I would.
I'm so wet, so hot with sweat and aching with desire for this man, I can barely stand it.
My hand reaches down between us and takes him in a firm grip. I stroke him slow and tight, to which Spencer hisses, forcing himself to look down as he shakes his head.
"Fuck, you're perfect..."
The genuine praise makes me tremble again, warmth flooding my bloodstream. I start to quicken my pace, but his hand reaches down to grab my wrist.
"We have to get out of this damned car."
Before I know what's happening, he's opening the door and exposing us to the open air. He leads me outside, then opens the back door and guides me to the back seat, laying me down on my back. I lean up on my elbow to watch as he towers over me, sliding his pants all the way down and watching me with hungry eyes.
I can't help the urge that overtakes me then, readjusting my underwear again so that I'm exposed to him. Ready. Still, no teasing from him about how ready I am. There is only fire burning behind his gaze and a determination to make me feel every single flame as it dances brightly over my skin.
I can tell just by looking at him right now, barely illuminated by the moon in the open sky above us, Spencer is going to absolutely ruin me.
He comes forward and reaches down, both hands tugging at my underwear until they literally tear at the seams. The sound is so jarring and unbelievably hot that feels almost pornographic. I've never been so turned on in my life. He knows it, too, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he tosses the tattered cotton away like it's nothing at all, then proceeds to adjust me to his liking, folding my knees up to my chest and giving himself the deepest angle he can possibly get.
"Ready?" he asks, that fire in his eyes telling me he already knows the answer.
"Always," I tell him, pulling him down to connect our lips.
He pushes into me then, a steady full movement that doesn't falter even once. I take it happily, humming into Spencer's mouth as he starts to move his hips. The car gently rocks underneath me, the smallest of creaks sounding under the upholstery. Between that and the snapping of his skin to mine, the crickets chirping in the background, and the thick, heavy whirring of our breathing being so close together in this small space, it truly does feel like the perfect summer night.
This is what summers are made for. Passion. Heat. Want. Wildfire. Pure sin...
That's what it is. Spencer's teeth leaving unashamed marks on my skin when I'm not allowed to return the favor as he fucks me in the backseat of my mom's old car, nothing around us but the moon, the stars, and the sweltering summer heat... There would be time for guilt later, when we return to the beach house, and possibly even along the drive there. But for now, I don't feel guilty. I'm completely aware of my surroundings, of my situation, and yet there's not an ounce of guilt to be found anywhere in this car.
That alone is the biggest sin of all.
SUNDAY MORNING / 2 A.M. / SPENCER
My limbs are barely awake when I shuffle down the hallway and sigh heavily at the sweet promise of a deep sleep. I feel tense, but I know that's only because I have to keep my departure a secret. I won't fully know peace until my head has hit the pillow and my consciousness has drifted away for the night.
Eve is an early riser. I won't get much sleep, but the few hours I will manage to round up will be worth it. And I'll go to sleep happy.
Y/N is still all over me, which is dangerous. Her aura, her smiles and her laughter, her sighs and her pleas, her fingernails trying not to leave marks on my back even thought it's all I want—All of it is such an enormous part of who I am now, that every second I'm in Eve's presence, I start to wonder if she can feel it. I hope not, but as a man who has proudly worn and reflected the attributes of every woman he's ever loved, it's a scary thought.
So scary, apparently, that it seems to have manifested a near-heart attack. I know I'm not actually having one, but the sharp pain I feel in my chest when I open the bedroom door and find Eve, awake and sitting in bed with a distant look in her eyes, for a split second, could have fooled me.
"You're up early," I say, closing the door and walking to my side of the bed. My heart is beating so fast, my nervous system working on overload to keep up with the amount of signals and sirens that are blaring in my brain.
Eve doesn't look at me, but responds somberly. "So are you."
How long has she been awake? "Yeah. Couldn't sleep. I wanted to take a drive..."
She hesitates for a moment as I climb into bed and nudge her leg with my own.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
No.
"Yes. I'm sorry if I worried you." I take her hand in mine, but she still can't look at me. It frightens me. "What's wrong?"
"I don't... I don't know... Something just feels weird, and I don't know what or how to explain it."
"Like... With the house?" I feign confusion, easily disguising the fear that lies underneath, and it seems to work; Eve concedes.
"No," she sighs, turning to finally look at me. Her eyes are tired, and she looks like she's embarrassed. "I don't know... I've been getting this weird feeling lately, and then you disappeared for a couple hours tonight, and I guess I just..."
She trails off, and I sigh, hoping to put her mind at ease. "Eve... You know I love you, right?" They're the right words to say, but they feel evil coming out of my mouth. They're... I don't want to say they're not true, because in some way I still do love her. But... Not how she wants me to. Not how she loves me back.
"I know," she cries apologetically, falling her head onto my shoulder with a dramatic thump. It's a mannerism that reminds me so much of her daughter, I feel another sharp twist in my gut. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"There is nothing wrong with you," I comfort her quickly, squeezing her hand. "It's okay, I promise."
"No, it's not. It isn't fair for me to just assume you aren't happy in this relationship when you've done nothing to show otherwise, and then act all grumpy and accusatory. It wasn't right. I should have just talked to you about my... weirdness, and gotten it out of the way. I'm sorry."
"I appreciate that," I tell her. I'm relieved that she still doesn't know the truth, but my heart is still racing and I can't seem to get those damn warning sirens to quiet in my head. "Still, I'm sorry for worrying you. I wasn't tired, and it seemed like a perfect night for a quiet, mindless drive."
"Mmm, you're right," Eve agrees, leaning into me and glancing out the window. She takes a deep breath and kisses my neck, right where her daughter had been only hours before. "Next time, invite me along?"
"You got it." It's an empty promise, but it makes her happy. It keeps her unassuming.
We fall asleep together, but my dreams belong to someone else.
ASK ME IF I'M OKAY? I'M. FUCKING. NOT. Anyone in this community who knows me knows that Summer of Sin is my all-time favourite fic series. Getting a bonus chapter was Christmas come early. Mercy always delivers, and then some!! ❤️🫶🔥
Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of November AND December, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including a Wrong/Mistaken Recipient using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonicfics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.
There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!
(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)
SFW Prompts 🙈
The BAU arrests the wrong person
The flower delivery guy really messes things up
Character grabs the wrong person to kiss at NYE
Character leaves a voicemail for the wrong person
Character grabs the wrong person’s hand in public
Character receives an awkward text from an unknown number (or one they haven’t spoken to in a long time)
Character throws a snowball at their friend… but misses (and hits their crush/an attractive stranger instead)
Talking to different people on multiple phone lines can get really confusing
Somehow Character got on someone's super silly Christmas Card mailing list
There’s a mixup of notebooks and Character finds writings/drawings... of them
Character receives a package they weren't expecting and finds an even more unexpected item inside
The team recounts all the times Penelope said something inappropriate to the wrong person on the phone
Character has been sending messages to their loved one after they passed (they never expected a response)
Character pulls a prank against a fun-loving coworker, but their significantly less playful coworker triggers it
Character leaves an anonymous letter confessing their love, but the recipient insists it can’t be for them
Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message
Keep Reading for more Prompts and the Challenge Rules!
Dialogue Prompts 🙉
“Oh, God. Wrong house.”
“New phone, who’s this?”
“So… who is (intended recipient name)?”
“Baby, I can be whoever you want me to be.”
“Any chance we can pretend you didn’t see that?”
“No matter what you do, do NOT open that.” “Too late.”
“I’m not complaining, but I don’t think that was for me.”
“What’s the point of the unsend button if it tells them that I unsent something?!”
“This is definitely the wrong number but, seriously, did you think that line would work?”
“I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is a—!”
NSFW Prompts 🙊
Character is a stripper at the wrong party
Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker
Characters buy books together but take the wrong ones home (at least one of them is erotica)
Character wanted to gift a friend a sex toy as a joke and they used the same wrapping paper for their crush’s gift
Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing
There’s confusion and two BAU members end up with the same hotel room (Character walks in to find their coworker completely nude)
Character is waiting for an unsub in a confessional booth (the unsub doesn't show, but someone else confesses unholy thoughts)
Rules
Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.
Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”
The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.
Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.
Have fun!
The Masterlist of fics will be posted around December 30 If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!
Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️
Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader
Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.
Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two
a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy
You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense.
Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.
“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”
Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”
You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”
“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”
“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”
He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“
“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”
“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”
You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”
“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."
You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”
“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."
You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”
The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”
“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”
"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”
"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."
"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”
His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.
“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”
"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”
“Well, have you ever tried it?”
“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”
“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”
"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”
You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”
You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.
Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.
Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.
Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.
“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”
His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?
There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.
What if you did? you ponder.
What would it feel like to trust someone like that?
