Metaphorically, a Drag Path describes the emotional, visible imprints, evidence, or "breadcrumbs" left behind by past struggles, trauma, or the long journey of living.
Spencer Reid x BAU!oc
𝕿𝖜𝖔-𝕱𝖔𝖗-𝕺𝖓𝖊 - 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫
The one where a night of drinking with your team ends with more than you bargained for.
SUMMARY: you introduce a vibrator to your relationship. spencer enjoys it a little too much, and he decides to put it to the test.
GENRE: smut (MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.2k
TAGS: fem!reader, overstimulation, sex toys (vibrators), spencer using sex as research, he even has his glasses on and everything, f orgasm, squirting!!, mentions of multiple orgasms, slight mention of somno, sexting, and cock rings, not proofread
NOTES: wrote this because i was mad at another fic, actually really enjoyed it. shoutout to ann summers' rampant rabbits <3
Letting him pick was your first mistake. He sat scrolling through the websites for over an hour, long enough for his wide eyes and flushed cheeks to settle into a deep, thoughtful frown.
You left him alone for a few minutes to fix yourself a cup of coffee, and you returned to find him plotting out a lengthy spreadsheet, categorising the different toys by shape and size, intensity and function. The prices weren't included, or considered at all, when he was narrowing down your options; apparently the cost "wasn't important", and Spencer was willing to shell out whatever necessary to find your perfect match. You'd be lying if you said his dedication didn't earn a laugh, but it was cute—endearing, even—to see just how invested he was in your pleasure.
In the end, Spencer concluded that your ideal toy was none other than a rabbit. You could have told him that from the start, saved you both the time spent exploring increasingly raunchy webpages, but there'd have been no fun in that.
He had settled on the exact toy that you would have chosen for yourself, if you hadn't handed the reins off to him, and that, in the moment, was one of the most attractive things you'd ever seen. He was perfectly in tune with your body, with you, and that thought alone was enough for you to shut the laptop and pull him down on top of you right there on the couch.
—
"How does that feel?"
The only response you offer is a low whine, but Spencer nods attentively all the same.
You don't know which one of you looks more ridiculous: you lying on the bed, legs spread, head of the vibrator pressed to your swollen clit; or Spencer kneeling on the floor, glasses on, watching you clench around nothing, teetering dangerously close to another orgasm, like he's watching God at work.
"Spence…"
His name leaves your lips in a squeak. Your thighs are shaking, desperate to clamp shut.
"I know," he murmurs, keeping his voice soft. Comforting.
"I…I can't—"
"You can."
Soft, but firm. Comforting, but unwavering. He doesn't touch you, doesn't force you in any way, but his words hold you in place, reassuring you, telling you “you've got this” and, fatally, that “you're doing so well”. The praise goes straight to your head, then ricochets down to your core where it tangles in the fast-growing knot, pulls it so taut that you're sure it's about to snap.
You aren't sure how long you've been doing this, lying here playing with your new toy whilst he watches, engrossed, studying how your body reacts to different angles, pressures, modes—because yes, it has different modes; three increasing speeds and seven different vibration patterns—to see which combinations bring you over the edge the fastest, and which push you over it the hardest.
What you do know is that you're nearing your umpteenth orgasm, and Spencer hasn't so much as glanced at his persistent, and presumably quite uncomfortable, erection. All he cares to look at is you, sweating all over his sheets, moaning for him like an angel.
"I really— fuck, Spence…" you're choking on your words, almost babbling as you try to gather the strength to speak. "I really…can't. Please…"
Spencer purses his lips, visibly torn between cutting his little experiment short for your sake and pushing you that little bit further—for research's sake. But, after a moment, he concedes with a small nod. "Okay. This can be your last one, alright?"
"…thank God—"
"And we'll run through the rest of the settings tomorrow."
Weakly, you raise your head to meet his gaze. He's smiling—grinning, actually. Too tired to argue, and too weak to kick him in the face, you just let your head fall back against the mattress, and you resign yourself to your fate.
"Do you wanna put it back in?" he asks, immediately returning his focus to the toy, to the questionnaire he's been running since he first asked you to lie down. "Or do you prefer it like this?"
When all you can muster in reply is a hum, Spencer gives your foot a gentle tap.
"I know you're tired, honey, but we're almost done. I promise," he says. "I read online that the insertable length has more of a rumble feel to it, whereas the 'rabbit ears' provide a lighter vibrational feel—would you say that's correct?"
"Spencer, I—" a sharp gasp cuts through your words. Your hips buck, rubbing your over-sensitive clit against the toy, and you bite your lip, stifle a whine, before answering, "Yes. Yes, i-it's…whatever you said."
"And do you prefer that?" he asks.
Your answer comes in the form of a moan—a loud one—followed by a sudden, unexpected gush of warmth as the knot finally snaps, unravelling in an instant, and it takes the last of your strength with it. The orgasm hits like a tsunami wave, pulling you under the tide before washing you up on the shore, so overcome with exhaustion that you fail to register Spencer's stunned silence.
"…I suppose that's as good of an answer as any," he says, puffing air into his cheeks as he leans back.
He's grinning line a kid, smile stretching from ear to ear as he admires the mess you've made of yourself.
"…what?" you mumble, confused. You've a dim awareness of how warm the sheets have become under your hips.
"Have you, um," Spencer clears his throat. "Have you ever squirted in the past? Or is this new?"
"What?"
"I see. So it's new, then? Noted."
—
Spencer's experiment was a resounding success. Sex was never lacklustre in your relationship—it was quite the opposite—but since opening your doors, and wallets, to the prospect of sex toys, your intimate lives have improved tenfold. You continue to discover new things about yourself, about each other, and Spencer stores each little fun fact away in his library of a mind; he has an arsenal of knowledge about you, your body, how to make you squirt even though you were sure you couldn't—and he never hesitates to use it.
You wake up to it, sometimes, that low rumble against your clit. You're already soaked through your panties, sleep-leaden body desperate for release before you even open your eyes. He peppers your face with kisses, whispers “good morning” as he guides you towards an orgasm that will likely put you straight back to sleep. You doze off in his arms, wake up some thirty minutes later already cleaned up.
He asked you—begged you, if we're being honest—to use it when he's away, to get off as much as your heart desires and, of course, to send him videos of it (even a technophobe like Spencer Reid is willing to use WhatsApp if there's something in it for him). You oblige, of course; you put on your prettiest matching set, and you put on a show for him.
And what you earn in response is a mouth-watering video of Spencer in his hotel room, moaning your name as he pleasures himself with his hands and, in more recent times, the vibrating cock ring you bought for his birthday.
SUMMARY: interrupting spencer's sleep by asking for sex takes a turn when he gives you exactly what you want in the worst (best) ways possible.
GENRE: smut (MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 6.2k
TAGS: reader is an unsub | bratty!reader, dom!spencer, rough sex, dubcon elements (coercion, repeated use of "no" and "stop" etc), sadomasochism, major breeding kink, major condescension, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, cum swallowing, face slapping, orgasm denial, begging, protected p in v unfortunately, doggy style, spanking, hair pulling, crying, verbal degradation, but also aftercare (if you squint), not proofread
NOTES: hi guys i have no explanation for this; it's pure filth. i don't even like this, but i hope you will <3
⤷ UNSUB!READER MASTERLIST ᝰ.ᐟ
SCHADENFREUDE: the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of the troubles, failures, pain, suffering, or humiliation of another.
Spencer's bed might just be your favourite place in the whole world; his sheets are soft, linen, always freshly washed, and you're positive he must have stuffed his mattress with clouds it's so comfortable. You could lay there for hours, days, weeks, without moving a muscle, and you'd be completely, utterly at peace.
He's there, too: trying to sleep as you pester him well into the night, muttering repeatedly about how he will kick you out if you don't cease your constant chatter, looking like an angel sent from Heaven under the moonlight. A Renaissance painting you get to admire for hours on end.
That's just a bonus; you're really only here for the bed.
Or that's what you tell him, not that he believes you in the slightest. He knows you're here with some ulterior motive, you always are, but he's desperately hoping that just this once you might be gracious enough to let him sleep.
But grace isn't something you've shown in the past, so why would you start now? Sure, Spencer might have work tomorrow (today, technically), but you're bored—and that takes precedent here; everyone knows what happens when a serial killer is left to their own devices for too long.
Of course, you don't pose much of a threat to anyone, not anymore; you're retired, non-practicing. You wouldn't hurt a fly if it landed in your cereal. As far as serial killers go, you're harmless. An innocent deer whose coat just happens to be covered in blood that'll never quite wash off.
You aren't going to kill anyone, even if boredom is killing you, but would Spencer really be willing to take that risk?
The answer thus far has been no. Your capacity to cause harm, in his eyes, far outweighs your promise to stop killing, no matter how many times you tell him you've "changed". He lets you weaponise his distrust only because he has to, because he can't run the risk of trusting you, your word, no matter how badly he may want to.
This is how you managed to take him ballroom dancing, and how you're planning on convincing him to take time off work for a bloody "couple's trip" to New York, and all the other things you've done together. Things that he never would have agreed to if it weren't for the looming threat of you going off the rails. It's a pretty foolproof method, if you do say so yourself.
So when you tug at the collar of his shirt to press a kiss to his shoulder, murmuring into his skin how bored you are, he begrudgingly gives you his full attention.
"There are more books in this apartment than there are—"
"In most bookstores," you say, finishing his sentence for him with a sly smile. "I know."
He gives you a light nudge with his elbow. "Then go find something to read."
He makes a half-hearted attempt at turning away, but you grab his arm and pull him back to you. "Not that kind of bored."
Sighing, he meets your gaze with this cool, thoroughly unamused look. "I can't help you with that."
"Yes, you can," you argue, smiling your sweetest smile.
