in which 𓂃 you began wearing tank tops again for the spring and you caught minho staring at your tits for what felt like every second of the day. whenever you glanced over, he was already looking at you—just not at your face.
you sat next to minho on your couch, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when you suddenly feel his eyes on you.
as expected, you look up at him and his eyes are locked on your chest. and before you know it, both of your phones are tossed to the side along with your top, and minhos face is in your tits.
“been wanting to do this all day,” he mumbled into your skin.
you nearly moaned when he cupped your clothed breasts. and began to kiss up your neck.
minho pulled off your bra to reveal your already hard nipples and smirked. he took one of them into his mouth and sucked hard. his free hand played with your other breast.
your fingers curled and tugged into his hair, trying to pull him closer.
“fuck,” you breathed.
minho’s mouth was replaced with his hand as he switched to suck on your other nipple. his tongue swirled in lazy wet circles and he looked up at your fucked out face.
your cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and your eyes were shut. faint whimpers slipped past your lips.
“you look so good like this, baby.”
his mouth left your breasts to kiss you, and his hands found your waist.
Dilf!Nanami was more than just grateful for your help. You moving into the apartment just 3 doors down was like a blessing in disguise—a blessing dressed in frills and skirts at all times—something he found himself oddly drawn to.
At first Nanami shamelessly ‘stalked’ you—well not actually stalked you, he did it to everyone honestly. Anyone who moved in—were they capable of babysitting his daughter? Call him cheap, lazy even, but Nanami did not trust nor did he care for paying an insane amount of money for a daycare, when he could get the same services, if not better for half the price—he just had to find someone willing, and trustworthy. You just so happened to be his next victim, ‘scout’ he liked to put it.
He watched you for a few days, you had classes early in the morning, and came back mid afternoon—just 30 minutes before he had to head off to work and 10 before he picked up his young daughter from school. He even noticed how you rarely went out at night, seemingly content with spending your time in the sanctuary of your apartment. Not only was your schedule convenient, in general you looked like a pleasant person, one who could potentially be good with kids. To his surprise his little daughter took interest in you as well, especially your sumptuous way of dressing, intricate lace details as sleeves under your baby tees that had quite tacky but inspiring quotes on the back, which his daughter picked up on quickly.
You were in the lobby just from your classes, opening the small locker that housed your mail. You didn’t notice him at first, that tall blonde man approaching you, he wore those round glasses that framed his face perfectly. He introduced himself—“Your neighbor three doors down.” He flashed you such a charming smile—how did you fail to notice your particularly handsome and older neighbor?
The following week you found yourself babysitting his daughter, she had an uncanny similarity to her father. The same blonde hair—reserved personality and her miniature version of his glasses. She was very easy to manage—ate basically anything, played the games you brought her and obliged when it came bed time. No wonder she was such a good child, her father seemed to be the walking word ‘discipline’.
Nanami, no—Kento actually, as he recently made you call him by his first name—paid you handsomely, but a few months in, you started refusing the payments. It’s not like you needed the money, and besides a single father like himself needed to save up as much money possible, so yes you could survive without the extra $20 an hour even though Nanami insisted. You liked babysitting and you liked being around him even more. You found yourself staying a little longer than usual, eventually an hour even after he had come home.
Nanami would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy your company, you were soft spoken and everything that came out of your mouth had weight to it, it was clear you valued conversation. He loved the way your lips would jut out in a pout when you complained about your classes, or how your dimples got deeper every-time you laughed about something his daughter did. Your simple existence was like a breath of fresh air for him—you were exhilarating.
Although, it wasn’t just your demeanor he found exhilarating.
He shamefully found himself growing more and more interested in your—physical appearance. He hated to admit it, you were much younger, he was 14 years your senior. Oh how dirty it was for him to let his eyes run up and down your legs. How he struggled to even meet your eyes with the way your plush thighs doubled in size when you sat down. His Adam’s Apple would bob up and down as he swallowed growing lumps in his throat. Slowly your company became almost unbearable to him and you noticed, and oh did you bask in it.
You’d let your legs brush his under the table lightly as he loosened his work tie, doing that same swallow he’s been doing for dayssss now. You’d flutter your lashes and trace your own arm with your manicured fingers, all while holding his gaze. Nanami was a man of temperance, more than that he respected you—even though the both of you knew you’d end up tangled in his sheets one day, soon enough—with his cock so deep inside your vicious walls all while he praised you for being such a breathtaking blessing.
𝓪/n. . .this is my first fic on here so please please forgive me if it’s a little off huhuhuhuhu but anyways enjoy Dilf!Nanami I feel like he’d be a huge girl dad.
Wait wait wait, because what if Dennis being the broke med student he is, goes on a dating app for sugar babies and connects with an older doctor who pays for his rent and fancy shit in return for sex and companionship. Dennis deliberately keeps quiet about being a med student because he doesn't want to get too involved. And it's really going great for him until his first shift in the ED and there stands Robby, the hot sugar daddy that's been fucking him senseless for the past 3 months. Ugh makes all their touchiness so hot and sexually charged.🎀
Summary: your built-in hand warmers (boobs) are stolen from your immature boyfriend
Warnings: kinda perv and gross Eddie? (like 20%), long ass drabble (I should categorize it as something else but I'm lazy as shit), implied that the reader is chubby and has some chest, no use of y/n, not revised, 18+ like barely but mdni
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"What are you doing?"
You stalled mid-fidget, eyes sliding sideways before your head followed, slow and dubious, like you were bracing for a profoundly stupid follow-up question. Which, judging by Eddie Munson's expression, was absolutely the case. You stared at him like he'd just asked why gravity worked while your hands were very obviously buried beneath your shirt.
"My hands are cold." You said it with the sort of laconic tone that should have ended the conversation entirely. You adjusted your fingers against your breasts, searching out some elusive pocket of heat, and turned your attention back to the TV just as Eddie collapsed beside you, the couch giving a soft, indignant wheeze under his weight.
He set his drink down, then yours, nudging aside precarious remains of junk on the coffee table.
"Well," he started, voice already tilting toward grievance, "my hands are cold."
Your brows drew together in slow, incredulous suspicion. You turned your head, inch by inch, until you caught him staring at your shirt, specifically where your hands cupped your boobs, with an intensity usually reserved for last slices of pizza. There was something almost aggrieved in it, like this had personally slighted him.
"Then put your hands in your own shirt. On your own chest." You scoffed, pivoting back to the TV and edging a fraction of an inch away, a tactical retreat. You didn't trust that look. Not even a little.
Eddie mirrored your scoff with more offense. "My shirt's too tight."
"That's not a real problem."
"It is when I'm suffering."
Your head snapped back toward him, unimpressed to the point of austerity. He met you with his stupidly soft brown puppy-dog eyes and a look that was absurdly earnest, like this was a legitimate, pressing dilemma.
"Please?" he added, tilting his head, voice dipping as his bottom broad pink lip protruded out. "I got you that drink." He jerked his head to the two glass bottles, chaotic russet locks swaying with the movement.
"You offered said drink."
"But you said yes," he shot back immediately.
You rolled your eyes with such vigor it felt like a full cranial rotation was imminent. "Oh my fucking God. Fine." The words came out flat, resigned, as you turned to face him fully, legs folding criss-crossed in front of him.
Eddie lit up like he'd just won something delightful. Which, in his world, he absolutely did. He shifted to mirror you, a grin spreading across his face. You pulled your hands from beneath your shirt, the absence of warmth leaving your fingers faintly tingly before you let them fall to your sides.