What would it feel like to trust him?
But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.
“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”
Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.
The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.
But today, you can’t find that peace.
Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.
It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.
You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.
“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”
You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.
“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”
“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”
You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”
Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.
“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”
Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.
“I didn’t say yes either.”
You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.
It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.
“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”
Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”
“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."
“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”
“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”
He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”
You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.
“Why does it matter so much to you?”
Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?
“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”
Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.
“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”
“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”
“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”
You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.
“You… want to teach me?”
“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”
You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.
“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.
He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”
You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.
“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”
And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.
You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.
You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.
Spencer. And his damn offer.
You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.
You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.
God help you, but you’re actually curious.
And that might just be the scariest part of all.
You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.
Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.
Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.
“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”
He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”
“Absolutely.”
“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”
He quickly nods.
“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”
He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”
You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”
Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.
“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”
“Thank you.”
He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.
“Are we… are we going to have sex?”
He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”
You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”
“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”
“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”
He gestures for you to continue.
“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”
His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.
“Okay, so… now what?”
“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“
He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.
“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”
“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”
Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”
The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.
“What if I want to do something more?”
Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”
Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”
“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”
You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”
He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”
You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.
“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”
You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.
“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”
You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.
“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”
Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.
“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.
You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."
"Physical touch?”
"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."
Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"
A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”
You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”
Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.
But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.
Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”
It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.
“Do you want to keep going?”
You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.
Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.
Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.
“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”
But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”
His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”
Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”
“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”
You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”
Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.
“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”
His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.
“Is this alright?”
“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.
His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.
“How about this?”
You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.
Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.
Oh. Oh.
Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.
“Still with me?”
You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.
Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.
He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”
You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”
His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”
“…yeah.”
His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”
You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.
“You can take them off.”
Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.
“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”
His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.
Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.
Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.
“You’re so pretty.”
Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.
And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.
“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”
“I know.”
He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”
You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”
His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”
You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.
His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.
“Does this feel good?”
You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.
The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.
He takes your response as a sign to continue.
"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.
"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”
He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.
“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."
Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.
He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.
You need more.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.
Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”
You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.
“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”
That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.
"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."
You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.
Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.
“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."
You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.
Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.
Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”
When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.
“How are you feeling?”
You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.
“Like I’m about to pass out.”
“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”
You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”
He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”
A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”
Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”
“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.
“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”
“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”
You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.
“So you think I might want to explore this further?”
His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”
The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.
You feel a tightness in your chest.
“I think… maybe, yeah.”
His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”
You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”
His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”
What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.
Pairing: ghost!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: In which the ghost of Spencer Reid discovers that in order to unveil his unfinished business and finally lay at rest, he must somehow enlist the help of the woman who now inhabits his apartment.
Category: MATURE (18+)
Content: Strong language, mention of weed, ghost shenanigans (?), female masturbation, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), brief handjob, unprotected p in v sex, Spencer is invisible for all of that LMAO
Word Count: 11.8k
MASTERLIST
NOTE: God, I love ghost smut. That was a goddamn blast to write! Like you don't even know how giddy it made me putting these words to the keys. I even put in extra effort and made a little photo banner, which I’ve never done for a one shot before, and I’m kinda obsessed with it ngl 😂 I hope you love this one as much as I do! <3 Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Autumn Air writing challenge!
———
ACT I: Girls' Night
Spencer Reid always knew he would die.
It was a cold, hard fact of life that at one point, everyone would die. It was unsure when or how, but it happened. There was no escaping it. That thought alone was enough to squander most of his anxieties about death— even after a few near-death experiences and the constant danger his line of work tended to throw at him throughout his lifetime.
Still, the one thing he couldn't stand to think about was the "after". He wanted truly to believe that what happened after death was just nothingness, but after his encounter with Tobias, it stirred up all sorts of questions and unexplainable possibilities that were just too vast for even his brain to try and comprehend.
Then, of course, there was the fact that he was currently standing in his old apartment, watching somebody else live her life, completely invisible to her. He tried talking to her, too, but nothing. It was like he wasn't even there.
But why? It's not like he had unfinished business or anything. The unsub who shot him was shot down immediately afterwards. He watched him die before passing out himself. Why was he "awake" now, nearly 5 months after the fact, and not when his friends were grieving him? Where were his friends, and why has the afterlife chosen to tie Spencer to a place rather than the people that knew and loved him?
Logically it seemed reasonable but really, he just missed his friends. He missed his life.
He hated the afterlife, he decided then. There was no reason he needed to keep doing this when he couldn't even leave the confines of the apartment. He couldn't walk through walls or touch anything or sit down on the woman's gross floral couch. If he wanted to enter another room, the door needed to be opened, otherwise he was stuck right there in the living room, the kitchen, and the open dining space that connected the two. If he was allowed to live his afterlife with his mom, or playing Chess with Gideon, or travelling the world, free to go anywhere and see anything without hardship, it might have been different.
But no. He was stuck watching this woman struggle to move furniture by herself.
He didn't know her. Had never seen her before. She wasn't a student of his or a victim he'd saved or even a fling. She was a complete stranger. A complete stranger who unfortunately had terrible taste in decor and an even more unfortunately beautiful face.
Her name was Y/N. From what he could gather, she didn't have any family, at least not nearby. Her two best friends were the only other people in her circle that he'd seen in the apartment, and when they were all together it was... interesting. There was a lot of loud laughter and wine, and oh God, the sex talk...
It felt intrusive, but he couldn't leave. He could migrate to another room, maybe, but his ears still worked, even a little too well. His eyes, too, seemed to be as sharp as ever, any imperfections to his vision completely mended. He was simply over aware of everything, and yet hollow at the same time, and he hated everything about it.
But what could he do? He couldn't even touch anything or communicate to anyone, so how could he possibly figure out what was keeping him here and how he could get out of it? Did his new roommate hold some sort of knowledge or ability to help him solve this mystery, or was he destined to watch her live out her life in this place that he once called "home"? Was there any connection between them at all?
He didn't know.
Usually he liked puzzles, but this one was rather annoying.
He just wanted to rest.
Y/N had been moved in for just over a month (yes, there was a whole month of just standing there learning everything about a stranger because there was simply nothing else for Spencer to do) when finally, there was a small glimmer of hope.
Heavy on the small.
It was Girls' Night. Friday. It always consisted of too much wine and movies and snacks and discussions about whatever they were reading or watching. Despite the differences in the routine, the camaraderie made Spencer miss his friends. He wondered what they were all up to. Maybe, if this all worked out, he could actually find out.
But for now, he had to focus on the baby steps.
When the girls showed up with a Ouija board, he couldn't help the incredulous laughter that escaped him.
Y/N, it seemed, felt the same disbelief. "You guys, what the fuck is that?"
"What does it look like?" the first friend, Maya, retorted.
The other, Robin, added, "You were the one that said you felt like you weren't tooootally aloooone in this apartment..."
Her haunting inflection elicited a backhanded thump to the arm, Y/N groaning as she closed the door behind her. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I would want to know what or who it is! Besides, I'm probably just paranoid. It's just being in a new place and the anxieties that come with it, that's all. You guys are insane."
"Only one way to find out!"
Was Spencer really going to entertain this? A goddamn Ouija board? He enjoyed his fair share of spooky things and researching superstitions, but that was out of his realm of belief. On the other hand, one could technically consider him a ghost... He could look down and see himself, but nobody else could see or hear him... Y/N had obviously voiced a concern for feeling a presence to her friends, but how much of that feeling was accurate and how much of it was, in fact, 'new home anxieties'?
As the girls unboxed the board and set up their things, Spencer sighed, mumbling to himself, "Only one way to find out..."
Maya closed the curtains and turned all the lights off, meanwhile Y/N and Robin were collecting and lighting any candle they could find. They cleared off the low coffee table in front of the couch where the girls sat and set everything up there, Spencer taking a seat on the floor opposite the group. It was then that Y/N said something that made him laugh.
"Wait, shouldn't we give the couch to the ghost?"
"What?"
"Well, what if it's an angry ghost? And then we make it sit on the floor, and it decides to exact vengeance on us? Maybe we should... I don't know, be more hospitable?"
"Hmmm, maybe you're right," Robin said, standing up. "Do you hear that, Ghost? We're only being nice to you, so please don't kill us, m'kay?"
Spencer sighed. Little did they know, he couldn't actually sit on the couch. Or a chair. Or anything that wasn't the floor. It was like the ground was the only physical thing he was anchored to. Still, the girls had no way of knowing that, so they shuffled their way to the other end of the table, flipping the Ouija board so it would face the other way. Spencer got up and moved then. He'd have to stand uncomfortably in the small gap between the table and the couch, bending down at the waist to use the board, provided he could even touch it.
He had no idea how this was going to work, if at all.
It was all starting to sound and feel absolutely ridiculous.