But your charm is lost on him, and all he gives you is a one-word response.
"Can't."
Your smile vanishes, replaced by a pout—an adorable one, in your opinion—that should be enough to move mountains, but Spencer remains unfazed.
"It's 1AM," he mutters.
"Meaning the night is still young."
"Meaning I need to sleep," he counters, scooting away from you. "Some of us have jobs."
You follow him, persistent. "You can sleep later."
"I would much rather sleep now."
He reaches out to push him away, but you catch his wrist and tilt your head to the side with the softest, most disgusting puppy-dog eyed expression you can muster. "So you don't want to fuck me?"
"I don't— that's not—" He jerks his hand back, sputtering as heat creeps into his cheeks. "…I don't want to have sex with you right now. Not if it means sacrificing my sleep."
"Wow." You drag the word out, placing your hand on your chest in a mock show of offence. "I'm hurt."
"Uh huh."
Having had enough of your dramatics, Spencer turns onto his side and, this time, you don't try to stop him. You just wait, patiently, for him to speak up again, because you know he will; he can't resist arguing with you, even when he knows it'll only make things worse for him.
You're sure he can feel your eyes on him, anyway, burning holes into the back of his head. He can't sleep (or relax at all, apparently) when you're watching him and, consequently, he'll usually banish you to the living room when he wants to get some rest. But he hasn't done that yet, which you interpret as a good sign.
After a few moments, he can't help but speak up.
"You can always use your hands, if you’re desperate."
"Right here?" you ask.
"In the bathroom, preferably."
"And what about you?" You inch closer to him and lean down to murmur into his ear, "You wouldn't benefit from blowing off some steam before work?"
A shudder runs through him as your breath hits his skin, but he swats your face away all the same. "I'd benefit from sleeping," he mutters.
"Mhm." You hum in response, refusing to give up as you trace your fingers along the stretched-out collar of his pyjama shirt. You pull on it, gently, and press your lips to that spot between his neck and shoulder that you know is sensitive. "You're so tense, though."
"Maybe because there's a serial killer in my bed trying to—" His breath catches as your teeth graze his skin. "…seduce me."
"This isn't seduction," you murmur, pressing your face to the crook of his neck.
"It's starting to feel like it," he says stiffly.
You lift your head to peer over at him. His flushed cheeks. His closed eyes. "Is it working?"
"No."
There's a weakness behind the resolve he speaks with, barely noticeable, like he might not mean what he's saying but is also dangerously close to kicking you out (of the bed, if you're lucky; of the apartment, if you're not). Whether he means it or not, you're pushing the limit—that much is obvious.
So, with a defeated sigh, you pull back, already mentally scanning his bookshelves for an interesting read.
But you're barely three feet from him when he grabs your arm, holding it firm. He turns over to face you, and he gives your arm a gentle tug. An invitation.
You let him pull you in, settling down beside him as he drapes his arm over your waist. He's cuddling you, but he's leaving just enough room to allow himself plausible deniability; "we aren't cuddling", he'll say, "we're just lying together—look, we're barely even touching".
You meet his gaze in the dark. The moonlight seeping in through the blinds casts his face in shadow, but it illuminates your own. You want him to pull you closer, but he doesn't.
He doesn't do anything; he just watches you, studying you or, if you want to be delusional, admiring you with this fond, sleepy look that you can just about make out through the shadows. Heavy eyelids, relaxed brows, the picture of perfection.
"We could make it quick," you broach, smiling.
Spencer scoffs. He shakes his head, nuzzles the pillow as he groans in quiet, steadily simmering frustration.
"Okay, maybe not quick, but…" you inch yourself closer, reaching up to cup his cheek. "We can optimise it? You're all about efficiency, right?"
He huffs, sounding almost amused by your offer, but he still shakes his head. "And how, exactly, would we do that? You and I both know that your libido is obnoxious—"
"We could forgo the condoms," you suggest, cutting him off. "That'll save about…fifteen seconds per round."
"No."
There's no weakness behind the word, this time, but his firm tone isn't enough to scare you off.
"It adds up, you know."
"No," he repeats. "How many times are we going to have this conversation?"
"Until you admit that I'm right."
"Oh, you're right?"
"The condoms serve no purpose." You're a broken record, at this point, repeating variations of the same sentiment only to be met with the same response: no, no, and no. If you're starting to sound a little exasperated, it's because you are. But, even so, you persist. "We're both clean, and I know you only insist on using them to spite me," you say, trying to bite back any frustration threatening to taint your voice. You take a deep breath, watching as Spencer's expression hardens further, before bravely continuing, "I can buy plan B. I can go on birth control, if that's what you want—but we both know it isn't."
Spencer's fingers twitch against your waist, and he shifts in the bed. He starts pulling away, as though distancing himself from you physically will make what you're saying any less true.
"You don't want me on birth control, Spence." You prop yourself up on your elbow, lowering your tone to something seductive, almost sinister. "You want the risk."
"That's enough," he says. He turns onto his back, fixes his gaze on the ceiling as you roll your eyes.
"Honestly, I don't see the point in depriving yourself of something you clearly want, especially when I want it, too."
"You don't know what I want."
You purse your lips, letting the silence sit for a moment before you move closer to him. "I know you want kids," you say.
He doesn't respond to that. He just keeps staring at the ceiling, and you can see his jaw muscles working, clenching and unclenching, in the low light.
"Little geniuses running around, wreaking havoc…top of all their classes, just like daddy." You continue your assault in the softest, most sympathetic tone you can manage. Your voice turns to honey as you speak. "I could give you that, Spence. We'd have cute kids, don't you think?"
You feel him tense as you brush your fingerprints against his chest. Feel the way he stops breathing entirely as you skim along the fabric of his pyjama shirt and work your way down, slowly, to the waistband of his pants.
"You could put a baby in me right now," you murmur. "You just have to let go…give in…"
Your fingers barely dip under his pants before the tension snaps. He shoves you, hard, and sends you tumbling backward. Your back hits the mattress, and you're left slightly winded.
"You're sick," he spits.
You make no effort to get up, but you do shoot him a smile as you say, "I'm honest."
"You are sick. Why would I— no, I'm not doing this."
With a huff, he gets out of bed. You watch as he heads for the door (to go where, you aren't sure), and he looks, for a moment, like he might actually storm out, leave you all alone in his apartment. The thought leaves you slightly nauseous.
But then he turns back to you with a scowl. "Why the fuck would I want to— …have children with a serial killer?"
He's trying so hard to keep his voice down. It's a shame, really, that he has neighbours on all sides—neighbours that respect him, that he respects—because you want nothing more than to see him lose his temper. You'd kill for it. Not literally, of course; you don't do that anymore.
You sit up, eyeing him curiously as you say, "I don't know, Spencer, why would you?"
"I don't."
You nod along with his declaration. The gesture's overly animated, exaggerated in a way that tells him you don't believe a word of what he says, and by the sour expression on his face it's clear he would have preferred it if you had just laughed in his face.
The sheets rustle as you shift, perching yourself on the edge of the bed, eyes wide with an unapologetic amusement. You shrug and click your tongue as you breathe out a wistful sigh. "So those…dreams you had, I guess they meant nothing—"
Spencer crosses the room in an instant and, before you can finish your sentence, he's grabbing your jaw with such force it makes you gasp. You can feel his nails digging into your skin as he looms over you, angling your fact up to meet his cold gaze. The moon serves as a backlight, casting his tall frame in a harsh shadow.
"You don't get to use that against me," he says, voice unnaturally quiet. Calm. It's a warning, one that you'd probably heed with some semblance of seriousness if this weren't so fun.
"So I'm just supposed to pretend you weren't dreaming about having a family with me?" you ask, pushing the conversation (the argument, really) that little bit further. "It's a pretty difficult thing to overlook, Spence."
The fact that his face is obscured does very little to hide the way your words leave him seething. You can feel it in the tremble of his fingers, as though he's fighting an itch. A violent one.
God, what if he hits you? Now that would be fun.
"You never know when to stop, do you?" he asks softly.
"All I've done is state facts—"
"All you've done is piss me off."
You flinch when he moves, expecting—hoping—that his hand will meet your cheek, leave you with a mark that'll still be there in the morning, but it doesn't.
"And you know what? It worked." He tightens his grip on your face and, instead of hitting you, he starts tugging at the drawstring of his pyjama pants. "Congratulations, Love, you did it."
You aren't sure there's much of a connotation between pissed off and rock hard, but you make no attempt to argue with him, not when he's standing right in front of you like this, pants around his ankles, cock so close you'd barely have to move to get a taste.
"You want it?" His voice takes on a gentle, almost soothing tone as he brushes your hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear. "You want this cock, right? That's why you're being such a brat?"
You couldn't make your answer more obvious if you tried; you're staring, wide-eyed, lips parted like you're about to start fucking drooling over the sight of him. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to raise your gaze before saying with a smirk, "I'm actually just doing it for fun—"
The yelp that escapes you when he pulls your hair doesn't sound like you at all, but the moan that follows when he presses your face to his crotch does. His fingers curl in your hair, and you feel him tense slightly as you nuzzle him, breathing him in with an open mouth. You try to touch him, but he swats your hand away before tearing you from him completely.
"A yes would suffice," he says.
The pain of his iron grip makes you wince, and you can feel yourself already beginning to grow smaller, quieter, as you look up at him and say, "…yes."
With his free hand, Spencer cups your cheek. The tender brush of his thumb against your skin clashes with the discomfort of him pulling your hair. "Where do you want it?"
"Oh, come on."
All he does in response is tilt his head to the side; clearly, your whining has no effect on him. His patient silence, however, is enough to drive you crazy.
There's a burning in your core. It's been there all night, started as embers, and has since sparked into a blaze that's steadily breaking you down, making you desperate. And his touch, your position, it's only fuelling the fire.