He held your gaze for a beat too long, milking it, making sure you saw the shit-eating grin that was ridiculously impossible to miss. Then his eyes dipped, and his hands followed, sliding to your waist before slipping beneath your shirt, tattooed forearms disappearing behind the loose fabric.
His hands were in fact cold.
Your body tensed on instinct, a shiver threading through your stomach as his fingers met your skin. The rings didn't help either, little bands of metal that made the contact feel like tiny sharp icicles stabbing your soft skin. He let out a soft breath that flirted with a laugh, his hands moving upward.
And when his calloused fingers finally settled fully around your breasts, he made a sound. Something perilously close to a moan.
"Ooh-ho, that is so much better," he said, grinning up at you with unabashed satisfaction. Your face settled into a look of pure exasperation, one brow lifting in a silent, unimpressed query.
He glanced down again and gave an experimental squeeze, smile widening with boyish, almost feral delight as he felt your nipples harden under his palm. Christmas morning had nothing on this.
"Now my hands are cold," you muttered, curling your fingers into fists in a futile attempt to conserve what little warmth remained in your palm.
Eddie hummed, entirely unsympathetic, clearly unwilling to relinquish what he had already claimed as his. His gaze flicked downward, contemplative, and then his whole face shifted, brightening with sudden inspiration.
"Oh!"
Before you could question it, he scooted closer, hips angling forward until your legs were nearly tangled together.
"Here." He nudged his hips up toward you.
You closed your eyes briefly, as if that might undo what you were witnessing. "I-" You stopped, recalibrating, searching for language that could adequately capture the absurdity. When you opened your eyes again, your tone was firm. "I am not stuffing my hands in your pants, perv."
"Fine. Then you're gonna be miserable with cold hands, sweetheart," he replied easily, entirely unbothered. "Because I am not giving these up." His hands tightened again, fingers moving to gently flick your nipples, just to emphasize his point. It garnered a jolt from you.
You stared at him flatly but his expression remained infuriatingly placid, like he had all the time in the world and zero intention of losing.
God. Damn it.
Muttering a string of half-formed curses, you leaned forward and slid your hands into the waistband of his pajama pants, your cold fingers brushing over his skin, skimming the faint line of his happy trail.
"Woah, eager much?" He shuddered immediately, his breath hitching just enough to betray him as your hands slipped further, past his bush and boxers, into the warmer, softer heat where his cock laid. "Better?" he asked, voice just a touch strained now, the casual veneer cracking as you adjusted your hands, seeking out the warmest spot you could find. His fingers twitched slightly.
You rolled your eyes, settling your hands along his inner thighs where you were forced to cup a good handful of his fuzzy balls, your fingers pressing in the fold of his thighs just enough to fully sink into the warmth. His cock rested heavily against your forearm, the heated head nudging into your skin.
It was ridiculous. Entirely, unequivocally ridiculous. And yet it started to seem funny.
"Yeah," you admitted after a moment, a reluctant laugh slipping through despite yourself. You kept your gaze down to his stuffed crotch, stubbornly avoiding his eyes. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
Eddie smiled and gave a little shrug, like this was all perfectly ordinary and not at all the kind of situation that made a person question every decision they had ever made. "I would have offered my armpits," he said, all casual, "but that felt a little boring."
What he did not say, was that his armpits were a potentially radioactive zone. For all he knew, you would touch them, then spend the rest of the night silently enduring the devastation of Eddie Munson's questionable hygiene. He had enough problems without adding "girlfriend recoils from scent lingering on fingertips" to the list. And yet, his lower half was not exactly a diplomatic embassy of freshness either, which was a separate problem entirely. He could only hope this was one of those rare situations where your ignorance would shine.
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Y'know what? This is better," you said, almost in disbelief at your own acceptance of the situation.
You glanced up at him, a crooked smile forming, but it barely had time to exist before your attention snapped downward again at the unmistakable shift beneath your forearm. A small brush and then a full shift with the small drag of something wet.
You pressed your lips into a thin, disapproving line before lifting your gaze back to him. He was smiling. Of course he was. A little smug, even.
"Are you serious?" you asked, frowning, feeling the new stiffness and stickiness against your arm.
He gave a small, careless shrug. "If you seriously expected me not to get hard, then I'm sorry to say, sweetheart, but that's on you." You rolled your eyes again, any fleeting amusement dissolving into irritation as you shifted slightly, only to feel the situation escalate in a way that was deeply unhelpful to your dignity.
Eddie gave another absent squeeze to your boobs, but you ignored it, turning your head back toward the TV.
Silence settled over the room. Suspiciously calm for five seconds. Then--
"...You're not gonna rub it out?" he asked, like he was checking on a forgotten chore.
You yanked your hands back instantly. "Okay, I want my boobs back."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait--!"
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ughhhhh I'll stop being a chud actually update soon trust, I just got bored and wrote this instead
ExWife!Ambessa who still sends you flowers on every occasion no matter where she is. If shes in town she may even bring them straight to your door in an attempt to smooth talk her way into your bed.
ExWife!Ambessa who keeps tabs on you without you even knowing. Seeing if you loose too much weight, making sure you aren’t gaining too much so that you are unhealthy though. You still being at the text book definition of “obese” but she preferred the term “well-loved”.
ExWife!Ambessa who leaves dresses, gifts, and groceries at your doorstep but sometimes gets nervous you’ll open it when she is dropping them off. Sure you’ve told her it’s over multiple times but she still loves you.
ExWife!Ambessa Who freezes when you open the door and see her. After all she still was just a girl hopelessly in love. Not that any of her soldiers needed to know that.
ExWife!Ambessa who you let in despite knowing that the night would end in possible heart break and goodbyes.
ExWife!Ambessa Who brings a 5 course meal for you both, premium wine, and offers you a massage. Before you could say no and send her away she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Different from the commanding roughs ones she had given before the divorce.
ExWife!Ambessa who guides you to bed and soothes your mind about any recent weight gain, shaving, or any body maintenance you may not have done recently. She knew anyways.
ExWife!Ambessa Who you let one thing lead to another with her and you ended up locked over her face. Undressed in bed, your pussy juices dripping down her chin, thighs shaking uncontrollably, the air in the room hot and heavy, and almost as heavy as her arms around your thighs and waist. Anchoring you to her face so you cant run, though you try to push at her head as the overstimulation gets to you.
ExWife!Ambessa who you let stay all night because you dont want her to have to walk home in the dark.
ExWife!Ambessa who you get back with after 5 months because you really miss her
Spencer had disappeared. no one had mentioned anything about him retiring or taking a break. he had just...vanished.
but no, he hadn't, because Spencer hadn't departed of his own free will, to which you would later force out of your uncle, he'd been arrested. Rossy kept you distant from Spencer while he was in prison. there were moments you'd wondered about his well-being. he wasn't just your uncle's co-worker; he was one of your good freinds.
a week ago he was reinstated; he's been required to take a sabbatical and is now teaching your class–a circumstance that should be fine all things considering... but rather than focusing on the coursework, you find yourself distracted by his growing presence.
it could just be your imagination, but it feels like his gaze lingers on you longer than it should...
who? spencer reid x collegexrossy!reader
when? s10
genre: smut
content warning: 9+age gap, teacherxstudent dynamic, slow/fast paced (don't hate me mwah), sue me for the grammar mistakes at the end you're going to love ts anyway, reid with pleasure!!!
word count: 9.6k
a/n: this literally took me months because of how my mental health was, i was hospitalized for a week back in June, please forgive me for the lateness, i want to be able to get back on schedule and post every week–i love each and every one of you, now read this you horny beauty queen… enjoy!