The girls each put a finger on the planchette, nervous laughter emanating from them, and Spencer gave one last deep breath before reaching out to touch it himself, anticipating the moment of truth.
His hand hovered over the board, feeling a block just before he would make any contact. He couldn't touch it. His hand wouldn't even go through. He retreated and huffed, wondering if there was something he could do to communicate with them otherwise. He tried to blow out one of the candles, but with no luck. He could feel his breath against his own skin (could you even call it that at this stage?), but the objects in front of him were completely oblivious to his presence.
He was about to give up and call it a night, leaving the girls to have their fun, but then one of them gasped.
"Wait, don't we have to use two fingers? Is that how it works?"
"Shit, I think you're right."
They adjusted their positions and Spencer sighed, but indulged them just in case.
His hand lowered again, middle and pointer fingers approaching the planchette in anticipation. He half-expected there to be resistance again, but this time, a cool rush of wind gusted up in between them as his fingers made contact with the wood.
"Holy shit!" all four of them exclaimed in unison.
"Did you feel that?" Maya squealed excitedly. "Wicked..."
"No, not wicked!" Y/N whined. "We should stop!"
"Really? You know for sure now that there's a ghost living in your apartment, and you're just not going to ask it questions to make sure it's not harmful? Be smart about this, bitch," Robin countered playfully.
Spencer wanted to cut to the chase. He moved his hand, spelling out a word, and the girls collectively gasped before reciting each letter out loud hesitantly, like they couldn't believe what was happening.
"H-A-R-M-L-E-S-S"
"Oh my God! You have a Casper!"
Y/N shook her head furiously. "You guys, stop fucking with me, I mean it. This isn't funny."
"I didn't move it!" said Robin.
"Me either," said Maya. "Besides, you felt that wind right? How could either of us have done that?"
"I don't know, because you're a fucking wizard or something! Cut it out!"
"Hey, if you didn't want to do it that badly, you would have taken your hand off the planchette... Hey, Ghost, have you ever seen Y/N naked?"
"Robin!"
Maya cackled and Y/N went pale. If he wasn't already dead, Spencer would have probably gone pale as well.
The truth was, he had. Seen her naked, that is.
He wasn't proud of it. It happened by total accident. Sort of. He was following her around the apartment all day because he was bored, and he'd ended up locked in her bedroom with her. Either he was truly horrible at reading people (which seemed impossible considering his profession) or she had just gotten a random spurt of excitement, because the moment her door closed, she whipped her shirt off, exposing her bare torso to him, and he couldn't move. He was frozen, completely shocked at the sight before him. She reached down to take off her pants, and he turned around then, quickly becoming aware of the situation.
She rustled behind him and he tried desperately to walk through the door. Any time he got close, the barrier would stop him. He couldn't do anything but stand in the corner and pray to whatever that she was only changing.
She was, in fact, not changing.
Spencer swore in that moment at the table that he could still hear the low hum of her vibrator and every single sound that came from her body and mouth that night, and he was absolutely mortified.
He'd only dared to glance back when he heard the end, her breathing slow and the humming gone. It was silent for a while before he turned around entirely, only to find her asleep, sprawled completely bare over the covers. He wished he could have draped a blanket over her, but his hands were more or less tied.
Thankfully she was only asleep for about a half hour before she forced herself awake to clean up and actually go to bed.
Spencer never followed her around the apartment ever again. Just in case.
"Don't answer that, Ghost," Y/N rushed, "Robin's just fucking around. We promise to ask you serious questions from here on out."
Maya faked a snore. "Come on, Y/N, this is supposed to be fun. The ghost is harmless."
"No, the ghost said it was harmless. Doesn't mean it is."
Spencer thought for a moment as the girls went back and forth, and then he spelled out another word— or an acronym, rather.
"It's moving again!" Robin gasped, spelling out the letters.
"F-B-I"
"Holy shit did you work for the FBI, Ghost?" Maya inquired.
Spencer moved the planchette to the "YES" at the top of the board.
"Maybe... Maybe we should stop calling them Ghost..." Y/N took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment before nodding. "Ummm... Spirit Who Resides Here..." Robin and Maya snorted. "What is your name?"
Spencer wished he could tell her she didn't need to be formal, but it was amusing watching her do it anyway. He spelled out his name, first and last, and the girls made a collective hum of acceptance. A normal name and not something concerning.
"We should Google him," Robin said matter-of-factly.
Maya hummed in agreement, but Y/N swallowed and asked another question. "Spencer, you're not... Going to hurt me, are you?"
He moved the planchette to "NO," and watched the relief take over her body, relaxing her muscles and her posture for just a brief moment. He could tell she was still wary, but it was a step in the right direction.
"See? Told you he was harmless."
"He still could be lying," Y/N mumbled. Then she sat up straight. "Not that I don't believe you, Spencer. I'm sorry. You just have to understand that I'm a woman living alone, and the thought of a man I can't see haunting my apartment is just... It's extremely terrifying."
He felt bad for her. As annoying as his situation was, he couldn't imagine being in hers. He almost wished he hadn't entertained the Ouija board at all and put her worries to rest, but since it was too late, all he could do was try and reassure her that he wasn't a threat.
His fingers moved again.
"U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D"
And then a pause, before: "S-O-R-R-Y"
Y/N's eyes dropped, and her friends made a collective "Awwwww," before a knock sounded at the door, jolting them all to move away from the Ouija board.
Spencer was knocked backwards, and he expected his newfound sense of touch to disappear once the connection had broken, but to his surprise, he found himself safely seated on the couch. His hands reached over the fabric, testing, and despite his distaste for the floral pattern on it, the cushions were suddenly the greatest thing he'd ever touched. He was grateful for this couch. And for the Ouija board, and for Y/N and her eccentric friends.
Speaking of which, Robin yelled out, "Pizza's here!" and got up with Maya to abandon the board. Pizza apparently seemed more interesting than a ghost, but for two women who Spencer could now tell (no thanks to his upgraded sense of smell) were a little high, that seemed reasonable.
As her friends happily greeted the pizza delivery man, Y/N reached out to touch the planchette again, just for a moment, and gently whispered, "Thank you, Spencer."
He returned it with an earnest, "You're welcome," but he wasn't sure if she'd hear or not. She looked around the area for a few seconds before turning around, and it wasn't clear whether she had.
But she seemed relaxed now, and that was a start.
As the girls sat at the dining table and ate pizza, Spencer tested out his new senses just a few steps away. He found himself thankful to be in a familiar place, even if the decor was different. The walls were the same and the bookshelves still stood, now filled with bright Romance novels and trinkets and photos that laid out Y/N's personality quite perfectly. He smiled, running his fingers along the spines of the books, missing the feeling even if they weren't his own.
He wanted to see if he could read one, just for the sake of feeling a book in his hands again, but he figured he'd wait until Maya and Robin were gone and Y/N was asleep.
Until then, he continued to touch things without making them move, not wanting to raise anyone's eyebrows.
And then, a gasp sounded from the dining table.
"I found him! I have his obituary right here!"
"Holy shit, let me see!"
Spencer made his way to the table to observe.
The girls passed around Maya's phone, looking at his obituary photo. Robin made a low whistle, then called out into the air on her left. He was standing to her right, unable to help the dry laughter that escaped him at the irony of the situation.
"Spencer, you were hot!"
Maya shook her head and sighed. "Yeah. What a damn shame. Sorry, man."
Robin seemed more amused than anything, turning to Y/N, who was reading through the obituary. "Hey, at least you can rest easy knowing you've got a hot FBI ghost watching over you."
"Yeah, but... Why? Do you think he lived here? In this apartment?"
"I don't know. Maybe we should ask him."
Y/N sighed, handing Maya her phone back. "I'm sure he has more exciting ghost stuff to do on a Friday night than entertain us three. All I know is he promised not to hurt me, so I don't really care if he stays."
He was glad for her ease of anxiety, but he certainly cared if he stayed. However, she sounded exhausted, and it was fair. Finding out your new apartment was haunted by a ghost (even a harmless one) sounded like a reasonably stressful situation. He wanted desperately to figure out how to finally move on, but for now he could accept the simple fact that he could actually touch things now, and let Y/N rest easy.
Even if he couldn't yet.
ACT II: X's and Oh's
Every time she came home, Y/N would greet Spencer kindly. Probably out of precaution (you know, just in case he really was lying about being harmless), but brightly all the same.
"Spencer, I'm home! I... I don't know if you're haunting me or the apartment, but... I hope you had a good day, just in case it's me."
He smiled, wishing he could greet her back.
Eventually, he found small ways to do it.
He fogged up a spot on her bathroom mirror, that way the next time she showered before bed, the heat would reveal a message on the glass: "Good night. —S.R."