"…I want it inside me," you mutter. You're clenching your thighs, trying to stifle the burning. "My pussy. Nowhere else."
Spencer hums, thoughtfully, in response. His fingers trace the edge of your cheekbone, trailing slowly down to your jaw where he angles your head up that little bit further and asks, in an agonisingly gentle tone, "You think you deserve that?"
You laugh, but even that sounds desperate now. You've lost your edge. "You're kidding, right?"
"Oh, I'm serious," he says, keeping his voice smooth and low. "All that back talk, all that…relentless pestering, you think I should let you have your way after that?"
You open your mouth to retort, but your words fail you. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach now, and it worsens with each second that passes once you realise his game. A small, pleading smile creeps up your face.
"If it's an apology you want, then—"
"I don't want an apology," he says, cutting you off, "we both know you wouldn't mean a word of it. No, I'm done playing your games, Love." Releasing his grip on your hair, his hand moves to cradle the back of your head. "I think it's time someone put you in your place."
Despite his serious tone, you can't help but find humour in his words. "Like you? Come on, Spence, you're too spineless to—"
You never manage to finish that sentence on account of Spencer's cock pressing against your lips. You clench your teeth, shaking your head as you feebly attempt to deny him access, but his hand is quick to grasp your jaw, fingers pushing into the hollows of your cheeks as he forcibly coaxes your mouth open.
He shushes your protesting whines, telling you to "just take it, that's it" as he eases his cock into the warmth of your mouth. His gentle words disable whatever fight you had left, and you yield to him, taking him almost to the base as he strokes your hair, whispering soothing praises ("Good girl, there we go."), and you think, foolishly, that you're past the worst of it, until you feel his fingers curl into your hair.
Spencer's been rough with you before, you encourage it, but none of your past encounters compare to the harshness with which he abuses your throat. The moment you stop resisting, all of his gentleness vanishes; he holds you by your hair and thrusts into your mouth with no regard for your comfort, or the tears that well in your eyes, or the way you gag with every violent jerk of his hips.
You reach blindly for something to hold onto, and your hands settle on the backs of his thighs. Trembling fingers anchor themselves in his skin, not caring for the marks (or cuts; you're pretty sure your nails are doing some damage) they'll be leaving behind as he fucks your throat so hard the lack of oxygen is starting to make you dizzy.
It's not until he pulls out that you realise you're crying. You cough and sputter, tears streaming down your face as he holds you up by your hair, and you can't help but sniffle pathetically as he wipes the drool from your mouth.
"What's wrong?" he asks softly, pouting. He presses his thumb to the plush of your lower lip, pulls it down to reveal your teeth. "You don't like it?"
You're babbling without thinking, shaking your head and mumbling feverish nos and pleases until the words lose their meaning, silenced only by the force of his palm as it strikes your cheek.
The contact rips and involuntary sob from your throat, and you choke on the broken sound as the stinging quickly settles, deepening into an intense, burning ache. Just when you think you might catch your breath, he's guiding your mouth back to his cock—and this time, you don't try to put up a fight.
There's a warmth accumulating under your thighs, seeping into the sheets as he uses your throat like a toy. He's panting above you, cursing under his breath; occasionally he'll mutter some comment about your pretty mouth, how it's better when it's occupied as he buries himself so deep your nose meets the warm skin of his abdomen and you start to choke. You'll tap his thigh, frantic, and he'll hold you there until you see stars before letting go.
You know he's close when he starts whimpering. His rhythm starts to falter, his fingers tremble, and his breathing comes in uneven gasps as he tries to cling to the remnants of his composure.
"Fuck…" He throws his head back, keeping a tight grip on your hair as he bobs you up and down on his cock. The shift in his pace allows you room to breathe, to think, to actually try to suck him off instead of just sitting there.
And the second you do, he starts to come apart.
"Shit…I'm—" He hums, stifling a moan as you look up at him, meeting his gaze through tears.
You feel his cock twitch against your tongue, and you whimper around it—and that is what sends him over the edge.
"Oh, fuck….God," he whines as he finishes, painting your tongue with his release before gently easing you off of his cock. "Don't you dare swallow," he hisses, legs shaking slightly as he crouches down to be at your eye level. "Don't— shh…just keep it there, that's it. You said you wanted me to come in you, right? Then you better savour it, hadn't you?"
Tender hands cup your cheeks as you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn't wipe your tears, or your drool, or try to soothe the flush that's burning you from the inside out; he just watches you, a calm satisfaction in his brown eyes as he murmurs, "Oh, poor baby…"
After giving your sore cheek a light tap, he rejoins you on the bed and gently coaxes you into his lap, ensuring his hands sit secured on your waist as you straddle him, sniffling. You try to lean on him, to hide away in the crook of his neck, but he holds you back. Returning his hands to your face, he dons a mocking pout as your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
"That wasn't very nice of me, was it?" he asks, keeping his tone painfully kind as he holds you. "See what happens? If you hadn't pushed so hard, I wouldn't have done it. Shh…"
One hand drops to your thigh, slips up under the hem of your shirt (his shirt; you don't wear much of your own clothes when you're here). He presses his palm to your lower stomach, and the contact alone is enough to make you whine as he studies you with this cool, almost analytical look.
You aren't wearing panties (why would you be?), so when his fingers dip between your thighs there's no questioning how wet you are. You're dripping, and with every moment you spend like this, holding his salty release in your mouth, your need only worsens.
And that need drives you to lift your hips in a feeble, uncoordinated attempt to get to his cock—he's soft, sure, but you're sure you'd be able to get him going again, if he let you—but, before you can try anything, he cups your leaking cunt with his hand, creating a barrier between you and what you want most.
All you can do is whimper and grind pitifully against his palm, soaking his hand as you try to convey, without words, just how badly you need him. As though, if you're lucky, he might give in.
But he doesn't. He lets his gaze trail lazily up your body—your bare legs, his hand between your thighs, you in his clothes—before settling on your face, and he raises an eyebrow. "Is that the best you can do?" he asks, leaning in close. The sound of his voice, that disconcerting mix of mockery and softness, makes your stomach churn. "Just hump my hand and make stupid little noises. What happened, Love? Tell me…" He brushes his nose against your own before clicking his tongue. "Oh, right, your mouth is full. Sorry about that. Go on, swallow for me…"
You do as he says without question, swallowing his seed until only the aftertaste remains, and your obedience earns a smile.
"Open your mouth," he says. "There we go…"
As you part your lips, Spencer sets his thumb on your bottom teeth, holding your mouth open so he can inspect it thoroughly.
"I can't see too well in the dark," he murmurs, "but your throat is probably bruised. Did it hurt to swallow?"
"Uh huh…"
God, you sound like your throat's bruised. Your voice comes out raw and shaky. Pathetic.
"Good."
He catches your open mouth in a kiss, and you go so weak you almost collapse against him. You grasp his shoulders, steadying yourself as he breathes new life into you, but your composure fast unravels as his fingers tease your entrance, applying just enough pressure to make you whine into his mouth.
"Spence," you breathe, tearing away from him before you lose yourself, "please…pleasepleaseplease…"
"Please what?"
"Fuck me." there's no sugarcoating your request, not now. "Please, Spence, I can't do this…"
Spencer purses his lips for a moment, leaning back as his fingers continue their slow teasing. "I think you're doing just fine," he says, shrugging. "I'd even go as far as to say you're doing really well."
That tone. The mocking praise. You're going insane, you're sure of it.
"No. No—" A sharp gasp cuts through you as he rubs the ball of his hand against your clit. "Spencerr…I'm sorry, I'm sorry…please, just— fuck…"
Seeing you starting to lose it, Spencer bows his head, hiding his smile as presses his lips to the side of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the sensitive skin. "What are you sorry for, honey?"
"God…if— if you want information, I'll give it to you," you whisper, frantic. Your hips buck against his hand, desperate for more of him. "You want the location of a body? Two? I'll tell you; I promise. I'll— I'll tell you anything, Spence…anything you want—"
"I asked you a question," he says, keeping his tone light as he cuts you off. He lets his mouth linger on your neck for a moment longer before he raises his head to look at you. "What are you sorry for, hm? You do know what you're apologising for, right?"
"I do…I do…"
"Uh huh. Then tell me."
"I-I was being annoying, and pushy…and I crossed a line, mentioning kids," you explain, nodding anxiously. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Spence. I-I won't do it again…promise."
Spencer nods along with you, pursing his lips in thought. "Wow," he murmurs, "you almost sound like you mean it."
"I do," you say, trying (and failing) to keep your voice firm despite your trembling.
"Yeah? You're sorry?"
"'m sorry…"
To your surprise, Spencer looks disappointed.
His gaze drops once more to his hand between your legs, and you swear you see him frown. "Hm. That's a shame, really…I quite like this; punishing you, letting you make a mess of yourself…" he gathers your arousal on his fingers, drawing out a low whine before bringing those fingers to your mouth. The taste of yourself mixed with the aftertaste of him makes your fucking head spin.
And then you feel the tip of his cock part your slick folds. It brushes your clit, and you almost come apart right there.
"I like you like this," he continues, talking over your incessant whimpers, "all desperate and stupid, such a change from your usual self…I could do this all day long."
The mere suggestion is enough to make you sob around his fingers; or maybe it's the way the head of his cock keeps nudging your entrance, leaving you clenching around nothing, like your body is trying to suck him in.
"…but you really want this, don't you?" he asks.
"Mhm…" You're humming along in agreement before you can form a meaningful response. Your brain's working at a third of its regular speed, your words are scattered across space, maybe time, too. Even as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, every sentence you reach for disintegrates before you can speak it.
But if you've ever had a chance to win him over, to win this stubborn little war you've been fighting for months now, then this is it. Maybe you don't need to think in order to convince him, maybe well-formed sentences and snarky arguments haven't been working in your favour at all; maybe you just need to be desperate. As desperate as possible. Throw everything you have at him and pray that you hit a soft spot.