Lana Del Rey once said, “I’m free.” She’s used the word free in a multitude of her songs, and as you were listening to Brooklyn Baby, trying to take your mind off your uncle's phone call going on just outside his office, you almost felt as free as the song was supposed to make you.
However, there was an unsettled tension that prevented you from reaching that point.
He’s talking to him, you thought, gripping the pen in your hand and taking a deep breath.
You huffed a sigh and turned away from the door; you hadn’t seen the man in over three years–where oh where could he have run off to?
You blinked away the tears that began welling up in your eyes. You had been texting back and forth for a few months in your freshman year of Uni because he’d been helping you with a class project during the Spring semester.
You found texting him had eased your mind; he thwarted the calamity of each week, and–years later, you were able to admit to yourself it was by far the thing you most looked forward to throughout the week.
“He-hey!” He laughed on the other side of the phone.
“Spence!” You breathed, locking your car, “I’m heading inside right now. Where are you sitting?”
The weather was cool, the clouds darkened–it looked like it might rain. “In the corner, I already ordered for us, don’t worry, it’s on me.”
“Really? You took a breath of fresh air, a grin slashed across your face, “Thank you, you didn’t have to.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he shrugged off. You rounded the side of the coffee shop, waiting for a few people to walk out, “You’re important to me–I don’t mind at all.”
Your hand froze mid-air, your heart faltered, and you felt love-struck. You had to smack your cheeks a bit before you walked in. “Thank you,” you repeated.
A sigh and then, “You’re welcome.” You stepped inside and spotted him instantly, from his goofy socks to his band-boy haircut. You hung up and waved. Spencer waved back, his brown eyes shining with life.
That was years ago, almost 4 going on 5. No goodbye, no apology, no explanation–and when you came looking for him around your uncle's office, he was nowhere to be found.
Your uncle was secretive, and you had an inclination that he’d told the others on his team not to say anything to you. For a while, you had thought that maybe Spencer was the one to tell everyone not to tell you, but after a few months of checking up on you, JJ felt horrible and caved.
That was the second time your world came crashing down.
“Prison? What?”
“Shh, look –––, it’s just–ot’s complicated.” She ran a hand over her face, tears forming in her eyes.
You understood her, you wanted to sit and sob away the truth, but right now, you were more frustrated. You turned around and began pacing the length of your bedroom. Rossi was in at a 4-hour conference meeting downtown, so you were alone.
“JJ–” you stomped over to her, face serious, “what exactly was he charged with?”
“I–” JJ’s face crumbled, and she turned away, “Drug possession with intent to distribute,” she took a shuddering breath, “and Murder in the first degree–
“What?!” You stumbled back against your bed and slid to the floor, looking not at, but past JJ.
“–––…” JJ alked toward you nd crouched down, “–––, talk to me–
“What prison?”
“What?”
“I want to see him,” your eyes sparkled wth something that petrified JJ in the moment.
She shook her head, “–––, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“JJ,” you narrowed your eyes.”
“NO–” she sighed and took a step back, “I told you because I care about you and your mental health. I thought you should know he didn’t abandon you on purpose. It wasn’t his choice to go away, but don’t make me regret going against Rossi.”
You swallowed and looked up, facing her, “Thank you.”
She nodded once and turned, “I’ll get going now. Please keep this to yourself.”
“I will.”
JJ paused once and glanced back, “… I’m sorry –––, if I could change the past I would, but I can’t.”
Silence, and JJ took that as her cue to leave, but halted when you asked, “Do you think he did it?”
She took a second to process the question. “No.”
It left you wondering if you yourself thought Spencer ever capable of taking the life of another. You couldn’t answer that question back then, too ashamed to pick such a simple answer as “Yes” or “No”. It was complicated for you; Spencer was a complex person. Now, though, you knew exactly what you would say.
You blew some hair out of your face and spun a pen through your fingers, your leg pounded the floor, you were doing everything in your power to ignore the elephant in the room as your uncle walked back in, “Sorry, uh… business,” he forced a chuckle and sat back down, “you know…”
The urge to call him out on his bullshit was heavy, but a single thought kept you from doing so. This was the thought that kept you up every night, the thought that kept you from studying for your finals last semester. “–––?” You startled, your eyes snapping toward your uncle’s.
“Yes?” Rossi pressed his thin lips together and shook his head, “nothing,” he checked his watch, “that’s time, kiddo, I’m afraid you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now.”
You neglected to acknowledge the term “kiddo” and stood, “I hope he’s not a pain in my ass.” You tried to give a smile, but it came out awkward, and there was no doubt he could tell.
“I’m sure he will.”
He sent you on your way; you passed Morgan’s old office and slowed, taking a moment to analyze Spencer’s desk. Nothing had been touched since he’d left. You took a breath and once again compelled the tears away.
Though it was August, Quantico, Virginia, already seemed immersed in the spooky season. The drive to your university was quiet, you pulled your headphones over your head and pulled up your sweater’s hood. One side of your shoulder was left exposed to the chilly 7 pm weather.
You locked your car and headed onto campus, passing a few students still roaming around. Spencer was out. He’d been out for a few months, but your inbox sat empty. You’d thought about texting him first, maybe even calling him, but if he’d wanted to talk to you, surely he would have started up a conversation, right? Besides, there was the possibility that he didn’t even have the same number now.
You shook your head and gripped your backpack straps tighter. He was all you’d thought about for the past 4 years, but he was safe now–proven innocent of all charges. He must be starting back to work again; he might even take some time off before going back into the field. If he had some downtime, perhaps you could get some alone time to talk to him.
Eventually, you came across your building and found the lecture hall after a 2-minute search. You took a seat 3 rows from the front, near the wall. It was comfy, and no one would have to walk past you to get to another seat. You settled your things, scrolling through your playlist to change the song and occasionally taking a sip of your coffee while waiting for the rest of your classmates to pile in. The professor still hadn’t shown up, which you thought was a bit odd, but decided to brush it off as first-class tardiness.
The dim lighting in the hall was typical for this kind of class. Many professors were old, and the bright lights hurt their eyes; it also provided a cozier vibe, allowing more students to be less paranoid about participating in discussions. You zipped open your backpack and pulled out your laptop.
You pulled out a notebook and a pen and scribbled the date at the top right corner, not hearing the heavy footsteps that just then echoed throughout the classroom. You glanced up, then right back at your laptop. Your stomach flipped, and your heart did somersaults.
Slowly, you lifted your head once more, eyes skating over the features you’d analyzed more often than you’d care to admit. Spit bobbed in your throat. He looked scruffy, he’d grown a beard… his eyes–his expression–it all felt…off.
Everything about Spencer contradicted who he’d been before. He’d always been lean, but now his muscles were unmistakable. His hair was long, but not straight; he looked like he had watched hell freeze over. He looked like everything your uncle had warned you to stay away from. You could hear the chatter about his looks spread from parts of the classroom. It had your cheeks burning–from what? You couldn’t put a name to it yet.
Question piled in your head, why was he here? Why was he at the podium? Why was he taking off his satchel and clearing his throat? Shit–you glanced away, trying to sink into your seat, but his eyes remained on your figure.