Y/N talked to him that night, dressed in her pajamas and walking around the apartment like she was deciding where to talk to him. Eventually she decided on standing in her bedroom doorway.
"Spencer? You said good night so you might not even be in here, but... I guess this is me saying good night back...Thanks for being a nice ghost, I really appreciate it. If... If there's anything I can do for you, let me know, okay? Okay... Goodnight."
If only there was a way she could hear him. Communicating in mirror-notes was hardly good for anything more than a simple "good night," and despite the fact that he could touch things, he couldn't grip them, so writing on paper was out. He'd kept trying to open a door with the handle, and with no luck. It was starting to get irritating, wondering what the next step was to evolving as a ghost.
He couldn't even believe he'd thought up the phrase. Ghost evolution sounded absolutely insane, but he supposed it was his current reality regardless of how it sounded...
Tonight Y/N was out rather late. For a brief moment Spencer started to worry, but then the key turned in the doorway and relief settled in when she finally stepped inside. She seemed rather tired, but greeted him with a gentle smile all the same.
"Hi, Spencer."
"Welcome home, Y/N."
She didn't hear him, obviously, but it still felt rude not to say it back. He wondered if he could try to touch her in greeting. Maybe a brief brushing of hands or a tap of acknowledgement on the shoulder. But he didn't want to scare her, so he'd have to figure that out.
Thankfully, she seemed to have felt his curiosity somehow.
Later that night, as she laid in bed, she called out, drawing his attention from the living room where he tried to open a cabinet. Still no luck there.
"Spencer? Are you there?"
He wandered over to the bedroom, glad to see she'd left the door cracked open so he could get in. He hesitated before moving, hoping she wouldn't freak out when she saw the door open.
When he did finally gather the courage to move the barrier and step inside, he heard her gasp as she sat up in bed.
"Spencer? Was that you? Um... Move the door again if it was..."
He obliged, swinging the door shut gently as he stepped inside the room. The second the door clicked, he realized his mistake.
Now he was trapped in here with her. Not that it was a bad thing necessarily, but the last time this happened, he'd accidentally intruded on a rather intimate moment. His essence warmed at the thought.
"Holy shit. Um... This is kind of weird... I've gotten your notes and talked to you through the Ouija board, but... seeing you move things in front of me is... only slightly terrifying."
Her nervous laughter endeared him but also made him want to comfort her.
He walked over to the side of the bed closest to her body, hoping she'd be willing to communicate more thoroughly somehow. The two of them together could surely come up with something.
Again, their brains seemed to be on the same wavelength.
"If I hold out my hand... Would you touch it? Just to... let me know that it's you?"
Her arm outstretched, and Spencer slowly brought his middle finger down to touch hers, ever so lightly.
The second there was contact, there was a shock. Spencer jolted and Y/N yelled and yanked her hand back, her whole body shuddering as she kicked her legs. "Oh my God, holy fuck!" And then she laughed, reaching out to search for his touch again. He felt... different somehow, but he was still invisible to her. Her fingers wiggled and Spencer helped her out, gently holding her hand to keep it steady, as if to convey, "I'm right here, and it's okay."
"Hi," she said through a smile, her breathing heavy. "It's... Nice to... finally meet you. Kind of. Kind of meet you, I mean... Not kind of nice. I'm sorry."
He rubbed his thumb gently over the top of hers in response.
"I'm still wrapping my head around this whole thing, I... I guess I just wanted some extra confirmation that you were really here. Can I ask you some questions, Spencer?"
He rubbed her thumb again, and she breathed out with a smile.
"Okay um... Maybe draw a circle on the back of my hand for yes and an X for no... That sound good?"
Spencer traced a circle against her skin, and she nodded. "Good! Okay, cool. This is cool. Um... Did you live here? In this apartment?"
A circle.
"Is... that why you're here now?"
An X, and then a question mark.
"No... You don't know why you're here then?"
A circle.
Y/N pondered for a moment. "Could there be something of yours that's holding you here? Something we have to find or a mystery we have to solve?"
Spencer drew another question mark, then sighed. As much as he liked Y/N, he was pretty sure she would not be able to answer any of those questions. But there had to be another way to... level up, so to speak. To make him visible or audible.
"I'm sorry," she said somberly. "From what I've read, you seem like you were a good person. I hope you figure it out, whatever it is. And... I meant it. If there's anything I can do to help you, I will."
He drew a circle on her skin, but kept going around a few times, his symbol of appreciation.
Y/N warmed at the sentiment, smiling and hanging her head to look down at the hand he was holding. He didn't know it, but her skin was tingling at his invisible touch.
"Spencer... I know this is probably going to be weird... But the night I first met you, when my friends were with me... Robin asked you if... you'd uh... If you'd seen me..."
She wouldn't look up, like she was afraid to look at him even though she still couldn't see him. She didn't finish her sentence, seeming to be embarrassed about the punchline, but Spencer didn't need it. He knew exactly what she meant. Before she had time to retreat or move on, he drew a slow circle on the back of her hand.
Her head lifted. "You did see me? Naked?"
Spencer let out a shaky breath. Hesitated. Then drew another circle, followed by S-O-R-R-Y.
"Oh, I'm not upset, I promise. You don't have to be sorry."
Something shifted in her eyes then and she paused, and Spencer realized that before when she'd asked, she wasn't embarrassed. She was simply feeling the water before diving in.
He swallowed hard.
"Did you like what you saw?"
Her voice was soft, but simultaneously hard with mischief. He looked at her then— truly looked at her with his overly-perfect Afterlife vision, and even in the dim light emanating from the open curtains and the streetlights beyond it, he could see her clear as day. Rather than the big tee-shirt she always wore to bed, tonight she was wearing something lacy and lavender.
And her door was closed. He couldn't leave this room.
Although, he had a feeling right then that it didn't matter anymore. Because his hand tightened over hers instinctively and he felt himself get hard beneath the suit pants he'd been buried in.
That's new, he thought through a sigh of excitement, quickly recalling that night he'd seen her. And heard her. Feeling was growing in his joints, and he found himself flexing his hands with a new strength he hadn't felt since being alive.
"Fuck," he hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.
I think she may be slowly bringing me back to life.
He drew a slow, sensual circle on the back of her hand, and she laughed through a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that. I was also hoping that maybe we could try something a little... unconventional. The truth is, I've always hated living alone. It's too lonely, and I hate it... Now that I have you to keep me company, though... It's not nearly as bad."
She shifted her fingers, grabbing his hand and slowly bringing it to her face. Spencer caressed her as he came closer, his knees now touching the edge of her mattress. She closed her eyes and reveled in his touch, goosebumps forming along her skin.
"Will you touch me, Spencer?"
His name falling suggestively from her lips was quite possibly the greatest thing he'd ever experienced, among life and death. The afterlife. Whatever. None of it mattered, nothing mattered right then except for Y/N and her needs.
He drew a circle on her cheek and she laughed, the sound dissolving into a rather wanton sigh when he traced his middle finger down her jaw and over her throat. Just the gentlest of touches, barely even a touch at all.
"You want this just as bad as I do, don't you?" she asked, lolling her head to the side as his finger traced her collarbone and then her shoulder.
"I do." He focused on the way her chest heaved, slowly up and down as she melted into his touch, and then traced the strap of her nightgown until he reached the front, just at the curve of her breasts.
Y/N arched her back and pulled the covers away from her body, revealing herself to him in full as she got comfortable. She scooted and leaned back against the headboard, pulling Spencer along the side of the bed. He gladly followed.
"I give you permission to touch me in any way you see fit, okay? I... I want you to do whatever feels good to you. How does that sound?"
At the invitation, he quickly let his mind wander to extremely filthy places and wondered if he had the ability to taste again...
The thought alone made him twitch beneath his pants, and suddenly there was no going back.
He let out a long breath and touched the bottom hem of her nightgown. It was already short to begin with, but since she'd moved around in bed and her feet were flat, knees pointed upward, the fabric rode up to the very tops of her thighs. He drew another continuous circle right there, just below where it ended, and Y/N instinctively started to spread her knees apart.
Spencer stopped her, gripping one knee and spelling out W-A-I-T before slipping his shoes and jacket off. She arched an eyebrow, confused at first, but then looked down to the floor when she heard his shoes being kicked back and his clothing falling there.
And then, when he was ready, she looked back to the bed in front of her as Spencer climbed and knelt, positioning himself in front of her. Her eyes watched the mattress move, and a flicker of excitement danced over her features, amusing him.
He placed his hands on her knees, and even though she'd given him permission, he asked anyway, drawing a question mark against her skin.
She nodded. "Please."