"You do, too, don't you?" you ask, making yourself sound as helpless as possible. "Please, Spence— angel, tell me you want this…"
A slight twitch of his brows tells you he likes the nickname; even if your efforts are in vain, you can still file that little fact away for later.
"I'm sorry for being such a pain, I really am. I just like you…so fucking much, and— and I don't know what to do with it sometimes…but come on, angel, please…" You touch your forehead to his, cupping his cheeks with trembling hands. "I need you inside me, no condom, just this once," you murmur, giving a tentative rock of your hips, watching the way he shudders as you grind against his length. "I…I wanna feel you…wanna be yours, please…"
Spencer is sweating. You feel his cock jump, straining against you, and you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Tilting your head, you try to kiss him, but he dodges.
He purses his lips tight as his gaze drops to his hips, to the way his cock is so perfectly lined up with your entrance—and you're soaked, it would be so easy to just…
Leaning back, he gestures to the pillows and sighs. "Go. Face down, ass up."
His mutterings sound almost reluctant, but all you hear is a victory. Refusing to give him time to change his mind, you don't hesitate to climb off of him and settle into position like a well-trained dog: chin resting on your forearms, back arched, sodden pussy on display for him.
You can hear him shifting, hear the faint rustle of bedsheets as he comes up behind you, and the seconds seem to drag on for eternity. Each one seems longer than the last, making you stew in your anticipation until it's almost unbearable.
But then you hear something you don't expect; the last thing you want to hear.
A poorly stifled rip. The crinkle of latex.
The sound hits harder than the slap you took from him just moments ago, breaking you free from your mindless obedience as you realise, to your horror, what he's doing.
"No. Nonono—"
You try to move, to get away, but Spencer's grabbing your hips, fingers digging into the skin as he sinks into you with one brutal thrust. The pain makes you see static, but it doesn't hurt half as much as the betrayal.
You really thought you'd won. That it was that easy.
How stupid.
Tears stream down your face, your body struggling to adjust to the sudden intrusion as he stuffs you so full you swear you can feel him in your stomach. An awful noise escapes you, half moan, half cry, as you desperately shake your head, and it isn't until you hear your own voice that you realise you're pleading with him; strings of broken nos and stops are tumbling from your lips like despairing prayers.
But your God is cruel, and your prayers go ignored. Maybe he rejoices in them, you don't know.
Unfortunately, you're loud. Much too loud for the thin walls of his apartment. So he does what little he can and shoves your face into the pillow, forcing you to bite the soft fabric and muffle your cries, leaving only the creak of the bed, and the sound of skin against skin as he ruts into you.
"You didn't think I'd actually let you have your way, did you?"
His voice above you is oddly quiet, almost tender in a way that entirely contradicts the way he's treating you. And, as soon as he finishes speaking, he's yanking you up by your hair, letting you gasp and whine before his hand finds your throat.
He brings you closer, close enough to nip at your ear as he murmurs, "And if you really like me that much, you should be grateful that I'm doing this at all. I could've easily thrown you out on the street like the…fucking vermin you are."
Soft lips press a kiss to the side of your neck before he throws you back down and continues at his unforgiving pace. All you can do is cry into the pillow, choking out the occasional plea for him to stop, or to slow down, even though you know he isn't going to listen.
"You're quite the…actor, aren't you?" he asks, breathing growing ragged under the strain of his movements. "That apology of yours…you almost had me— fuck…you almost had me convinced…I'm sorry, Spence. I wanna be yours, Spence…sounding so damn helpless…and now you're actually helpless, aren't you? How's it feel?"
"P-please— Spence, I can'tt…I can't t-take it—"
"Yes, you can…you wanna be mine, right?" He slips a hand down to your ass, gives it a firm squeeze before pulling back and spanking it hard, relishing the way you cry out beneath him. "Then be good for me…and take it."
Before the stinging can subside, he gives your ass another forceful spank before gripping your hips once more, keeping you steady as he fucks you. The pain shoots through you like a flash of lightning, and it goes straight to your head, turns your brain to putty.
You mindlessly try to back up against him, meet his thrusts and bring yourself over the edge, but you're sloppy. You've no rhythm, not when you're like this, and all it does is make Spencer's grip that much tighter as he holds you in place.
"And don't you even think about coming," he hisses. "You don't deserve that, so just—"
"Please—"
"Just shut up." He holds you down as you try, weakly, to raise your head. "And let me fuck you."
Your pleas devolve into senseless moans as the last of your resolve crumbles, and you give in to him, letting the pillow absorb your obscene noises as Spencer thrusts into you so hard you think you start to think you'll pass out before he's through with you.
The rest of your body goes limp as your thighs strain and tremble, muscles growing tighter with each cruel jerk of his hips. Your core is on fire, desperate for a release that he won't allow you, and one that you no longer have the willpower to pursue yourself.
"You…are so fucking pretty like this. God, take me so well— fuck…" His breath stutters as his hips falter, and he forces his next words out through a groan. "…feels so good to use you—"
To use you.
To use you, like you've been using him. This isn't just revenge, or punishment, for just being a nuisance, for poking sore spots in his psyche by mentioning kids; this is revenge for everything, for the months (almost a year now) of hell you've put him through. It's only fair, in a sense, that you lay down for him as he has, time and again, for you; it's Newton's third law, and this is just the beginning.
He almost collapses on top of you when he finishes. Barely able to hold himself up, he pants against your neck, hot breath fanning over sweat slick skin as he tries to regain his composure.
You're incoherent, barely aware of the world around you, or of the way you let out a shameless, broken whine when he pulls out.
The bed creaks as he gets up to dispose of the godforsaken condom, then groans as he settles back down beside you. His fingers skim, touch feather-light, along your spine over the sodden fabric of your shirt, and all you can muster in response is a defeated little whimper.
He doesn't speak; he just gently coaxes you into his arms, brings your head to his chest, smooths out your hair as you both just breathe. When you sniffle, he shushes you, wipes still-wet tears from your cheeks.
Once you've found the strength to speak, you insult him. Whinge about how mean he was, how you're barely going to be able to talk, let alone walk, tomorrow.
Spencer listens to your shaky complaints with a smile, nodding along thoughtfully, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head before murmuring, "It wasn't anything you didn't deserve."
he would never admit it, but you know your boyfriend has a size kink.
he knew that you were significantly smaller than he was, but he hadn't given the topic much thought before, until he started to notice some small things. the way your body easily fit into his clothes, how he could pick you up with ease, or when you needed help reaching something that he could easily get.
he liked the size difference; it made him feel good that he could easily protect you if needed. but there was one thing in specific he liked more—the contrast between you two during sex. he'd have you underneath him with one of your legs thrown over his shoulder as he brutally pounds into you, splitting your poor, tight pussy open.
you're squirming and whining, telling him that it's too much and that he's too big, but he doesn't stop, he never does. his frame completely covers yours, caging you underneath him as you cry out, "it's—tttoo mmmuch! uuhhg...y're too big..."
you're being so whiny, but your boyfriend thinks you look so pretty like this, so stretched and dumb for him. you fisted the sheets as your legs quivered beside his head—they were aching to close, but unable to due to his grip on them. "you can do it," he grunts, fingernails digging into your plushy thighs. "shit, you're taking me so well, angel."
he watched raptly as your body struggled to take all of him; the sight of his veiny cock pistoning your tight, puffy cunt made him crazy. he slid his hand from your thigh to your stomach, pressing down against the visible bulge due to his stupidly huge dick. "can feel me in your tummy, huh, baby?" he smirked, taking in how cock-drunk you looked, with tears running down your cheeks and drool dribbling down your chin.
it brought something primal out in him, the way your juices leaked around his girth and how his hands easily wrapped around your small frame made him want to dump load after load into you till all you can think about is him. "mmm, pretty little pussy's jus' so greedy for it." he mumbles as you keep clamping down on him.
nothing had him more obsessed than seeing your small and fragile body stuffed full of him, your pussy dripping and stretched by his big dick, and your body quivering so much as you screamed for more, even when you swore you couldn't take it.
summary : conversations are happening over breakfast, and then dinner.
wc : 9k
tags/warning : enemies to enemies with benefits, pornwithplot (but no porn yet next chapter i promise lol), coworkers, fast burn?, virgin!spencer, experienced!reader, male masturbation, coming in pantssss, pervy!spencer, spit 🤤, lots and lots and lots of talking about sex, lowkey a moment of sweetness between them
a/n : this fic is shooting itself out of my brain at break neck speeds, i have no control over spencers actions at this point he has become his own person doing whatever he pleases
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Sleep was impossible for him after your interaction at the bar.
How was he supposed to sleep with your threat looming over him? For all he knew, you had already called Hotch and convinced him that he was some sick pervert who couldn’t be trusted around the women of the office.
Instead of sleeping he did the next best thing.
He returned to his bed and thought about you in that shirt.
One hand wrapped around his dick with the other wrapped tightly around his throat.
Thinking about how you sneered at him and called him a creep.
Pushing his head back against the pillow, squirming like it’s you holding his neck. Squeezing hard. You would squeeze too hard, you would want it to hurt. You would call him a creep, disgusting, a freak.
His groan comes out as a strangled whine as he runs his thumb across his leaking tip.
He recalls how the black fabric clung to your waist, cinched just above your belly button. Revealing that thin strip of flesh around your midsection, your skin looked so soft and smooth, what he wouldn’t give to run his fingers across your waist.
He’s snapped out of his self-gratification by the sound of his phone. Whining at the interruption.
He had your contact saved under your full name, first, middle, and last, just like everyone else's in his phone. As if you knew what he was doing, there you were.