Your eyes drifted back over to him, noting his growing presence as he made his way toward you. Was he coming to say hi? Wouldn’t that be weird? Maybe he was an assistant to the professor? You jolted at his touch. He was mouthing something.
You pressed your lips together to keep your mouth from wobbling and slid your headphones off, “much better,” he murmured.
You raised an eyebrow, but he made no further comment; rather, he leaned downward and whispered, “for future reference, please turn off your devices when class is in session.” his voice shook you into a stupor; his voice never used to shake–and it most definitely never used to make you react this way. You pressed your thighs together and unconsciously bit your lip.
He watched you for a second, one corner of his lip was quirked upward, then he spun around and walked back to the front. Your heart hammered and your stomach swirled in violent waves of nervousness. But the most noticeable area was between your legs.
What the fuck was that? Spencer was Spencer. Or at least he had been.
Never turned you on before, okay, once, just once, and you’d only ever fantasized about him a few times, it was never this bad, and it most certainly hadn’t been this quick.
Your want for him was unquestionable–you didn’t have time to process that, though. There he was, right in front of you, only a few feet away. You took a few breathers and hid behind your laptop for the first few minutes, blinking away tears. He was here. He was safe. He was alive. He was in one piece.
You powered your headphones off and slung them around your neck–attempting to be as quiet as possible, but it somehow still garnered his attention. You hadn’t seen him in over 3 years; there was bound to be some tension, you just couldn’t pinpoint if it was good tension or bad.
You chewed your lip as he began speaking. Throughout the lecture, he’d glance over at you, though he did so with every other student to make sure they were paying attention. You tried not to read into it, though you most definitely wanted to.
Your feelings were sporadic; you could barely hold onto one before another hit you in the gut.
Oh gosh–what did you even call him now? Professor Reid? Dr. Reid? Both seemed way too formal, but then again, that was what he was.
He was your friend nearly three years ago, and now he is your professor– your very hot professor. Your cheeks burned at the unethical thought. You couldn’t be thinking things like that.
You took a deep breath and leaned over to grab your coffee.
There would be a ten-minute break in a few minutes, as listed on the syllabus. This was a two-and-a-half-hour class, you’d thought it mandatory, so you hadn’t been too surprised to find it written down.
A timer went off in the middle of one of his sentences. He sighed and let out a small chuckle, “Well, that’s my cue.” You couldn’t help but smile at that comment; it was as if a little of his old self forced its way through for a singular moment just to make that remark.
You stood and headed for the doors, needing a bathroom break and to be away from him.
Spencer tried his best to ignore the way you sped out of the classroom. A few students wanted to talk to him about the enrollment; some were still on the waiting list, some wanted to switch groups, and others had questions about missing some days and how they would get the lecture for those times. He answered them all diligently, though a part of his mind remained on his old friend, who had grown a lot over the years.
He didn’t want to use the term “grown up” because she’d been 18 when he’d first met her, but that was almost fitting. She carried herself a lot like she did when she was younger, but there were obvious changes that he just couldn’t ignore.
Not only did she look older, she felt older, her eyes, the way she followed his mouth, and typed down every significant thing he said. He’d noticed her the second he’d stepped through the doors, but she had her headphones on and was too busy scrolling on her phone to acknowledge him.
He felt a bit weird thinking about how pretty she looked now, though he’d had a few not-so-respectful thoughts about her years ago; he’d never once acted on them, not only because she was much younger, but because she was Rossi’s niece and he’d no doubt murder Spencer for just thinking about her in that way.
Spencer was above those childish mindsets; he was a grown man, and though he used to get turned on by the mere thought of a woman touching him in any suggestive kind of way, he’d never–not once–had been turned on by the mere glance of a woman…not even JJ had had that much power over him.
He swallowed when she walked back in, taking her seat once more as he resumed class. He broke them up into groups and tried to provide some icebreakers. He watched her carefully, not wanting to scare her off or make her uncomfortable.
He wondered what it was like for her–to see him for the first time in years, like this. He wanted to reach out to her again, but he wasn’t planning on doing that for another few weeks. It wasn’t that he was waiting for the right moment, though he was sure his former self would have used that excuse–he was afraid.
In prison, he often thought about how she’s done on the project; he never did help her finish it, but he’d hoped he’d at least gotten her mind running with a different path she could take on it. He’d hoped she’d done well. Well, she was sitting in one of his classes, so he could only assume the best.
Spencer ended the class early; truth be told, he was tired and wanted to head home. He waited for everyone to pack up and leave so he could lock the doors behind him. She was the last to stand. He sipped his coffee and watched her contemplate for a few seconds, smiling into his cup when he saw her turn around and slowly make her way over to him.
He sat on his desk and waited for her to speak, biting back an excited grin. “How have you been?” She started, rocking back and forth on her tiptoes.
Spencer let out a gruff sigh and looked up, rolling his neck, “I’ve been better…”
“Yeah, I…heard.”
Spencer took a breath, “I know, JJ told me.” He shook his head, “I told her I wasn’t mad at her, and,” he pressed his lips together, “she made me promise not to tell Rossi.”
You sighed, feeling the tension as thick as a brick, “She only really breezed over everything.” You stepped forward, looking up at him and tilting your head, “Maybe I can get the full version from you? ”
Spencer frowned and looked away, “Maybe…” The mood soured, and you grew uncomfortable.
You scanned the empty auditorium. “Does this mean I have to call you Professor now?” You changed the subject, attempting to bring the mood up.
Thankfully, Spencer chuckled and murmured, “Do you want to call me professor?”
You rolled your eyes, “Careful, Spencer, I might start to think you mean something else by that.”
Maybe I do, he nearly said, but he didn’t because he knew he shouldn’t because even though their situation was irregular, he shouldn’t even think about crossing that line. “Oh?” He raised a brow, “What else would I mean?” His voice was playful, but there was an underlying message behind it, and he could tell she’d picked up on it.
Your cheeks flushed. You chose to ignore his words because what the hell were you even thinking, saying something like that to his face?! Were you crazy?
Spencer cleared his throat and glanced back at his desk, trying to shift his thoughts in another direction. He was making her uncomfortable, the exact opposite of what he’d wanted to do. “You should get going, “it’s pretty late.”
“You’re right, my uncle’s no doubt wondering why I’m still here.”
“He has your location?” Spencer’s eyebrows squished together.
“Call him…extra paranoid.” You pressed your lips together and sighed.
“He should be,” Spencer nodded, “there are several creeps out here.”
“Don’t go being overprotective too, Spence,” you huffed, your spirits lifting slightly.
“I should walk you to your car.” He slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Are you sure that’d be appropriate?” You motioned between the two of you, “with our current circumstances?”
Spencer paused for a second, leaving you nearly disappointed, thinking he might agree. “I think I’m more afraid of what Rossi would do to me if something happened to you on my watch.”
You spun around to hide a smile, “I guess that’s that then.”
It was late, Spencer walked slightly behind you, perhaps it was the way he hovered and kept quiet, that felt awkward, or maybe it was the buzz in the slight wind that passed through the parking lot. Very few students stayed this late, unless they lived on campus or were camping out in the library.
You wondered where Spencer lived now, close to campus? Your eyes shut instantly as you took a whiff of something being grilled or fried. “You okay?” Spencer chuckled, and his hand came to cup your back.
You froze and the contact, trying your best not to move. You had to pry your feet off the blacktop to keep moving. He didn’t say anything, but you thought Spencer took note of your reaction and tried to put some distance between the two of you. You didn’t want him to, but maybe that was for the best.