Slowly, his hands pulled her legs apart. He drew it out as long as he possibly could, curious to know how long he could test her anticipation threshold. He still planned to give her everything she wanted, of course, but there was something oddly erotic about being touched by somebody you couldn't see that she was obviously keen to explore. So he would take his time until she begged him otherwise.
Sure enough, her stare was laser-focused on her body as he moved it to his liking, her breath hitching once her legs were far enough apart for him to realize she wasn't wearing anything underneath her nightgown and he paused. Already she was glistening with arousal, a sight that nearly made Spencer go completely slack.
"How long have you wanted this..." he wondered aloud, overwhelmed and in awe as his hands traveled firmly down her inner thighs. She squirmed under his bold touch, and leaned her head back against the headboard with a soft thud.
"Please," she whimpered, her hands reaching out to grip whatever bunched up fabric she could find on the bed.
He had planned to test the waters a little longer, ever so the scientist at heart, but figured that was as good of a plea as any to give in and finally give her what she wanted.
And so, Spencer ran a gentle, steady hand down through her heat, dragging his middle finger along the seam until he barely entered her, then came back up.
The long, desperate moan that Y/N drew out was like Heaven to his ears, and he'd never been more grateful for his heightened senses than in that moment. Every breath she took, every gloriously wet sound her body made as he explored her, every rustle of her hands through the sheets... All of it was sharp and crisp, and no other symphony had ever sounded so beautiful.
He wanted more of it.
One finger became two, and Spencer looked up to watch her face as he fingered her slowly. Parted lips and focused eyes fighting to stay open despite the pleasure she was feeling made for quite the perfect view, he almost didn't want to look away. But there was so much to beauty see between her soft facial features and the curves of her body and the obvious arousing sight below him. It was overwhelming how hot he felt in that moment, he could have sworn he was glowing.
His pace quickened, and Y/N had finally given into the temptation to close her yes, her head falling back again as she rolled her hips. He was getting impatient now.
With his other hand, against the inside of her thigh, Spencer spelled out "T-A-S-T-E-?"
"Oh, God, please. Yes."
Still hesitant to scare her even though his fingers were already deep inside her, rather than diving in as he so desperately wanted to, he slowly brought his head down to meet the area between her legs. He turned to press his cheek to the soft flesh of her thigh, and she gasped, the sound fading to a low laugh as she took in the feeling of his mouth and his hair caressing her skin. He kissed her then, tentatively darting his tongue out to taste her and sighing with relief once he realized he could actually taste again. Once he had that revelation, there was no going back. He was a man starved, his kisses growing more hungry as they traveled up and up and up...
Once his tongue made curious contact with the hood of her clit, Y/N gasped again, clutching her bed sheets and rolling her hips up to meet him. Spencer groaned, and a selfish part of him wished she could hear it. He wanted her to know just how crazy she was driving him, how much he wanted her. She could certainly feel it, her reaction to the vibrations causing her muscles to flex and her toes to curl, and he decided then that it would have to do. He was just going to have to make her feel his desire so deeply that it rattled in her bones and lingered there for the rest of eternity. He wanted to ruin everybody else for her, to stay with her until the end of time.
She reached and felt around for his head, fingers threading through invisible curls as she cried out.
"Spencer, you're so— so good..."
He hummed his approval at the praise and continued to work her, adding a third finger and sucking on her clit to feel her fingers tugging at his scalp. The sensation alone had him nearly lightheaded, and he wanted to stay there forever, lost in her taste and her touch and her noises.
God, her noises...
She sighed and whined, and stretched and squelched around his fingers, and he was convinced that had he not already been dead, he would have begged whoever was listening to keep him alive just to experience her forever.
The second she struggled to keep her legs open, trapping his head between them, he knew she was quickly approaching her orgasm, and he couldn't wait. He'd heard her climax before, but being right there as it was happening felt like a privilege he would always be grateful for. He wanted to replicate everything he'd heard that night and get to feel it, too— get to be the one to make her feel that way.
"Fuck, don't stop, I'm s— so close..."
Spencer groaned into her as if to say, "I know, I can feel you." Oh, how he wished he could talk her through it, to tease her with his words... Alas, he had no choice but to encourage her with his actions, so he used his free hand to search for one of hers. She gave up her hand to lace their fingers together, and his thumb continued to draw mindless circles into her skin as she clenched and released, over and over again until she was coming.
"Spencer!" she cried to the air, over and over again as if she could will him into existence again. It was a desperate plea, a manifestation, and the both of them secretly hoped that it would work.
She wanted to see him
He wanted her to see him, too.
He felt her climax subside, and then he slowly eased his fingers out of her and trailed his tongue down to keep tasting. A part of him was scared to realize he might not actually be visible like he hoped, but he pushed the potential disappointment aside and luxuriated in the way she tasted. He delved in and gripped the underside of her thighs to keep them steady, and with a delighted groan as he pushed his tongue inside, Y/N gasped.
"Fuck, I can hear you..."
The words excited him greatly.
"Thank God."
Spencer kissed her, tasted her until she was writhing and begging him to stop.
"Please, Spencer, kiss me."
He pulled away and looked up at her, smiling even though she still couldn't see him. "I am kissing you," he replied, pressing his lips to her thigh.
"You know what I mean. Come here..."
He laughed and obliged, kissing his way up her legs and crawling up her body. He slowly dragged his hands up her stomach, bunching up her nightgown and sliding it up her body the farther he got. Her eyes watched in allure as the fabric rode up and up and up, seemingly on its own. But she knew better, she knew who was undressing her and worshipping her, and it made her squirm.
She lifted her arms over her head and let him take the clothing off, revealing her chest to the chilly air. She watched as the fabric flew to the ground, and then felt Spencer's hands return to her skin, gentle fingers raising goosebumps all over. Her nipples pinched and hardened the closer he got to them, and soon enough he was palming her breasts as he pressed his forehead to hers, wedging his body between her legs.
"Kiss me," she breathed, feeling his nose touch hers. His breath was hot against her own, and her eyes fluttered shut. "Please..."
"Anything for you, sweet girl..."
She sighed as his mouth finally collided with her own, the heady and prominent taste of her arousal growing stronger the deeper he kissed her. Their bodies couldn't stop moving, wandering hands and urgent hips, and with his newfound ability to speak to her, Spencer spoke in gentle praises. He sighed out her name reverently, telling her how good and sweet and perfect she was, and she returned every word with a whimper, in awe that he was really there. He was becoming more and more present, and she couldn't get enough.
"I want to feel you," she said against his lips, dragging her hand down his invisible chest. She fingered through every button of his shirt until it was loose and open, and the cool hum of his skin as she explored his torso made her hands numb.
Spencer kissed her jaw and groaned, feeling himself throb at her words. "Let me help..."
He grabbed her hand and guided her to the bulge in his pants, even though she could have just as easily stumbled onto it herself. The intimacy of it all was almost overwhelming, so much so that when her grip tightened softly on his clothed erection, Spencer almost came undone right then and there.
"Fuck, Y/N... I'd say you're going to be the death of me, but..."
They laughed together until she kissed him again, deeply and with a sigh. "You're becoming more and more real, but... this feels like... it feels like a dream."
He understood what she meant, and it filled him with a tinge of sadness, but her hand slowly palming him was becoming harder and harder to ignore. He gripped her wrist and his breath hitched in her ear as he nipped at it.
"Trust me, sweetheart... I am very real."
She shuddered at his words and squeezed him tighter before fumbling for his belt.
"Spencer... Do you think..." Her hands successfully undid the confines of his pants and started to slide them down over his hips, trying not to mess up her words as he sucked marks into her neck. "Do you think that if you fuck me... I'll finally be able to see you?"
"Mmm, God, I hope so," he groaned earnestly, repositioning themselves so he could kick off his pants and rest her head on the pillow. She let him take the lead, her breath getting heavier with anticipation as he positioned himself between her legs and grabbed her wrist. Once again, he was guiding her hand to his cock, hard and, this time, bare. She cursed under her breath as she gripped him and he helped her languidly stroke himself in exploration. His fingers were strong over hers, and he applied just the right amount of pressure to draw out a groan from the both of them.
"Please," she sighed out desperately through shallow breaths. "Spencer, please, I need you..."
How could he resist?
He didn't even want to entertain the thought of trying.
"Then let me take care of you, sweet girl," he cooed, hiking her thighs to rest over his hips and slowly sinking into her with ease.
Once he was all the way in, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, comforting her through the low burn. He slowly rolled his hips forward as she cried out his name, her fingers coming up to grip his shoulders. "You feel that?" he whispered into her skin. "How perfectly I fit inside you? It's like you were made for me..."
"Uh-huh," she stuttered in agreement.