He answers without a second thought, he couldn’t possibly dig himself into a deeper hole. Maybe you want to give him a chance to explain himself, maybe you want to blackmail him, maybe you got too drunk and you need someone to drive you home, who cares, anything is better than nothing.
“Hello?” He has enough courtesy to stop stroking himself as he brings the phone to his ear. Glancing at the alarm clock beside him, when did it get so late?
“Whatcha doing?” He can tell immediately based on your slurred speech that you’re drunk, and based on the obnoxious slurping you’re still actively drinking.
“What?” It’s all he can say as his cock twitches at the sound of your voice, like a dog hearing its favorite word.
“You sound… sweaty.” Your voice trails off into a fit of giggles, he doesn’t hear anything in the background so you must have left the bar but he’s desperate to avoid addressing his sweating.
“Are you still at Betty’s? Do you need me to come get you?” He isn’t sure why you called him, you’re drunk enough that you probably just did it by accident.
“No- no, I’m home.” You’re still giggling, the sound makes his cheeks burn. Contrary to what everyone on the team thinks, he actually enjoys the sound of your laughter, he just likes it less when you’re laughing at him.
“Are you okay?” He softens his voice, he’s a little worried that you’re too drunk. Even if you’re safe at home, what if you brought someone home with you and they’re over there taking advantage of you? Or what if you invited someone over for drinks and they slipped you something?
“No, Doctor Reid. I’m not.” You drag out his name, he can picture the way you flick your tongue when you use his title. It makes him sit up straight.
“Do you need help?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay…?” Then why did you call him?
“Okay.” Your voice pitches up in that overly sweet way as you mock him.
“You’re drunk.” He’s stating the obvious but he feels like one of you should address it.
“Don’t worry Doctor, I waited until I was safe at home to indulge.”
“Are you alone?” He can’t imagine you left the bar empty handed looking the way you did. You could have taken any of those losers home.
Any of those losers but him.
“All alone.” He can’t help the sigh of relief that he lets out. “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend? We’ve got four more days to get through.”
“There’s a chess tournament livestreaming Friday night that I was hoping to catch.” It’s true, there’s no reason to make up an active weekend full of plans. He’ll watch the chess tournament and spend the rest of the weekend with his dick in his hand scrolling through your Instagram. It’s the only time he actively indulges in social media usage.
“That’s it?”
“Not all of us are on the prowl at bars every night." He can’t help himself as he snaps back at you, you started it with your tone anyway.
“You’re so judgemental, and- and rude.” You stutter through your sentence, he can imagine the way your lips curl back as you say it.
“Why exactly did you call me?” He finally asks the question he’s dying to know the answer to.
You’re quiet for a moment before you clear your throat.
“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?”
“Why?” This has to be a trap.
“Maybe we can sit and talk for a few minutes, and really get to the root of our problems.” Definitely a trap.
“Really?” He makes his skepticism clear.
“No, not really. But I’ll make it worth your while.” This phone call is harmless but he absolutely should not subject himself to one on one time with you. What’s your angle here?
“Why would I want to spend my day off being berated by you?”
“I told you, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Goodnight.” He needs this conversation to end while you’re still on mostly good terms.
Before one of you ruins it with something too mean.
“Spencer.” The world around him stops when you whine. His hand involuntarily squeezes around the base of his cock, he’s going to spend the next several hours repeating that whine over and over again in his head.
“Fine, how will you make it worth my while? Contrary to what you believe, I don't enjoy your constant verbal abuse.” He swallows, fighting the urge to start fucking his hand again. At the very least he should wait until you hang up.
“I’ll wear the shirt again, the one I wore tonight.” He sucks in a sharp breath, holding it trapped in his lungs as he flashes through the mental images he’s branded into his brain of the shirt. Involuntarily flexing his hand around his cock again.
“What time are we meeting?” His resolve is thrown out the window immediately at the thought of getting to see you wearing it again. He doesn’t even care if this is a trap at this point.
“You choose, text me a place and a time and I’ll see you there.”
“What? Why do I have to-” He starts but you interrupt him.
“Goodnight Doctor Reid.” And just like that the phone clicks.
With his free hand he types out a place that he likes that isn’t too far from you, all the while his other hand has already started stroking his aching cock again.
White Rabbit Diner, 10:30 a.m.
He tosses his phone towards his nightstand as he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow as he arches his hips, fucking down and into his hand as he recalls the exact way you whined out his name.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
You should have texted him and cancelled.
It would have been so easy to blame everything on your intoxication but for some reason you couldn’t. It’s eating you up inside, Emily’s words are driving you fucking crazy.
There’s no reason to be nervous, yet you still gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were white on the drive here. You have the upper hand here, you have all the power and he’s still just Spencer.
He’s still annoying, bratty, creepy, Spencer.
And until you prove anything Emily claimed, you shouldn’t act otherwise.
Scratch that.
You shouldn’t act at all, you should just get the information you want and learn to live with it. You just want to know, there’s nothing wrong with knowing.
You’re in a rut. You don’t know what you want anymore and Emily threw a firecracker into your already confused brain. Now you’re scrambled, maybe having an adult conversation about adult topics with an adult will fix you. You don’t actually want to fuck him. You just want to know that someone wants you, it’ll help you get your mojo back, that’s all this is.
True to your word you’re wearing the same shirt you wore last night, paired with a baggy pair of sweatpants this time. You don’t want to look like you’re trying to impress him, quite the opposite actually. You want to prove Emily wrong, if he’s obsessed he’ll be obsessed even if you look like this.
You hold the strap of your purse tightly as you approach the entrance, a coping mechanism to try and soothe your nerves as you scan the inside of the empty restaurant. Only one booth is occupied.
Of course he’s already here.
You’re ten minutes early and he’s already on his second cup of coffee.
When you start towards him he looks up, to no one's surprise his eyes linger too long on your chest before he meets your eyes. Neither one of you smiles or waves.
There are no words exchanged between the two of you as you take a seat on the opposite side of the booth.
He really is doing his best to look at your face. It looks as though it physically pains him to not look down but he gives it his best effort as he chews his lip. You want to keep him on the edge of his seat for a little while longer, so you take this as an opportunity to look him over.
He’s dressed like he would be for a day in the office, of course. At this point you’re certain he doesn’t own casual clothes, his closet must just be a never ending supply of dress shirts and sweater vests.
And he looks tired, even more so than he normally does.
Good.
You’re glad he didn’t sleep well after whatever the fuck yesterday was. You hope he had a long night spent fretting over this whole situation. You spent your night and morning coming up with a game plan.
You’re gonna feel things out, do a few “experiments” to test Emily’s theory, and that’s it. At the end of the day he’s still him and you’re still you.
You just need to know.
That’s all.
You just need to remind yourself that you have all the control here, he isn’t going to run and tell Hotch anything you say because he doesn’t want you to do the same thing.
“When was the last time you had sex?” No reason to beat around the bush, you know this conversation is going to be uncomfortable for him.
He chokes on his coffee, grabbing a napkin he dabs at his chin.
“What kind of question is that? Why does every conversation with you have to be about sex? It’s ten in the morning, what is wrong with you?” It’s ten in the morning and his voice is already high pitched in a way that normally takes hours of teasing for you to achieve.
“We’re here because I want to talk about sex.”
“Well I don’t want to, and if that’s all you want to do then I’ll just leave.” He starts to slide out of the booth but you reach across the table, grabbing his arm.
“If you stay I’ll forget everything that happened yesterday.”
He shakes you off as he sits back down.
“I told you, I’m not scared of you and I didn’t do anything wrong. Going to a bar isn’t a crime.” Based on the way he crosses his arms defensively while his jaw ticks you know that he is in fact scared.
“That’s fine and you’re welcome to go if that’s the case.”
He should know you’re telling the truth, your whole job is knowing.
“You swear you won’t tell anyone if I stay?“ He speaks softer now, less defensively.
“If you have breakfast with me and answer my questions I promise I’ll forget everything, I won’t coyly tease you about it, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be like it never happened.”
He buries his face in both of his hands for a moment before dragging his fingers through his hair as he sighs. He always does that when he’s stressed, it’s why his hair is always a mess.
“Okay, sure, fine. But I need collateral.” You knew he’d agree/
“Collateral?”
“Yeah, you have to give me something, or- or tell me something in exchange. I’m not just gonna tell you my embarrassing secrets without something in return, otherwise you could just go and tell everyone everything I’ve told you and that I was at the bar.”
“Fine, we can go back and forth, any questions at all, and you have to tell the truth, I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“And I’ll know the same.” He says it like he says most things, smugly, despite the way his leg bounces nervously under the table.
“And obviously all of this never leaves this table. If you even tell anyone we had breakfast I will deny it.”
“Obviously. A mutual agreement of trust.”
“Agreed.” You hold your hand out, out of habit, and much to your surprise he shakes it. “I thought you didn't shake hands?”
“Is that your first question?”
“No, when was the last time you had sex?” You’re itching for the answer, if it’s been a while he’s more likely to cooperate. The more desperate he is the easier it’ll be to get him to talk. You know how to play this game, if you want him to cooperate all you have to do is just your chest out and pout.
“With Lila Archer, two years ago.” His eyes dart away from you down towards his coffee, his pinky twitches around his mug.
Fucker.
“Are you seriously already lying to me?” You throw a sugar packet at him, he doesn’t so much as flinch as it hits him in the chest. You both watch as it falls under the table.
“We already established that I don’t need to be doing this at all, why does it matter if I lie? This is just a stupid game, I gave you an answer. Let's just be happy about that.” He mumbles, always with the mumbling.
You’re about to stick the end of his tie in his coffee when a pretty older woman in an apron smiles as she approaches the table.
“How are the two of you doin’? You look like you’re havin’ the sweetest mornin’.” She has an adorable tooth gap and a voice like honey but he doesn’t even look up at her, with you distracted he doesn’t tear his eyes off your tits.