You scolded yourself for your reaction and kept repeating the fact that you shouldn’t be acting this way toward him.
You ignored the growing ache in your lower stomach and forced your mouth to move, “Sorry, something smells really good.”
He snorted and brought a curved hand up to hide his cheeky grin, “Yeah, I could go for whatever that was.”
“It smelled amazing, right?” You spotted your car, but thought this topic was good and not at all inappropriate, so you neglected to call attention to the vehicle right away.
“I wonder where it’s coming from,” he commented, his voice crackling as his head swiveled around like he’d be able to spot it.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, but this is me!” You smacked the white car's hood.
You took note of Spencer’s grin turning down a bit, but didn’t want to concern yourself with it because it could mean just about anything.
“See you next Monday?”
“Ye–” he cleared his throat as a group of girls chatting quietly passed, “Yeah, see you Monday. Don’t forget to study the syllabus and do the reading, okay?”
You rolled your eyes, sighed, then saluted him playfully, “Yes, Professor!”
Spencer smirked, then waved you off as you scootched into the driver's seat of your Honda. He watches you pull off, still waving at him. He texted Rossi about the whole situation, then spun around and headed to the staff’s side of the lot.
30 minutes later, he was running a hand through his grown-out mane as he swivvled the steering wheel with his left hand and pulled into the 24-hour Starbucks just off the edge of the highway, 7 minutes away from his house.
The night hadn’t gotten much darker since he’d watched her pull out and drive off campus. He wondered if she still lived with Rossi; maybe she had gotten her own place, perhaps she had moved out with a roommate? Rossi hadn’t mentioned anything, but Spencer hadn’t brought her up either.
He sighed and stood in line, waiting to be helped. He had some things from his other classes that he wanted to go over, but he wanted to change into something comfortable first; otherwise, he would have set up on the table in the corner.
Spencer didn’t really look at the barista as he gave his order; he was in his head more than he had been since he’d gotten out of prison. Truth be told, he didn’t feel like he was the same person from before. If she wasn’t, there was no way he was. And though at first glance she seemed like she was only a few years older, after taking a closer look, that was nowhere near the case.
Her voice seemed deeper, more alluring than before. She also seemed sadder somehow. He avoided looking anyone in the eye, feeling uncomfortable with the subject. He shifted his weight in the hard chair and ran a hand over his face.
He cleared his throat and stood when he heard his name at the pick-up counter.
Spencer grabbed the cup of coffee and headed outside, his eyes shut briefly as the wind hit him. His nose picked up the scent of cold apples and summer.
The image of her appeared in his mind, a ghost-like hologram in front of him. Her vision was stark in contrast against the purples and oranges of the sky.
He wondered what she had done this summer… Did she have a boyfriend now? A brief frown crossed his face as he slid into the driver's seat of his black Volvo.
A memory surfaced as he sat there–the sharp intake of her breath when he’d leaned over her seat, waiting for her to take off her headphones, his hand brushing her shoulder.
“Much better,” he’d murmured, and she’d blinked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted as if she meant to say something but didn’t.
He had forced himself to look away then, pretending to study the notes on her screen. Even now, the memory left his chest feeling tight.
The sly smirk he’d had to bite back due to professionalism had him smiling now, but just as quickly, his lips pressed together again. There was also the part of him that didn’t know how to interact with this new woman.
She had been typing on her laptop; the clicking of the keys seemed to call out to him, and he’d glance over unwillingly throughout the hours in class.
Spencer pulled into his driveway, waiting for his garage to open. He turned over thoughts of her in his mind, feeling anxious and excited for the inevitable moment he would see her again.
The car rolled smoothly into the open garage, and Spencer parked. He recognized the nearly empty garage; he’d been meaning to do something with it, but he hadn’t come up with any good ideas yet.
Before he got out, Spencer glanced over at the passenger seat and sighed. There was his brown satchel, where stacks of paper lay inside, held together by paperclips. Then there was his laptop, where he’d have to input the grades after going over those papers. But then, maybe it was a good thing he had all this work, because then he could worry his mind with something else.
Spencer grabbed his satchel and pushed out of the Volvo. He locked it and headed inside when his coffee was safe in his left hand.
The grass would be a bit damp from morning dew tomorrow, but Spencer looked forward to it. He felt like tomorrow morning would bring him nostalgia, but he couldn’t explain why. Spencer sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He could already hear crickets chirping.
You arrived home just a bit later than usual.. Your shoes fell off your feet, and the door seemed to lock on its own. You dragged yourself to your room, physically exhausted, but mentally alert.
You bit your lip and set your backpack on your desk chair. There was more of him than you remembered.
Spencer stepped forward, pinning you against the wall. One of his hands closed around your throat, forcing you to look at him.
You blew air out of your mouth, feeling your left eye twitch at the flash scene. The thought of his callused fingers running across your mouth sent exciting shivers up your spine.
You shouldn’t be thinking about him this way. He was your professor. He was your uncle’s co-worker–and your uncle would go bat shit crazy if he knew you were thinking about his boy genius that way. He’d probably murder you, then murder Spencer.
You needed to get your shit together.
You stretched as you walked down the hall of your two-bedroom apartment. The hall lights remained off for your eyes' benefit. You headed for the shower, wondering if you should take a bath. Your eyes drooped, so you opted not to, pushing the nozzle inward for a shower instead.
You’d compared your apartment now to your uncle's 4-bedroom townhouse when you’d first moved in. Now you were doing it again. You’d gone through the stages of grief when you’d first learned what had happened to Spencer. The worst part was knowing he was suffering and still not being able to do anything about it.
Around the time you’d moved in with your uncle was around the same time you’d met Spencer.
An image of his old self appeared beside the person you now knew.
Your legs rubbed together, pondering whether or not it would be moral to commit the sinful deed in your head. There was a philosopher's question Spencer had talked about a couple of times. A sly grin spread across your face as you imagined how he would react to you thinking about it in this context.
Your shower was quick–brushing your teeth was too. When you were dressed, you threw on a playlist, turned off the lights, and got comfortable. You started slow, circling yourself through your shorts. Gradually, you dipped your hand into your shorts and began pressing down on your clit.
You imagined his face between your thighs as you reached for the lube in the top drawer of your bedside table. Accompanying the lube were three sex toys, you were feeling extra horny tonight, so your grabbed your biggest dildo and set it on the pillow beside you, recalling the way his voice came from his throat, the way his adams apple bobbed when you stared up at him through wide eyes, but most importantly: the way his eyes squinted and his eyebrows lifted whenever he tilted his head in a knowing, almost egotistical kind of way. God–him being a know-it-all was such a turn on.
Spencer’s phone pinged when he reached his living room. The kitchen stove light illuminated a small path from the living room to the dining space. He ignored that and headed down into the dark alley, where his home office and bedroom lie. There was a guest room, but he never really used it.
He flipped the light on and set his satchel and coffee on the desk in his office–a call from JJ came minutes later after he’d settled into his chair.
“Yeah, it went well,” he replied, feeling guilty for rolling his eyes, but it’d been the same questions and encouraging statements since he’d gotten out and was placed in the position he was currently in.
“I’m glad,” she said from the other end. Spencer could hear Will settle next to her on what was no doubt their couch. He wondered if he’d just come from one of the boys’ rooms. Had they just been put to sleep? Spencer shook his head and did his best to recall what JJ had just murmured.