He stopped teasing her then, pulling back to start fucking her nice and slow as she adjusted to him. Her fingers curled and knotted into the loose material of his shirt. She would have slid it off of him, but the grip on something steady was nice as she let him focus on his ministrations. He seemed to be doing just fine with the shirt on, anyway, and it was hard to even think about anything other than how good he felt.
She wondered then, as he picked up momentum and started peppering kisses down her jawline, what she looked like to the night. If she were standing there, outside her own body, watching herself being thoroughly and beautifully wrecked by something invisible and obviously enjoying every second...
Her eyes rolled back at the image, just as Spencer started going harder. His hips snapped into hers with a strength and precision that felt like it was rattling worlds. It very well could have been, and neither of them had any mind to care; They were so intensively intertwined with each other that it was a different world entirely.
They started to burn hot, that familiar warm chill of impending pleasure creeping up through their bodies and setting them alight. Y/N snaked her arms up to Spencer's neck and brought him down for a searing kiss as she melted into him, and he returned it with a fervor that elicited the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He felt it all the way in his bones, felt the waves of pleasure start to drag him under as she squeezed him with her limbs and started to come undone herself.
The atmosphere around them was purely electrifying, bright snaps of skin and sharp whispers of mouth combining to brew a perfect storm that nothing would ever survive. It was wild and unconstrained, glimmering and grand, and in their wake, the two entities left their desire lingering in the air for the dead of night to stew in for as long as it would allow.
Spencer collapsed on top of her with a hefty sigh, and he was grateful to be able to finally share his voice with her. The mystery and simplicity of the X's and O's were fun to indulge in at first, but now that they'd grown closer and created something beautiful and memorable together, he had to tell her exactly how he felt— no symbols, no mysteries...
He kissed her softly and pulled back to look into her eyes, dragging a thumb over her cheekbone as he told her the truth.
"You're perfect."
Her eyes went wide, welling with tears as she reached up and ran a finger softly along the bridge of his nose.
"You're beautiful."
Relief and something else—something warm—stirred in Spencer's chest at the confirmation that she could finally see him, and that she was moved by what she saw. Who she saw...
He couldn't help the smile that adorned his face, and the soft joyous laughter that escaped him as she continued to explore his features with the pads of her fingertips, like she was trying to memorize him from touch alone in case he suddenly disappeared again.
"I mean it, Spencer, you're... even more beautiful than I imagined."
"You imagined me?" he inquired rather suggestively.
With a laugh, she brought him down for a slow, searing kiss. "Duh..."
Even though they were tired, they stayed like that for hours, kissing and exploring and sighing until the sweet lull of sleep took hold and carried them through the night.
For a solid few hours until he awoke, Spencer completely forgot that he wasn't alive.
ACT III: Unfinished Business
Y/N had never done so much research in her entire life. She liked Spencer, and she was more than happy to help him out, but man... Reading dozens of articles and textbooks and blogs about the different types of spirits and how to lay them to rest was a long, exhausting road that led pretty much nowhere. There was no way to know what type of ghost Spencer was or how to help him move on, not that she could see, anyway. She didn't know if he'd age with her, or be 'undead' long enough to become vicious and bitter like a lot of the spirits she read about, and Spencer's research was just about as inconclusive as her own.
A selfish part of her hoped she'd never find out, to keep him around forever... But she also knew that wasn't fair to him. No matter how lonely she was or how much fun they had and how they enjoyed each other's company, well... The fact of the matter was, he was dead.
And he deserved to rest.
In the meantime, in the hours between headache-inducing frustration at the lack of answers, Spencer told her about his life. His friends, mostly— the best people he'd ever known. The way he described them, she had a feeling that they might hold the key to his dilemma. If not directly, perhaps there was something about him that they knew, something that might give Y/N some insight into his ghostly purpose, so to speak. Not that she couldn't ask Spencer directly, but they'd already discussed a lot of back-and-forth on enemies and people that could have wanted to harm him, all of which were surefire impossibilities. Not to mention the fact that he seemed tied to this apartment and not anything else. Maybe that didn't have anything to do with it, but neither of them knew.
It was the only other option she had.
They laid next to each other in her bed, her head laying on his chest. Her ear warmed gently, and tried as she might to hear a heartbeat, all she could hear was a faint white noise, almost like he was merely a figure of tangible energy rather than a body. She supposed that was technically what he was, but as much as she'd grown to know and like Spencer, it was hard to think of him that way. It was... sad to think of him that way.
She frowned and nestled into him, trying to push away that petulant nagging in the depths of her soul that screamed "This isn't fair!" and she told him the most difficult thing she'd ever had the courage to push past her lips.
"I think I have an idea... You can say no if you think it's too weird, but... It might help you. Maybe."
"Mmm, what's that?" he responded, curious but not audibly hopeful. It made Y/N even more sad to think he probably figured he'd never find peace.
"What if I go talk to your friends? Do you think they might know something you don't?"
There was a beat of silence before she felt his chest heave with gentle laughter. "Derek Morgan definitely wouldn't think so..."
Recalling some of the funny stories he'd told her about him, she smiled. Still, she pressed. "I mean it. What other outlets do we have? Where else is there to look? If there's anyone who knows you better than anyone else, wouldn't it be them?"
Spencer sighed, giving it a thought. His fingers raked through her hair and massaged her scalp to the point of gentle, comforting numbness, another one of those domestic moments that had her feeling absolutely conflicted.
And then, he said, "Actually... I think I know exactly who you should talk to..."
———
There was a deep chill in her bones as she approached Penelope Garcia's apartment building, but not because of the lively, rustling October wind. In fact, she wanted to throw up at the thought of having this conversation. But not because she didn't want to help Spencer. She did, more than anything.
She was just afraid of being arrested.
Spencer assured her that it would be fine and that Penelope was harmless, and while the latter she could believe, it still nerved her to wander up to a woman's door and announce that she lived in the apartment of her beloved dead co-worker and needed to help him fulfill his destiny as a spirit. It sounded like a cruel joke.
"If anyone would believe you, it would be Penelope," he'd said, comforting her with a pat on the shoulder.
Maybe it was true, but she didn't want to find out if it wasn't. It was one thing to have the door slammed in your face by a grief-stricken loved one, but a grief-stricken loved one who worked for the fucking FBI was ten times worse; There were a lot more horrifying outcomes that came with that combination.
Still, she trusted Spencer on a level she'd barely trusted anyone else, and he wasn't even alive for God's sake... So she strapped on her boots, threw on her most comfortable jacket, and braced the wind and whatever fate blew with it.
For Spencer.
"For Spencer," she muttered under her breath as she rapped on the door. Three times. Third time's the charm, three's a crowd, three clicks of the heel and you're home... Three seemed like a lucky number. Three was inviting, friendly, not intended to inflict emotional damage.
Please, God, don't let her hate me, Y/N prayed to whoever was listening. Don't let this go horribly wrong.
A bright voice was yelling beyond the door, and with every millisecond that it got louder and closer, her heart started to beat faster. Blood thrummed in her ears, and she kept repeating, "For Spencer, for Spencer, for Spencer," on a loop to remind her why she was going through all this anxiety.
The voice got closer, but still muffled, until the door swung open. Then it stopped altogether. Y/N blinked and stood there with a stiff back and sweaty palms, in front of Penelope Garcia. The woman was obviously expecting somebody else to be at the door, but she didn't look disappointed, just confused.
"Oh. You're not Luke. How can I help you?"
"Um... My name is Y/N. I... Before I tell you why I'm here, I need you to know that I'm not trying to play a trick on you, and I don't want to make you sad or upset, and if there's anything you need or want to know about me in order to trust me, then I'll gladly give you that information, but this is really important and I need you to know that I'm not crazy or harmful, I just want to help him."
Penelope's eyes went wide as she reached out and grabbed her hand. The thrumming in her ears got louder as she took a deep breath and waited for the yelling to start, her body to be thrown to the ground, or a sharp piercing sting of a backhand.
The only thing she felt, however, was a tug at her heart and the gentle dissipation of nerves as Penelope spoke one simple word.
"Spencer."
"How... How did you know?"
"Ever since he... Since he's been... I just knew something didn't feel right. Everyone told me that it was just grief, and for a while that's also what I told myself, but... That feeling was just too... Wait, who did you say you were again?"
Y/N stuttered her name and gripped Penelope's hand tighter, hoping to create some rapport. "I live in his apartment. He's been... Visiting me."
Something in her eyes softened and then saddened at the confirmation that her friend was somehow still among the living. "A visitor in his own home... Poor Boy Genius..."
She couldn't help but smile at the nickname. "He said you called him that often..."
Wide eyes welling with tears, Penelope nodded and tugged at her visitor's hand. "He was the smartest person I ever knew. Kindest, too. Here, come on inside, I'll make you some tea. Do you like tea? Maybe some hot chocolate?"