“We’re doing so great! We were just talking about the funniest thing that happened last night over at Betty’s, have you ever been?” You flash her a grin as you kick Spencer under the table, finally he looks up at her, just for a second before he looks back at you.
“I haven’t but I’ve heard good things from a couple’a girlfriends of mine. How was it?” She pulls a pencil out of her apron pocket.
“Oh it was so great, we actually work together and ran into each other there completely by accident,” You point at Spencer as he glares at you. “do you wanna tell her what happened, Reid?” You turn your smile from her to him as his lips settle into a sulk.
“You know what, it’s a long story and we don’t want to bother you but I think my friend and I are ready to order.” He speaks in a controlled and calm tone, despite his expression. He closes the menu in front of him, handing it to her. “I’ll have the un-birthday breakfast and she’ll have an order of chocolate chip pancakes with a seasonal fruit assortment.” You open your mouth to object but he just carries on speaking. “Could she also get a coffee and some water, and a cup of flavored creamer please, vanilla or mocha are fine, thank you.” He takes your menu before you can say anything, giving your server a tightlipped smile as he hands yours to her as well before she finishes scribbling in her notepad, turning on her heels and disappearing back into the kitchen. Once she’s out of sight he sighs. “Okay, fine, I won’t lie, let’s start over.” He’s pouting as he takes a sip of his water.
“How do you know my breakfast order?” You sit up a little straighter as you squint at him, studying his mannerisms.
“You like sweet things for breakfast, you usually opt for a donut or a pastry over a breakfast sandwich. When there are donuts in the bullpen you always take a chocolate one, and you circled your finger across the seasonal fruit option at least four times when you were looking over the menu.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe he does spend a lot of time staring at you specifically, you seriously doubt anyone else on the team would know your breakfast order.
“I- wow, I don’t even know what to say to-” You really don’t, you normally have a snarky quip to throw back in his face but this is uncharted territory.
“When was the last time you had sex?” You don’t have time to think of something to say, he beats you to it.
“What?”
“You asked your question, and I answered, now it’s your turn, that was the deal.”
“Two months ago.” You speak without another thought, if you tell the truth he’s more likely to as well. The second you say it he’s suspicious. He tilts his head like he does when he’s watching an unsub from behind the glass.
“How is that possible? You said just last week that you… hooked up-” He says it like it’s a phrase in another language, completely foreign to him. “-with some vet tech?”
“I was lying. I haven’t had sex in two months.” You shrug, you aren’t exhibiting any signs of lying and he knows it. You're telling the truth.
“Why even bother telling everyone-” You hold a finger up in front of his face.
“It’s not your turn. When was the last time you had sex? And don’t lie.” You put on the most serious face you can muster given how ridiculous this conversation is.
“It’s been…” He mumbles something, reaching for another sugar packet, emptying the contents into his coffee.
“If you keep mumbling I’m going to pour your coffee into your lap.” As you reach for his mug he pulls it back.
“I suppose technically I haven’t.” The words tumble out of his mouth in quick succession as his eyebrows furrow.
“Haven’t what?” You draw your hand back.
“That was your turn, you already set a precedent that there are no follow up questions.” He takes a long sip of his coffee, refusing to look at you as you stare at him.
Oh.
He hasn’t.
“Why are you lying to everyone about having sex?” He sets his mug down a little too hard, the table shakes as your server reappears, offering a smile as she silently sets down your coffee, a small silver pitcher of creamer, and a glass of water before disappearing again.
You have to clear your throat as you try to collect yourself.
He’s twenty five, and despite how annoying he is you can’t deny that he is sort of attractive. If you’re into librarians, or guys who don’t know how to style their hair. You’re certain he could pick someone up at a bar if he tried.
“I umm- I guess I just didn’t want to make a big deal about it when I stopped having sex.” Your brows are drawn together in a sharp motion as you continue to try and make sense of this. “Is this a voluntary celibacy?”
“Absolutely not.” His jaw ticks, just a little bit, his hands are in his lap but if you had to guess you’d say his nails are digging into his palms.
Something must be wrong with him, aside from the obvious.
You might not like him but you aren’t blind. Underneath his terrible haircut he has an objectively nice looking face. Sharp jaw, strong chin, pretty round lips…
It just doesn’t make sense.
“Why are we here?” He doesn’t mumble but he does whisper.
“I told you, I wanted to talk.” You pour your creamer into your coffee, trying to keep your tone light.
“I get that part but why? We’ve never hung out before, you ignore me at after work functions, and you obviously don’t like me. You make a conscious effort to let everyone know you don’t like me. I just don’t understand why you’d want to spend one of your rare days off bickering with me.” The look of concentration on his face tells you he’s genuinely struggling to understand your motive.
You’re struggling with that yourself right now.
You don’t want to lie. But you also don’t want to outright say, “because I want to see if you’re hot for me.” Because you aren’t really sure why it’s so important for you to know that in the first place.
“I- I don’t know.” Is finally the answer you settle on.
“Are we allowed to give super vague responses that don’t actually answer anything?” He almost smiles as he says it, it helps you relax again.
“How about we each get a pass?”
“Well that’s not fair, I would have used mine if I knew that was an option.” You love that tone of voice, argumentative and louder, more confident but without the seriousness that was starting to settle onto your conversation.
“Well now it is, and I pass, you get one too.”
“Fine, why did you stop having sex? At one point I assume you really were taking men home while you were out with Emily, otherwise you wouldn’t have earned your nickname. So, you stopped two months ago, why?”
Now you wish you hadn't used your pass.
“I just… needed a change. I wasn’t satisfied by the-” You struggle to find the words to accurately explain the feeling. Once again, you don’t want to lie but you aren’t entirely sure of the answer. “I… stopped having fun. So there really wasn’t a reason to keep doing it if I wasn’t having a good time.”
It’s objectively true.
You don’t mention that you stopped feeling the spark you used to get. You don’t feel that pang of arousal in your stomach when you’re with a partner anymore.
You stopped getting butterflies.
He nods, both of you taking long sips of your water and sitting in silence as you hear the kitchen door swing open, both of your breakfasts are brought out. You’re thrilled to have a reason to sit and think, even if it’s just for a moment as you cut up your pancakes.
“Why haven’t you just gotten it over with? You’ve had options, I’ve been on cases with you where women are giving you the time of day.” You wave your fork in his direction before sticking it into a strawberry.
“I have standards, you know. Just because I haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I want to stick it into the first person that offers.” There’s a harsh snap to his voice that is reserved just for you, familiar and engaging as he takes a bite of his eggs.
“I’m not saying you should fuck anything with a pulse, I’m saying that there have been plenty of pretty, nice women, who I’ve seen hit on you.”
“I’m fully aware of that, but I wasn’t interested in them.”
“Why not? You clearly don’t want to be a virgin, so why not just get it over with?” You reach across the table for the syrup, coating your pancakes.
“Like I said, I have standards. I might be a virgin-” He whispers it, looking over his shoulder as if the diner isn’t still empty. “But I know what I like and what I want.”
“Hmm.” You hum around a bite of your pancakes. Fuck this place has good food, you’re gonna have to come back here.
“You asked two questions so now I get two. What is fun to you?” He tilts his head to the side, with an air of confidence you don’t normally see from him when sex is the subject matter.
“Hmm?” You hum around your fork.
“You said you stopped having fun, what’s fun? Shouldn’t all sex be fun?”
Oh you sweet summer child.
“What’s the second question?”
“Depends on your answer.” One good thing about Spencer is how engaged he is in every conversation he has.
“I like to try new things.” You tilt your head a bit to the side.
“Like what?”
“You’ll need to be more specific if you want a specific answer.” You love the way he hangs off your every word.
“What was something fun you wanted to do, that one of your partners turned down?” The smile you get from him as he says it is unlike anything you’re used to from him. You like this side of Spencer, you much prefer this Spencer.
This is like chess with him but better because you actually stand a chance of beating him.
This conversation just got fun. Any dread you felt when you first arrived is gone.
“I wanted him to beg for it.” When you see your server step out of the kitchen you smile and wave at her as she heads in your direction to refill your coffees. “I wanted him to ask nicely, and use his manners. He didn’t want to, he puffed out his chest like the big strong man he thought he was and told me that he doesn’t do that, because he expects it. So I kindly asked him to leave.” You continue to speak as she fills both your mugs. “Thank you.” You give her another big smile as she leaves.
“And what do you expect? What requirements do your partners have to meet?” He doesn’t seem to even notice that she came and went, he’s too focused on you now.
“My standards are high these days, begging is obviously the bare minimum, which is probably why it’s been two months.” You pick up your mug, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. “It’s important to me that my partners feel grateful when they’re with me.”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re asking for too much.” It’s your turn to almost spit your coffee out as he says it so casually.
Clearing your throat you set the mug back down.
“I expect devotion.”
“And what do these men get in return?” He’s like an interviewer. His questions come quickly, as if he has them written down.
“That would be your third question, Doctor.”
“I’m trading in my pass for an extra question, since we’re allowed to make up rules whenever we want.”
You pause for a moment, trying to meet his gaze as he avoids yours.
“They get me.” You smile as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes are still down on the swirling of his coffee.
Oh, you could absolutely pull the trigger on this if you want to.
That’s the question you need to ask yourself. Do you want to? If you look at this as an abstract concept where he’s just a guy in this diner and not Spencer, he’s the perfect choice.
And Emily’s right, he doesn’t even know it. You’ve never properly looked at his body language but he leans into every word that falls from your lips. He isn’t so brazenly staring at your chest today but he certainly steals glances. Even if parts of him hate you, that’s fine, parts of you hate him. But there’s an undeniable fascination for you that you’d never noticed before today.
What’s the worst that could happen?