He couldn’t, so he forced a chuckle and a yawn, “yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” though he had no idea what he was agreeing with, he continued, “anyway, it’s getting pretty late, I have a long day tomorrow and a long night ahead, so…I’ll call you tomorrow?”
JJ sighed, but Spencer knew she must be smiling faintly, “Alright, try not to stay up too late, kay Spence?”
Spencer bit his cheek and sucked in a breath, blinking away the odd and instant tears that began to build up. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
He set his phone face down on the desk and placed both his palms in front of him, trying to gauge what had brought on his intense emotions. Maybe he should take a shower?
Yeah, that sounded nice.
Spencer pushed out his chair, the wood tiles beneath his feet creaked as he walked across the room, and shut the door quietly. He began unbuttoning his collared shirt and loosening his tie. Earlier in class, when he’d seen her, his breath had caught in his throat.
He hadn’t seen her in years, but the recognition was instantaneous.
She’d grown up a lot more; she was a bit taller than he’d remembered, and a lot quieter too. He tried not to think about the way he’d left things; he hoped she didn’t hold any grudge against him for leaving her and her project.
Though she was taking his class as an undergraduate, Spencer knew his course would be strict, and people who did not pay attention would most definitely fail–she did not make it on his list of students he statistically drew up that would be in that percentage.
Spencer’s coursework wasn’t hard for a normal graduate, but it was a lot.
He didn’t want to pile things onto his students, but you had to really care if you wanted to pass with a C or better, not to mention she must have other classes and a side job, right? He supposed he could ask her about that next Monday–Spencer’s heart ached. Did he really have to wait a whole 7 days to see her again?
He pulled his pants off and turned the shower on, collecting his clothes and throwing them in the hamper. A single breath fell from his lips as his eyes fluttered shut, attempting to calm his heart.
He focused on the shower head, the water seeping out and pitter-pattering on the floor of the shower pan.
He could ask Rossi for her number, but perhaps she would see that as weird. She had treated him well, true; however, there was the elephant she’d mentioned earlier. He was her professor…Spencer tugged off his boxers and stepped into the heated downpour as he thought back to the dim lecture hall lighting, how it had outlined her collarbone and her facial features. It’d made her more defined and mysterious.
She’d smelled crisp when he’d walked up her aisle and bent forward, like hot apple cider.
He remembered noticing her bra strap, which was brown, the low hem of her black tank top, and the arch of her shoulders.
Spencer tensed and pressed his lips together, peeking down with a disbelieving grunt. He was hard. He shouldn’t be; he should feel guilty, but all he felt was hot.
He hesitated, contemplating: on one hand, he hadn’t masturbated in years; he hadn’t wanted to. On the other hand, he’d never gotten this hard at the mere afterthought of someone…not even JJ…
On the other, other hand, she was his student–and not only was she his student, she was Rossi’s niece for fuck sake. She was much younger, nearly 10 years–but Spencer hissed as he palmed himself.
And on one other hand, there was no one around to witness his dishonorable behavior. No one but him and the small four walls surrounding him. Spencer shouldn’t, he definitely shouldn’t–Spencer sucked in a breath as he moved his hand down. This isn’t right. Spencer’s left hand slapped against the shower wall to keep himself steady as he pictured her face, desperately staring up at him.
“Fuck.”
Fuck. You paced back and forth before you said screw it.
“I don’t think–
“No, I know Ross–”
JJ cut herself off and broke into a smile when her eyes caught yours. You sighed and pushed through the office door, hoping she didn’t see your eyes roll, or at the very least didn’t take offense to it.
Rossi called your name in a surprised, though questioning tone, “What are you doing here?”
“I left something here the other day,” you glanced around his office, ignoring his and JJ’s stares. “Found it,” you reached over and grabbed something between the small trash can and your uncle's desk.
Your legs straightened straight and then turned to walk away when JJ called, “It was nice to see you —! Let’s grab lunch sometime, yeah?”
You threw her a grimace over your shoulder, “definitely.”
You wondered if they knew that you knew Spencer was back. They’d all but danced around the topic, but they had to know they were obvious, right? They were the profilers, but you were in the process of becoming one, and a lot of the courses had developed since they’d been in your shoes. Even then, it wouldn’t take much for a regular civilian to understand they weren’t acting normally.
You wanted to ask for Spencer’s number; in fact, that was the reason you had come to your uncle's office in the first place–but JJ being there had caught you off guard, and you’d chickened out.
A large frown etched across your face as you floated into the main office on this floor and turned toward Spencer’s old desk.
There were some things moved around–was it him or someone else? Had he been coming here often? Could it be possible that you were always just barely missing him? You pondered for a split second at the sight, wanting to rummage through his stuff so that maybe you could feel closer to him in some way…
There wasn’t much you knew about what the Head of the FBI had said about a recruit for your uncle’s team. However, you did know that there would be no way in hell Spencer’s team would ever replace him. Simply because of the way he’d left–unwillingly.
You threw your head back in defeat and stepped toward the elevator, ignoring the nameless people around the office floor.
6 days… you blew hair out of your face, ignoring the warmth between your legs. Better get that reading done then.
Your eyes shifted to the side where the ding to the elevator came from. Your breath caught as your eyes trailed up his suit. His tie was a deep blue, and he smelled of whiskey reserve. “Oh,” his eyes widened, and he nearly stumbled back–you couldn’t help but hope that you had made him pause the same way he had your lungs in a chokehold.
You stood there, nervously fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. When the elevator dinged again, nearly closing, Spencer’s right hand shot out to hold it open, “going down, I presume?”
“Mmmhmm.”
Spencer cleared his throat and stepped aside. “You’re not going in?” You questioned, your voice a bit more confident.
“Uh…” he gave a lopsided smile and side-eyed the corner of the elevator behind him, “I’m not really supposed to be here anyway, I guess I just…”
“…missed it?” You thought aloud.
Spencer glanced down at you, the creases of his eyes and the sudden seriousness of his face had you thinking of the unholy things he could do to you in this elevator…
You cleared your throat and turned your head away. “Were you here visiting Rossi?”
“Oh, no..I just,” your eyes traveled from one end of the elevator floor to the other, searching for an excuse, “I forgot something the last time I was here–so…”
“Oh,” he nodded, but it sounded like he didn’t believe you at all. Thankfully, though, he also didn’t press you on it.
“Have you started the reading?”
“The…huh? Oh–right, from class!” You looked away, a slight tint to your cheeks, “not yet…”
Spencer snorted, “Don’t worry, as long as you get it done by next Friday,” your heart jumped at the mention of seeing him Friday night, “you should be alright.” His eyes slid back toward yours, though his face remained forward. God, why did he have to look like the most unholy thing in the world?
The elevator hit the first floor and let you both off. You began walking toward the parking lot in awkward silence. “I parked this way,” you pointed toward the side of the office.”
“Oh, I parked just this way, if you want, I can drop you off,” he tilted his head toward his black Volvo.
The quickness in his tone had you questioning his intentions–but then you had to remind yourself that this wasn’t just some guy, it was Spencer–the nerdy genius on your uncle’s FBI team–your professor. “Sure, thank you.” You smiled and followed him through the short parking lot.
He unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you–the leading cause of your snort, “Oh, women must love you.”
He gave you a look that suggested he knew exactly what you were talking about. “Perhaps,” he shrugged, shutting you inside.
His car smelled like coffee and leather–you took a giant whiff and sighed, leaning back against the seat. He opened the driver's side door seconds later and slid in. “Thanks for doing this, by the way, you didn’t have to.”