Her hospitality as she ushered her inside was both comforting and saddening to Y/N. It was in her nature to be that way to guests, even strangers, sure, but it also acted as a shield from the somber feelings she'd been rushed with at a moment's notice, no thanks to said stranger.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, Penelope," Y/N rushed as she shrugged her coat off. "You don't have to make me anything."
"Oh, I know I don't have to, but would you like something warm to drink?"
She was practically begging for the distraction, something to do with her hands as she had time to process and prepare for what was about to happen.
"Tea would be lovely, thank you."
"Perfect, I'll get it started. Make yourself comfortable, Sweets."
She carried her coat over her arms, holding it to her chest like a tether to reality. None of this felt real, even though she could still feel the warm glow of Spencer's energy all around her, like it had burrowed into the pores of her skin and made a home there.
As she looked around at Penelope's bright and colorful space, she thought about him... How often had he been here? What did they do together, and where did they hang out? She imagined the laughter and the stories and the cooking... She wished she would have known him then, been a part of his life. As scary as he told her it was at times, she knew there were also plenty of bright spots, and she knew Penelope was definitely one of the brightest.
Y/N smiled, hugging her coat tighter.
"I like your apartment," she complimented, sitting down at a small dining table in the corner.
"Thank you! I always told Spencer he should get some more color, but... What can I say, he really loved his neutrals."
The familiar detail brought a smile to her face. "That doesn't surprise me. He told me that even though he likes me, he really hates my floral couch and that it looked weird in his apartment. I told him he was boring." And, that technically, it was her apartment now. In fact, her exact words after the fact were, "What are you going to do, haunt me?" before they both laughed and continued making out on said couch.
But she didn't need to remind Penelope of the fact that he was gone. Or to inform her that she was intimately involved with his ghost.
Just the thought alone was enough to make the low, ever-present hum of his imprinted memory on her skin even more intense, and she smiled.
"Oh... I know that look."
Y/N looked up at Penelope, who was grinning with the most mischievous gleam in her eye.
"What look?"
"You think he's cute, don't you?"
"I... I don't..."
"Well, I suppose even if you can't see him, I'm sure he's charmed you anyway. And you probably Googled him."
"How did you—"
"It's what I would have done... So?" she prompted, still waiting for an answer of some kind.
Y/N sighed, defeated and impressed by Penelope's skills at quickly retrieving information. But she also didn't want to lie to her, so she had no choice but to answer her questions with the truth anyway. "Well, I can see him. But I couldn't at first. My um... My friends came over one night, and they brought a Ouija board. We used it for shits and giggles because I'd joked to them after I moved in that I didn't feel totally alone, and well..."
"It wasn't a joke?"
Penelope brought over the tea, steaming and aromatic. Y/N took it with a nod of thanks and sighed as she sat down across from her.
"No. But I didn't actually think I was living with a ghost, I mean... I didn't believe in that stuff. But I also wasn't going to risk pissing him off, so I tried to be nice to him. I only knew his name, and then my friends looked him up and we read his obituary, and... I don't know, I guess I just thought he seemed like a good person, so he deserved some kindness in the afterlife. I said hello to the air every time I came home from work, I yelled out a good night before going to bed... And then he started leaving me notes on my bathroom mirror, and I guess... I don't know, the more he and I got to know each other, the easier things became. Eventually he could touch things, and then soon after he was audible, then visible..."
She conveniently left out the details of that journey, though her skin warmed again at the memory.
"And now that we can communicate, it's become clear to me that he doesn't know where he's going— Why he's not at rest... I feel bad for him. He deserves..." Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard before looking down at the mug in her hand. "He deserves to move on."
Penelope was quiet for a moment as Y/N sipped her tea. Her hand reached out to grab hers, and the gesture almost had her in tears.
"You sound... Sad about that."
She couldn't help the pressure that pulsed behind her eyes, stabbing at her throat... Still, she made herself speak, barely above a whisper to prevent that inevitable cracking of the voice that would surely break the dam she was trying so hard to keep still and strong. "I... I know it sounds absolutely crazy..."
"You're falling in love with him."
Though the words didn't come from her own mouth, they came flying at her like a sucker punch to the gut. The wind was knocked out of her for a moment, until all she could do was exhale and let the tears fall silently as she nodded.
Penelope let her cry for a minute or two without a word while holding her hand, until she was ready to elaborate. "But I can't... I can't keep him here, it's not right. If he doesn't have any unfinished business, then he should be put to rest. And I... I don't know how to help him. I thought maybe, if I could talk to the people who knew him the best... I could get an idea."
"Oh, Honey, I... I'm sorry, but I don't know any more than you do." She was talking through tears herself, and Y/N squeezed her hand back. "His mother's been gone for years now, and there's no other family that he was close enough with to even consider, other than us, but... Truthfully I don't know if we really count in the grand scheme of things... I'd like to think that we do..."
"You might not be blood-related, but you were his family. He loved you so much, I could tell by the way he spoke about all of you. He... He misses you a lot. I just wish he didn't have to feel that loss anymore."
Penelope frowned. "I wish I could give you an answer... When you go back to him... Will you at least tell him that we love him?"
"He already knows. But yes. I will."
"And I'll keep on thinking. Whatever you need, you got it. I have access to pretty much everything so if there's information to be had, I will get my paws on it, and you will know. Thank you for coming to see me. And for telling me that Spencer's okay... He is okay, right?"
Y/N hesitated. She wasn't entirely sure how to answer without giving away their extra-curricular activities. "I think so. He's tired, I can tell. But I do my best to keep him happy. The last thing I need is to have him angrily haunting me."
Penelope laughed, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I think that means you better get rid of that glorious couch, then."
The laughter was a welcome break from the tears, which had already started to dry on her skin, leaving her cheeks itchy. "I really appreciate you being so kind, Penelope... Losing Spencer must have been absolutely impossible, and having a complete stranger show up at your door and pour salt in the wound... I couldn't imagine..."
"Y/N... If there was any person on this planet who could have moved into his apartment and helped him through this... I think I speak for the whole BAU when I say that he's lucky it's you."
The sentiment made her chest tight, and an involuntary pout tugged at her mouth. "You... You really mean that?"
Penelope laughed and squeezed her hand again. "Oh, Darling, you even pout like him... You're kind of perfect for each other."
"I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that," she replied through a fit of hysterics, and Penelope joined her.
It was clear then that these two women were meant to bond seamlessly over the loss of someone dear, one in life and the other in death. They were two sides of the same coin, a best friend and an anchor to the other side. It was a solace that neither of them had expected, but welcomed with open arms and warm understanding.
They exchanged stories and laughs and phone numbers and hugs, and joked about exchanging addresses, and a while later, just as Y/N was about to go home, fastening her coat, Penelope stopped her.
"Wait... I don't mean to make you sad or anything, and maybe this isn't the answer that either of you were looking for... But after today? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Spencer's unfinished business is you."
The thought froze her entirely. It would stand to reason that they were meant to find each other, only to let each other go. Because, of course. Nobody was ever that lucky, especially neither Spencer nor his new roommate.
Sensing her overthinking, Penelope continued. "I know it's unfortunate given the circumstances, but... You did say that the more you got to know him, the more... alive he became. At least as alive as he can be. And I've only known you for about an hour, but I can confidently say that you are about as perfect for Spencer as somebody could be for anybody. And..."
She shifted on her feet, unsure of whether she should actually say what she was about to tell her, but obviously needing to make her point with as much context as possible. "You know, he's tried. He watched many of us find love and have families of our own, and he's always wanted that, but... He never got to have it. I think... that was the one thing that he always truly and completely wanted, especially after his mom passed and he had no one left but us... Somebody to go home to, somebody who understood him and cared about him and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with him... A soulmate. And... Y/N, I think it might be you."
Her head was swimming and tears were blurring her vision again. As much as she wanted to believe it, ever the lover of grand romantic endings, it didn't make sense. She didn't really believe in soulmates, did she? Then again, she didn't believe in ghosts, either, until recently...
"How could you possibly know that?" she whispered to Penelope, hoping for a switch in her brain to flip. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to dash home and confidently confess to the ghost living in her apartment that they were made for each other and that she could finally set him free.
And... Then what?
There had to be another explanation.
"I wish I could tell you how, definitively," Penelope answered sadly, "and like I said, I don't want to upset you... But it's just a feeling. And my feelings are hardly ever wrong. Hey, I mean I had a feeling that Spencer was still out there somehow, and that turned out to be true, right?"
"I... I guess," she sniffled.
"Just... Do me a favor, okay? Think about it. Spend tonight with him, like you normally do, and really really think about it. And tell me you don't feel it."
It almost sounded like a playful challenge rather than a request. Y/N wiped at her eyes and sighed. "You're really sure?"