“My turn. Do I live up to the high standards of Dr. Spencer Reid? Would you have sex with me?”
“Now you’re just being mean.” His confident tone falters a bit as he continues to stare down, tucking his hair behind his ears.
You can’t exactly blame him for that reaction, You’ve spent the last year teasing him relentlessly. You’ve taken every opportunity handed to you to embarrass him, after the first month you stopped with the pleasantries. What reason would he have to assume this was anything but a cruel joke.
You grab his mug, pulling it across the table so it’s in front of you. You take a handful of sugar packets as well, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“Remind me, how many sugars do you take in your coffee?”
“Six, I can do it myself.” Jesus, he likes his sugar. He starts to reach towards you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You just click your tongue in response.
“No, no I’ve got it.” One by one you rip open each packet, when you empty the sixth one you look up to find he’s watching you closely. You lean over the mug, your tongue poking out from between your teeth as you spit into his coffee before you slide it back over to him.
“Come on, seriously-”
You shake your head as he starts, effectively shutting him up.
“It’s still my turn, would you have sex with me if you could? Since you’ve played so nicely I won’t even make you say it out loud if it’s too embarrassing. You can just enjoy your coffee and I’ll know the answer.” Your tone is still teasing but you look at him with a fondness that is unfamiliar to him.
He stares down into his coffee, his cheeks are red, and that squiggly little vein on his temple looks like it’s about to pop.
Okay maybe this was a step too far.
But you seriously doubt you misread this situation, your entire job is to read situations.
You watch with bated breath as he hesitantly lifts his mug. And just like that, the biggest germaphobe you know takes a long sip of his coffee. You can’t help the smile that plays on your lips.
“What about you?” He mumbles, staring down like he doesn’t want to see your reaction.
Hook, line, and sinker.
You take your mug, holding it out towards him, his eyes look like they might pop out of his head.
“Go ahead.” Your smile only grows as he chews his lip.
Tentatively, he leans forward, his every move is unsure but he spits into your cup, finally looking you in the eye. You don’t break eye contact as you take a sip of your coffee.
He looks enamoured by you.
“You know… I’ve been thinking, I think that our work is being affected by our antagonistic relationship. Hotch is always telling me that I should be nicer to you. And I don’t know about you but I know that my current lack of… sexual fulfillment has made me irritable and distracted. Has it made you feel that way?” You brush the tip of your shoe against his ankle, immediately he jolts up, his knees hitting the table.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You can feel his leg bouncing under the table again as he groans, taking another sip of his coffee, as if more caffeine is going to soothe his nerves.
“It isn’t your turn.” You click your tongue.
“Fine.” He grumbles. “I don’t let this kind of thing get in the way of my work.” His fingers flex around his mug. “Can we just be done with this game?”
“I want one more question.”
“Better make it a good one.”
You intend to.
“Do you beg when you want something?” You figure you’ll floor him with that one.
He catches you off guard with an immediate whispered response.
“Only if I want it badly enough.” This conversation has been full of surprises.
“Your turn.”
“If I were to beg, would I get what I want?” There’s no confidence behind his voice anymore, he doesn’t even try to sound sure of himself.
Emily was absolutely right in every regard. He’s perfect. You don’t bother concealing the wild grin that you know is creeping across your face.
“If you want it badly enough.”
He takes in a shuddering breath, his lips parting slightly as he stares at you. He looks like he’s still waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him.
“You said you don’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend right? Other than your chess thing?”
“My schedule is empty.” He says it just like the eager puppy Emily claimed he was, his tail might as well be wagging for a treat.
And it’s only Thursday.
This might be the best long weekend Hotch has ever forced you to take.
“You know, I get a little nervous with the maintenance people coming over when I’m home alone. Would you want to come over tonight and maybe stay for the weekend? I could order us a pizza.”
“You hate red sauce.” He says it like he’s found the missing piece of a puzzle, like this is a break in the case that proves this is all some big plot against him.
“Why do you know that?” He shrugs as you roll your eyes. “I don’t like certain red sauce pastas, I like it a specific way. I still like pizza.”
“Okay.” He nods, and a part of you knows he’s cataloging that information away somewhere in a mental folder with your name on it.
“And you understand why you’re coming over?” You say it slowly, nodding as you do.
“I assume when I get there you’ll have a bunch of your friends over so they can point and laugh at me for thinking this was actually happening.” His tone is only half joking.
“This is gonna be a lot of fun if that’s the mindset you’re in.”
“I’m not sure what other mindset I could be in right now, this has all been very… confusing.” And no one hates to be confused as much as Spencer does.
“What do you think the chances are that this is real? You have a statistic for everything.”
“I’d say about five percent.”
“That’s higher than I expected.” You bump his leg with your shoe again, he flinches but he stays in his seat.
“As unlikely as all of this is, I don’t think you lied to me at all. I think that you’re lonely, and unsatisfied. And that might just be enough for you to settle on a sure thing.”
Lonely and unsatisfied.
No reason to deny that, you wouldn’t still be here if that wasn’t the case.
“You’re a sure thing? Even with five percent odds?” Your smile only grows. A sure thing.
“I’m a sure thing with one percent odds.”
“So you’ll come over?”
He chews on his lip as he nods.
You eat the rest of your breakfast in silence, he seems to be lost in thought and you don’t want to say anything that’ll make him change his mind.
When your server returns you reach for your wallet but before you can he hands her some cash, telling her to keep the change. You don’t object, you just stare at him.
“Thank you.” Your smile never falters as you finish your coffee.
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Mhmm.” He hums and as he stands you join him, following him out to the parking lot. He walks you to your car, watching you lean against the driver side door. You take a moment to look him up and down.
You immediately find yourself staring at the tent in his pants. Good lord he’s like a teenager. You can’t remember the last time you were able to get a guy this worked up just with a conversation.
“Jesus, are you okay to drive like that?” You flick your eyes downwards.
“Shut up.” He gets so red so easily, you can’t wait to find out how low that red goes.
“Seriously, are you sure that isn’t like, distracted driving?”
“It’s human nature, if you spend an hour throwing yourself at me I’m going to have a physical reaction.”
“And throwing myself at you? That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”
“If you say so.” He fidgets with his car keys.
“Does six thirty work for you?”
“Six thirty is perfect.” Something tells you any time you offered would have been perfect.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
He feels like he might pass out.
What the fuck just happened?
Once your car is pulled out of the parking lot he palms himself through his slacks, hissing as he finally relieves a bit of the pressure that’s been building for the last hour.
Is it possible that you killed him at the bar last night and this is all some fantasy he’s having as he bleeds out on the floor?
He still isn’t convinced that this isn’t just some kind of joke.
You can have your pick of any guy.
You’ve had your pick, and he’s heard the descriptions of these men, they aren’t like him. They aren’t lanky, greasy, guys who can’t last more than thirty seconds.
He doesn’t really care if it is a joke at this point, if it’s a joke he might as well get what he can out of it, maybe he’ll get to see you with your shirt off before you laugh in his face and send him packing.
The parking lot is empty, it’s a Thursday before noon in the middle of nowhere.
He should wait until he’s home.
But you were true to your word, and you wore that shirt again.
He has to stop at the drugstore before he heads home. He’s never done anything like this before but he’s pretty sure the guy is supposed to bring the condoms.
He can’t go to the store like this.
The smart thing to do would be to just handle it here.
He doesn’t bother unbuttoning his pants, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even get that far.
Pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants he imagines it’s you, in the diner, brushing your foot up against him. He would have told you every single embarrassing secret he had if you’d have slid your foot up the length of his pants and pressed down.
He’s practically drooling at the thought of being in your apartment. It’ll smell like you, he’ll be alone with you. And god willing, you’re going to touch him.
He feels like he won the lottery.
He got caught following you to leer and you and he’s being rewarded with the possibility of finally losing his virginity to the hottest person he’s ever met.
With a whimper he rests his head on the top of his steering wheel as he makes a mess out of the inside of his pants.
Hopefully you aren’t depending on him to last any longer than it takes for him to get inside of you.
He’s glad he wore dark colored slacks. With a turn of his key he starts his car.
For the first time in his life he’s going to buy condoms.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
The knock on your door makes you jump.
Shooting a glance towards your clock tells you that it’s only five minutes after six.
Yet there he is when you open the door.
Thankfully you spent the day cleaning and picked up the pizza a few minutes ago.
“I thought we said six thirty?” You don’t bother greeting him, you’re already irritated enough by the fact that he’s in the same clothes and you’re in your PJs.
“On time is late, early is on time.” He is quite possibly the lamest person you’ve ever met.
“Twenty five minutes early is early. Sounds to me like maybe you just couldn’t wait.” You grab his arm, pulling him into your apartment. He’s still in a brown blazer and a dress shirt with a fucking tie, who dresses like this for a hookup? “Are you seriously still dressed like that? “Go change, I can’t have a conversation with you like this.”
“How else would I be dressed?” Thank god he has a backpack with him.
“I hope to god you brought something other than business attire. Put on some pajamas or something.” You point him towards the bathroom as you split off towards the kitchen to grab plates.
You quickly sort yourself out in the reflection of your microwave. You kept it casual, you’d hoped he would too but that was clearly wishful thinking. Your favorite pajama pants with Snoopy on them and a tanktop. Simple, classic, easy enough to take off. Not so obviously revealing that you can’t sit and have a conversation with him before you do whatever it is that the two of you are about to do.
You straighten up at the sound of the bathroom door opening.
Returning to the living room you watch as he sets his sneakers down by the door. He stands straight, holding his arms tightly to his body like he’s worried about taking up any space.
You can work with this.
Especially with him dressed like that.
He’s got a black caltech shirt on with a pair of grey sweats, and of course, his mismatched socks. He’s always got so many layers on at work, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him in just a t-shirt and you’re liking what you see.