Spencer shrugged, and he backed out, putting his arm on the back of your headrest. Your heartbeat accelerated. He was so close, and yet so far. His stubble was just so–fuck you were getting yourself worked up again. Spencer chuckled, seeing your flushed expression, “You okay?” His voice dragged, and the croakiness was nearly too much to bear.
Seriously, what the fuck happened to Spencer?
You knew exactly what happened–but did you acknowledge it? Or would that make him shut down? For now, you decided to keep quiet on the topic. “So, how’d you come up with your grading system? It seemed really intricate in the syllabus.
“I’m glad you’re so interested in it. It actually took some time to craft because I wanted it to be perfect, but I suppose with how short of time I’d had, it wouldn’t be just as I’d want it to be, but–” Spencer paused, noting your cheesy grin, “why are you staring at me like that?”
“Nothing, “ you took a breath and leaned toward the window, “just realized something important…”
“Care to share with the class?” He chuckled slightly, and if you weren’t crazy, it sounded a bit nervous as well.
You sighed as he parked next to your car, “Oh, I don’t know,” you tapped your chin, pretending to think, “Do you really want to know?”
“Seriously?” You glanced at his expression, noting the slight corners of his mouth reaching upward and his eyebrows a bit furrowed in playful annoyance.
You leaned over the middle console and patted him on his thigh, “Maybe another time, Professor…”
“Wait,” Spencer pulled you down by your arm, noting the way your lips puckered up at his–almost begging for attention.
He cleared his throat and forced his eyes to look anywhere else. Unfortunately, they kept landing on part of your body he’d been thinking of taste-testing. Your collarbone, for example–fuck. He watched you swallow and shift in your seat.
You crossed your legs, attempting to quell the heat he was provoking. You couldn’t read his expression; something was compelling you to stay put–and it wasn’t just his grip on your arm.
“Yes?” Your voice was sultry–it was like poking a sleeping bear with a stick.
You watched Spencer’s eyes trail up and down your body, eventually landing on your neck. “I–” he blinked–and as if waking up from a dream or an enchantment, he released your arm and pulled back, “nothing, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He forced a chuckle, and you forced a smile, pretending not to be disappointed. Pretending like you weren’t just willing to submit to him under a single command.
You took a breath and slowly unbuckled your seatbelt, wanting to give him time to finish what he started–but he didn’t.
Spencer watched you push up out of his car he had to keep his focus on your eyes–and even then, it felt like they would pull him into a loop of doom.
There was a burning sensation in the place where you’d touched him. If he called this a mistake, he was afraid of how many more he would make before the semester ended.
He was afraid of what he would do if he simply had enough time alone with you…
Friday–still no number. You’d been anticipating this class–you’d read through the material three times, writing down and re-writing notes and comments you wanted to make, just to see if you could rile him up a bit.
There was something there between you and him, but whether or not you could get him to act on it was another question entirely.
Perhaps you should rethink this. Maybe you were acting on impulse–maybe you were just horny, but fuck–it felt like the only thing you could think of every time you woke up and every time you went to bed. You’d been having dreams of the many ways he could take you in a single night since your change encounter at the office.
You bit your nail as you locked your car with your keys, ready to head down to class.
It was the same scene as the previous Friday. The August night was growing darker than the day before, the air was chillier, the wind was quicker–you blew heat onto your hands and rubbed them together, ignoring the chatter of two girls that passed you.
A few students were milling around, some in groups, some in pairs, although most were alone.
You slid on your headphones so that the walk to class would pass in a breeze, however, a few minutes later, you felt a tug on your hoodie.
You swallowed, feeling a shiver run up your spine. “It’s just me…”
You heard his chuckle before you saw his smile. He floated in front of you as you pulled down your headphones, a grin spreading across your cheeks. “I nearly shat myself.”
A burst of laughter escaped your throat. You eyes his outfit, similar to the one he’d worn last Friday. “Sorry, I saw you walking and ran to catch up.”
You glanced back, “you parked in the student lot?”
“No,” he shook his head, not warning to admit he’d been waiting for you so he could walk with you to class. It not only sounded stalkerish–it almost was the exact definition of the word. “I was just walking, trying to work off the nerves.”
“Really?” You nearly bit your lip, but stopped just in time. Instead, you raised a brow and began walking again. “What are we doing for class today?”
“Did you do the reading?” He wiggled his brows.
A snort built up it the back of your throat. You missed this. You missed him. But you dare not say that out loud.
Spencer sighed as you two approached the lecture hall, “partner work, I want you guys to get to know each other better so we’re all more comfortable with group talks.”
“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes playfully.
“Hey,” he punched your arm softly, “if you need help, you can always text me.”
This was it. Spencer’s amazing plan to getting your number. Though he admitted he didn’t think it would go this smoothly. He was trained to always prepare for the worst possible outcome, thankfully, the opportunity presented itself perfectly, so it didn’t seem forced.
Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling, “really?”
“Yeah, like before everything–you know.” It was still a sore subject, he hadn’t talked to you about it and you weren’t ready to push. You didn’t want him to think you thought any different of him because of the situation. He was innocent. There was evidence, and a witness–the girl that helped that psycho scheme against him.
Anger boiled inside you at the thought of Cat Addams.
“Are you okay?” Spencer reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, “if I said something or–
“No!” Your expression was panicked, “I mean–sorry, no I just–no, it’s not you.”
Spencer nodded, wondering if he’d made you uncomfortable. “Let’s talk after class, okay?”
You smiled, “I just got in my head a bit,” you frowned, “I’m sorry, really it had nothing to do with you.”
Spencer believed you, and whatever was troubling you concerned him. “I understand, we all get like that sometimes, let’s grab a snack later.”
Butterflies burst across your chest, not caring if it was inappropriate or not. Spending time with Spencer meant the world to you, and perhaps you were developing a little crush on him–there was no sense in denying it to yourself.
But what would be morally right? Masturbating to him was one thing. It was secretive. Flirting with him outright? Maybe more? You flushed at the sensory thought and shook your mind out of the stupor.
Class felt like it dragged on and on, but it the little glances he got from you made it worth it. When he was pairing up his students the week prior, he’d thought to let them choose their own partners, but to make it easier to keep track of, he thought better of it.
She sat in the same seat as last class. She took notes just as efficiently. She participated in the reading’s discussion. From what he remembered about university lectures, there were about 5 to 6 people that actively participated every class–he’d already scoped out those people, but he wanted everyone to participate, so he would have to come up with a way to get everyone talking.
That was the homework he gave himself, but it wasn’t what he was thinking of when class ended. He would think about that later, “goodnight everyone, I’ll see you all next Friday, make sure to talk with you partners, because you only have two weeks for the reports which we’ll be discussing in a fortnight!”
She hung back, though she made it look casual, it was hard to put things in your bag at such an obviously slow pace without being noticed. There were a few students who had complaints about there assigned partners of various consecutive reasons.
Spencer reiterated that his email was on the syllabus, as were his office hours. When one guy was insistent on talking about it now, Spencer nearly hung himself.
“Just as I’ve told everyone else–” he was saying when he noticed your presence a few feet away. “Email me and we’ll talk.” He ended the conversation instantly.
The two of you shared a knowing look when the guy walked out muttering curses under his breath. “You ready?” He asked.
You sighed, “just about.”
Spencer through his satchel over his shoulder, then ran a hand through his hair.
“By the way,” he glanced down at you, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “your number.”