"Positive."
Y/N wasn't really sure if she believed it still, but there was a conviction in Penelope's voice that was too sincere to ignore. And Spencer trusted her, which obviously meant a lot.
So, she promised that she would think about it anyway, bade her new friend farewell, and made her way outside, where the wind had died and left the streets lifeless and quiet.
———
Something was different about Y/N when she came home.
Spencer tried to let her go about the night and refrain from saying anything, but after regretfully informing him that Penelope had no wisdom to offer her about their situation but would get back to her if anything did come to mind, she was... odd. Perhaps she was just as tired as he was in trying to solve this mystery, or just tired in general. But he didn't want to push her if she didn't want to open up, so he did what he could and offered his company.
Still, she didn't seem right.
He thought maybe a flurry of warm, tender kisses along her skin would put her in high spirits, but the longer she let him worship her skin without so much as a sigh in return, it started to sink in that something was deeply wrong.
"Are you okay?" he asked sweetly, stroking her jaw with the back of his hand as he looked her in the eye. She looked at him for only a few seconds before averting her gaze, like if she allowed him to meet her eyes for any longer, he'd pull something from her that she'd rather not share. It sent a small wave of panic through him. "Y/N, talk to me, please... What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"No," she said unconvincingly.
"You don't... have to talk about it if you don't want to... But you're upset about something, and I want to help you. I'll do whatever you need me to. I'll listen, I'll leave you alone, I'll kiss it better... Whatever you want. It's yours."
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, defeated. "God, you FBI people are too good at getting information out of people, it's annoying."
Spencer laughed. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel interrogated. I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just... I'm..."
She couldn't seem to get out the words, like there was a frustrating lack of understanding how to convey them. He drew continuous circles gently into her palm and waited patiently for her to open up, silently promising that he would be there for her when she finally found the right words.
It was a question that she finally settled on. "Have you ever been in love? Like... Really in love?"
Something inside him jolted at the thought of where this conversation might lead. If he had a heartbeat, it would have raced and thrummed so heavily that the organ might have failed. In truth, he'd been thinking about it for a week or two now. Ever since the night he realized that his interactions with her were the key to becoming more sentient, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was the thing he was tethered to.
He didn't dare say it out loud, or to her face, because... Well, it was too soon, wasn't it? And it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because once he was lain to rest, they could never be together.
It was complicated.
"I think I was, a few times," he finally answered in earnest. "And to be fair, just because things didn't work out with them, it doesn't mean I didn't really love them. I did. But... I think deep down I knew they weren't really The One... Does that make sense?"
"I think so... I don't think I've ever been in love before. Even with long-term partners, we said the words, and I felt something that was happy and I thought was love, but..." She paused, avoiding his eye again before rapidly blinking back tears. "Now I feel this... this anchor to you that I can't let go of... I want to be around you all the time and I know it's not fair because you deserve to rest, but I can't help it. Spencer, I... You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm afraid that once I really admit it out loud, you'll be gone forever."
He knew, then, that this was it. Listening intently as she confessed, absorbing every word and allowing himself to feel and admit what he knew to be true for a while now, his body began to tingle. It was so dull at first, he almost mistook the feeling for 'butterflies'. It felt cruel not to tell her that he was starting to fade, but he didn't want to ruin the moment or panic her. He didn't want to tell her that she was running out of time. That they were running out of time.
So, instead, to try and ease the blow, he told her something sweet.
He told her, "I love you."
Her eyes glossed over at the confession. She reached urgently for his hands, her grip strong and willing like she knew what was going to happen. And maybe she did. Still, she sat there and listened to him, her eyes taking in every inch of his presence and committing him to memory.
He aimed to make it a memory she would never forget.
"I don't know when we'll see each other again, but I don't doubt that we will. Not for a second. And until then, my only wish is that you keep allowing yourself to fall in love. Don't be afraid of it. You shouldn't deny yourself just because I'm gone. Can you promise me that you'll try?"
Y/N blinked away tears and tugged at his hands. "What if I can't?"
"You will, my sweet girl. And I promise, I won't be mad at you."
She laughed despite herself, then almost cried again when she felt his presence start to fizzle and break in front of her eyes. She was desperate to hold on to him, clutching his hands for dear life and breathlessly whispering, "I love you, Spencer Reid," as if the conviction alone would be enough to keep him here. As if whatever cruel deity was putting them through this would see how much she needed him and decided to spare her the misery.
"I wish I could have known you when I was alive," he told her, leaning in closer. "Maybe we could have been neighbors."
She smiled through tears and pressed her forehead to his, the contact making her skin go numb. Silently she hoped that wherever he was going, she would be sucked in with him. "Then I would have invited you over for dinner."
He squeezed her hands, already feeling his grip fading, his essence nearly numbing him. Still, he willed himself to stay long enough to paint this life for the two of them—one they would never get to have, except only in dreams and perhaps in another life entirely. Anything was possible, after all.
"And I still would have made fun of your ugly couch."
"And I would have pushed you onto it and made you take it back."
"And I would have refused."
"And I would have kissed you ."
"And I would have kissed you back."
"And I would have fallen in love with you immediately."
"And I would have sworn that I'd fall in love with you in every universe."
She closed her eyes, feeling the very last remnants of his presence as she whispered, "I think it's safe to assume that you already have."
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader - (Established relationship)
2024/03/21 // 2nd-PPOV // 3.5 K words
Your boyfriend might come across as innocent and sweet, but with you, he’s a bit more in charge than people would think. You two have just moved in together. You work from home and love when he arrives home from work. You and Spencer also happen to have some insane sexual chemistry.
New Year's Eve / New Year's Day (Two Parts)
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader - (Friends to lovers)
2024/12/31 // 1st-PPOV // 5.8 K words
My only New Year's Eve plan is to help my best friend Penelope entertain her many party guests. When I find myself alone with her coworker, Spencer (who I've had a crush on for ages), it seems that my New Year's might turn out different than I had planned.
An Invisible Locket
Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader - (Secret relationship // Unplanned pregnancy)
2024/06/03 // 2nd-PPOV // 29.1 K words
Getting to work alongside your best friend, Penelope Garcia, has been a gift. But when a secret relationship with your coworker becomes more serious, do you come clean, or stay in the shadows?
Something More and Second Chances
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader - (Second chance)
2024/10/13 // 2nd-PPOV // 12.5 K words
You’re stunned when your former friends with benefits shows up at your new job—and nearly a decade after you ghosted him. It turns out, he works in the same building, and he definitely hasn’t forgotten about you. Will your apologies be enough? What happens if he does forgive you? Does time truly heal all wounds?
Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of October AND November, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including the season of Autumn using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.
There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!
(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)
General Prompts
Characters fight over the perfect pumpkin.
Characters share a bale of hay on the hayride.
Character A helps B cope with the lack of sunlight.
The BAU takes a holiday trip to Rossi’s hunting cabin.
Character A “helps” B with baking for the Fall Festival.
Character A is shocked by how cold B’s hands get in Fall.
Character insists on getting the perfect apple. And then they fell on their ass.
The BAU’s Missed Holiday Meal is the first family meal Character's ever enjoyed.
It’s unseasonably warm, but that won’t stop Character from wearing fall sweaters.
Character A tells spooky stories around the bonfire. Now B is afraid to sleep alone.
or anything else you can think of!
Halloween Prompts (SFW)
Wait. That isn’t fake blood. Oh no.
Character has a “secret admirer” for Halloween.
Character A thinks B is in costume… they are not.
Characters argue about the accuracy of a costume.
Character A hates Halloween. B tries to change that.
Character A grabs the wrong hand in a haunted house.
Character is very brave while watching the horror movie.
Character A catches B’s wardrobe malfunction seconds before disaster.
Keep reading for more prompts + rules!
Halloween Prompts (NSFW)
Character's costume is multipurpose.
It’s okay. Screaming is normal on Halloween.
Characters have sex... with the costumes on.
Period sex is, in a way, thematically appropriate.
Character A’s costume is awakening something in B.
Character A dresses as B’s fantasy to fuck with them.
Character A’s obsession with lollipops is becoming a serious problem for B.
Dialogue Prompts
"That is NOT a horror movie."
"Wait, are you afraid of the dark?"
“You’re scarier without the mask.”
“Am I meant to be afraid or aroused?”
“No way, you’re a fan of (sports team)?!”
“Gourds are very versatile.” “You look insane.”
“If the leaves are allowed to change, so are you.”
“My costume is not cute. It’s scary and powerful.”
“Stop looking at me like that. The candlelight is for dramatic effect, not romance.”
Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.
Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”
The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.
Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.
Have fun!
The Masterlist of fics will be posted around Nov. 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!
Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️