You scrolled through your contacts–the bright screen constrasing the dim glow of the lights above.
Spencer took a sip of coffee, empting the can as you flashed him your screen, “I’m assuming it’s not the same as before?”
Without saying anything, he quickly slipped the phone into his hand and typed out his digits. When he handed you back the phone, he keenly observed your face, wondering how you would react.
“Obnoxious much?” You clicked your tongue.
Spencer grinned into his cup, “let’s go get some food.”
“On you?” You batted your eyelashes up at him.
Spencer paused for a second, mouth slightluy apart. Then, an idea popped into his head. He hated himself for thinking it. Why couldn’t he stop sexualixing you? What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Of course,” he hid the thoughts behind his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the fact that they were there, and they woudln’t fucking stop.
The weeks went by in a similar manner. Eventually, you and Spencer began carpooling together, and then a routine had been set. He would pick you up from your apartment or you would drive to his house and you two would leave from there, and as the semester went on, you began spending more and more time with him outside of the single Friday you had class together.
You would spend Satudray’s and eventually Sunday’s together. You were closer than ever, but there was always that fear of crowwing that line. By now, you both had acknowledged the existence of that line. However, neither of you had ever attempted to cross it.
It was the fear of the consequences–the fear of losing each other.
But you were too close to stop pretending like whatever you were doing was keeping that line stable. If anything, it was erasing it, slowly, but surly–and you had to admit at some point, there would be a moment in time where you and Spencer would realize there was no going back to being whatever you were before.
Too much would have happened, and when that realization hit–you would have to ask yourselves what you would be willing to do to stay…becasue you couldn’t keep pretending forever.
Before any of that though, you made the mistake of spending the night. You had made so many mistakes up to this point, but the worst one was thinking you could hold yourself back if you wanted to.
You should have known better.
Spencer should have known better.
He was older. He was your professor. He was a friend.
Laughter filled Spencer’s living room. You checked the time and stood, “I should get going.”
Spencer stood with you and met you at the door while you grabbed your things, “I’ll text you,” he said, standing too close for professionalism.
“I know,” you sung, looking around for your shoes.
You pulled your tanktop strap over your shoulder again, it had kept falling down throughout the day. Spencer noticed one-too many times. “Maybe you should just spend the night.”
“Tonight?” You laughed.
“If you want,” he shrugged, trying to act casual.
“If I want,” you repeated straightening your back. Your head tilted to the side, October has never been colder, a thought that popped up for some reason.
“You sure?”
Spencer’s jaw locked at your tired voice. He cleared his throat before responding. “Yeah, why not?”
Your lips pressed together with a multitude of reasons to his question, but instead of breathing a word of them, you nodded, “okay.”
Spencer’s heart hammered, “okay?”
You froze as he stepped forward. What was he doing? Spencer’s mind screamed at him.
A gasp fell from your lips when his hesitant finger finally found there way around your throat. He trailed his thumb around the middle of your neck. “Spencer?” A whisper. A question.
“You’re my student.” He murmured, almost as an after thought, almost like he didn’t mean to say it at all.
Your thighs pressed together when his heated eyes found yours. He watched you watch him, then he let go and stepped back. “Sorry,” he turned around, “maybe it isn’t a good idea for you to stay…”
You ached with disappointment. Why. Why. Why. He can’t just, “you can’t just–” You stepped forward and tugged at his elbow.
Spencer spun around, hands finding your wrists in an instant. “I can’t what?” He breathed against your ear. “What is it that you want?”
Sentences, fragmented thoughts short-circuited in you brain.
“Say it,” he pleaded, “I need to hear it.”
Your hands found his hair, tousled and soft. You pulled his ear around your mouth, “Spencer,”
“Fuck,” his head fell back, “say it again.”
You wrapped one leg around his waist and pressed him closer, “Spencer, I want you.”
His eyes fluttered open, “do you?”
You nodded, a desperate prayer falling from your mouth in the exact way he had imagined it a thousand times before.
His hands felt up and down your body. He circled you above your jeans, unbuttoning them with his other hand. You were wet, soaking through your underwear. You grabbed his wrist, eyes wide when he slipped a finger under the small cloth.
He kept his eyes on you, watching you watch him as one of his fingers found you warmth.
You twitched when he found your clit, Spencer yanked your jeans down, sliding one finger inside. Your eyes rolled back, as his long, rough finger stretch you out. A second finger had you covering your mouth with one of your palms.
He leaned forward, gripped the top of your pantied with his teeth and pulled them down. He made sure you were watching him before he dipped his tongue inside. His fingers worked in time with his mouth. It was more than you could have ever done to yourself.
“Spencer–God,” before your knees could give out, Spencer gripped your thighs with his hands and held you up.
Your moans increased as his pace did, but before you could come to a climax, he slowed down. “Spence–” you whined, pissed when you saw his shit-eating grin.
“You okay?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“I’m just checking in on you,” he said, pushing on his feet to stand up.
Without his support, your stumbled. “Thank you, I am fine.”
“Yeah?” His hands slipped up your shirt and he began unbuttoning your bra.
“Yeah,” you grew bold and reached down, massaging him through his jeans.
“Mmmf…”
His expression was serious, but his eyes were blazing, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”
You glared, wondering where he’d gotten this cocky attitude from.
“Don’t be surprizsed when you eat your words later.”
“I’d like to eat something else.” He teased, palming you as your unbuttoned his pants.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
His scent was intoxicating. Your thighs squeezed at the emptiness. “Spencer?”
“Yes,” he lowered his boxers right as you reached down and wrapped your hands around his length, already lathered with precum.
“Fuck me?”
“So lude,” he clicked his tongue. Your eyes narrowed in annoyance, “fine,” he grabbed your waist and lifted you.
“What the hell?”
He lowered you, teasing you with himself. Electricity shot through your spine. Spencer wouldn’t give you the satisfaction though, he headed for you were at 30 minutes ago, lowering you onto him as he found the edge of the couch.
You moan filled the room, as you felt him fully. It took a few seconds to get used to him before you could start moving. Spencer gripped your ass, spreading you everytime you came down on him.
It was by far the best fucking feeling in the world. He would trade it for anything.
“Fuck–fuck,” you were crying out every other breath.
“That’s it,” his sultry voice had you clenching onto him, “oh, what a good girl.”
Tears formed in your eyes, you breathing grew rapid. “I’m going to cum inside your ass, okay?”
“Wait, what?” Your eyes popped open as he pulled out.
Spencer spit in his hand and felt around for your other hole.
“Wait, Spencer–I’ve never–”
“Neither have I,” he cut you off, slipping in a wet finger.
He felt around inside. Moans spilled out of you as. One more, then another, and eventually, Spencer tip was positined at your entrance.
“I’m going to go in slow, okay?”
You bit your cheeks as he forced your ass down onto his tip. It hurt for a burning three minutes. He added more spit around your area, and after minute 5, started fucking you again.
“Oh–Oh God,” he had you in his palms, falling apart like he did this on a daily basis. What you didn’t know was that Spencer was planning on making it a daily thing. As he pumped in and out of you, he whispered the dirtiest things imaginable into your ears.
“That’s such a pretty face.” He brushed your hair back. “How many different face do you think you can make tonight?”
You felt your world falling apart in the best way possible. You feel against his shoulder as he released his load.
“Next Friday, I’m going to take you on my desk, okay?”
You response came in pants.
Spencer smiled softly and lifted you, heading down his hall, to his bedroom.