He almost looks like a normal person now.
Okay.
Time to rip off the band-aid. This shouldn’t be so hard, you both know why you’re here, you’ve already had one awkward conversation, what’s one more?
You sit on the couch, patting the spot next to you as you open the pizza box on your coffee table. As he sits beside you, you set a slice on a plate before handing it to him. Doing the same for yourself.
“I think we need to lay down some ground rules before anything happens here.” Your voice cracks a little as you clear your throat. Jesus, pull it together.
“I completely agree.” Thank god he sounds nervous too.
You shouldn’t be nervous, you do this all the time.
“Let’s start with the obvious, you can’t tell anyone about this. If you did I would vehemently deny it and of course whatever was happening between us would stop.” This can’t ever get out. Emily and Derek would never let you live it down.
“Obviously.” He rolls his eyes as he takes a bite.
“No offense intended, it’s not a personal thing, it’s a professional thing, for the sake of my career and yours.”
“Sure.”
“Did you bring condoms?”
He nods, unzipping his backpack he hands you a Trojan value pack, there’s four different options.
“Forty condoms?” You stifle a laugh as you pass the box back to him. His cheeks burn red, making him blush might be your new favorite thing to do.
“I wasn’t sure what your preference was or how many was normal. And I didn’t want to run out.”
“Run out!” You set your plate down as you laugh, you're too nervous to eat.
“I don’t know how many is normal!” You can’t blame him, he really doesn’t know any better.
“That’s fine, you know what, forty is fine. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to anyway. I’m on birth control and I got tested a month ago. And I know you obviously don’t have anything.” The second you say it the condoms go back in the bag.
“Anything else?” He cocks an eyebrow at you.
“As far as commitment goes there is none. If either of us decides we’re done then we’re done.”
“Sounds about right for you.” He scoffs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re scared of commitment, everyone knows it.”
“Not wanting commitment in a fuck buddy scenario is not the same as being scared of commitment.” This isn’t an argument you want to have right now because he is technically right.
“Anything else?”
“No, your turn.” You grumble.
“I don’t want you seeing other guys while we’re doing this.” Of course mr. commitment doesn’t want you seeing anyone else.
“I will not engage in sexual activities with others but I’ll still have to flirt with guys when I go out with Emily.”
He frowns.
“We can work out the logistics of that later.”
“Whatever, sure.” Another argument you don’t want to have right now.
“I’d like for us to be honest with each other, even if it’s uncomfortable.”
“Give me an example.”
“Like if I asked you about how many people you’ve slept with.”
“Does that matter?” You lean away from him as you cross your arms over your chest.
“Not at all, I’m just curious. And you don’t have to answer, I just ask that if you do that you don’t lie.” You drop your guard a bit at that, he seems genuine.
“Around twenty, maybe twenty five.” You don’t know the exact amount but that sounds right.
“That’s it?” The ever distrustful Spencer Reid.
“Tales of my sexual exploits have been greatly exaggerated.” You lean back against the couch, sighing.
“I’ll also obviously answer any questions you might have with complete honesty as well.”
You're eager to test the extent of that honesty.
“Do you ever think about me when you jerk off?” You sit back up, smirking at him.
“Usually.” He shrugs, reaching into his backpack he grabs a glasses case, he must have taken out his contacts in the bathroom. You watch as he puts on a pair of horn rimmed glasses.
That changes things.
This must be how he feels when you wear a low cut shirt.
He blinks, adjusting to them. You tilt your head, holding your breath as you stare at him. They sit so nicely, high on his nose. Something about the round frames accentuate the sharp features of his face. The thick tops of them stand out against his pale skin. You’re slowly getting the sexy librarian appeal.
Oh my god, pull it together.
“How often?” You cough the words out, trying to regain the air of confidence you had when you asked the question.
“Twice a day.” He answers much more comfortably than he did in the diner. He doesn’t twitch, he’s found a sense of calm here.
“You jerk off twice a day?” You squeak out.
“I jerk off while thinking about you twice a day.”
“Wow.” You wanted someone obsessed, you aren’t going to find anything better than this.
“Oh I know. You’ve become a real problem for me.”
“How do you want to do this? It’s your first time, it should be special.” As much as you’d love to tear into him right now and find out what makes him tick, that isn’t what tonight's about. You’ll have plenty of time for that later.
“I could care less so long as it happens, I feel like I’ve dug myself into a pretty embarrassing hole if I’ve come all this way and said all these things just to not have sex.” He scratches the back of his neck as he gives you a sheepish smile.
“I know a part of you still thinks this is some evil plot on my end of things but I promise I’m not joking.”
“I’ll believe it when you actually start touching me.”
You’re suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you’re sitting rather far away. You’ve both retreated to the furthest edges of the couch.
You set your plate down, taking his and doing the same before you scoot over. You pull him closer as you throw your legs over his lap.
“Believe it yet?” You speak softer now that you’re right next to each other.
“I’m starting to. What are your limits? What do you want to avoid?” He keeps his tone sarcastic but this close to him you can see the way his blush creeps down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.
“I don’t think there’s anything.” You’re practically whispering now, you’re so close to him.
“That seems a little extreme.” His brows furrow.
“If you do something I don’t like you’ll know. We can settle on a safeword but I’m also very comfortable simply telling you to stop if I don’t like something.”
“So… anything’s on the table.”
That’s the goal.
“Anything you can think up in that big, perverted brain of yours. We can do whatever you want.”
He swallows loudly. His hands rest awkwardly at his sides, usually in this position the guy would touch you but not him. He doesn’t even know that’s an option.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” You’re trying to think of ways to make him more comfortable but you’re coming up empty. Should you offer him a book to consume? He isn’t like your usual partners, normally you’d put on a movie or a show to pretend to watch before you get started.
“I’d rather not.” He stammers, his fingers tap against your ankle rhythmically.
“What do you want to do then?”
“You can’t seriously be asking me that right now.”
“Well I don’t know, I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything, I figured you’d want to be eased into this.”
“We can do whatever I want, that’s what you just said, right? Because if that’s the case then I’m certainly not going to start by watching a movie.”
“It helps to set the mood.” You roll your eyes.
“My mood doesn’t really need any further setting. Does yours?”
Nope.
“Do you want me to take the lead?” You give him a genuine smile, not your usual predatory grin.
“I will do literally anything you ask me to do right now.”
Perfect, perfect Spencer. He is exactly what you needed to end your dry spell.
“Why don’t we start by going to my room.” You stand, holding your hand out to him. It’s quite possibly the first kind gesture you’ve ever made towards him.
He nods as he takes your hand, letting you guide him down the hall and into your room. You take a seat on the bed but he doesn’t follow. Instead he stands in the doorway, robotic in the way he examines every detail.
“You have more stuffed animals than I thought you would.” It’s the first thing he says once he steps into the room.
“How many did you think I’d have?”
“None.”
You’ve got a lot more than that, a mess of them are strewn about your bed, you’ve got a few on your nightstand as well as a net mounted to the wall that holds a pile. It crosses your mind to be embarrassed about it but you’ve never let it bother you before, why would you start now. You kick most of them off the bed as you lay back against the pile of pillows against your headboard.
You don’t want to rush him, tonight isn’t about you, even if you have big plans for him in the future. Right now you want him to be comfortable and happy.
He takes a hesitant step forward, not towards you, just further into the room. He faces away from you as he stares at your walls and shelves. You have photos with friends, and a few little paintings you found at thrift stores. His eyes linger on a picture of you, Emily, and Derek, out at the bar.
Eventually he turns to your bookshelf.
Whenever he’s reading he gets that look in his eyes, like he’s devouring the words rather than reading them.
“Have you read all of these?” He murmurs.
“Most of them, everything on the bottom shelf is stuff I still need to get to.”
“I haven’t heard of most of these.” His fingers linger over Ice Planet Barbarians.
“I would be concerned if you had.”
He nods, turning to you at last as he steps forward, running his fingers across your comforter.
“I always imagined your room being… scarier.” The fact that he imagined it at all only serves to sustain your smile.
“Scarier?”
“Black and red, chains and whips.” Your room is a lot of things, but it isn’t dark and scary. Your sheets are a patchwork mix of colors, your walls are painted a soft green.
“You imagined my room like a dungeon?” You cock an eyebrow at him.
“Something like that.” He sits, facing you, the bed gently sinking against his weight.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You seem a little on edge. We can do something else for a few minutes if that’ll help.” You’re a little worried he’s about to turn tail and run based on the way he’s eyeing your door.
“I’m ready, I just…” He stares at his hands, a look of concern that you’re all too familiar with after a year spent working together flashes across his face. “I’m a little worried this is all some kind of prank. That Emily and Derek are gonna jump out and laugh at me for thinking that this was ever really happening.”
“Emily and Derek aren’t even in the state, Reid.” You reach out, touching his arm, a zap of static electricity makes you flinch before you rest your hand on his forearm.
“I thought of that too, and then I thought about you going in on Monday and telling everyone everything. I can see it now, Derek will ask you how your weekend was and you’ll give everyone a theatrical retelling of how you tricked poor Spencer into coming over to your house. You got him to spill his guts and then you got him to strip down to his underwear before you kicked him out.” His voice sounds so small when he says it.
“You really think I would do that to you?” You didn’t know it was possible for you to feel bad for the boy genius but right now you do. You’ve seen him as Hotch’s spoiled prodigy for a long time but right now he’s… vulnerable.
He scoffs.
“You know, when I was in high school, there was a girl I liked. She asked me to meet her at the football field, she wasn’t like the other kids, she was nice to me, and I liked her, and she was the prettiest girl in school, how could I turn that down?” You’ve heard lots of Spencer’s stories, directly from him, in passing, or from the rest of the team, but you’ve never heard this one. “I couldn’t believe she was actually there when I got there. I was even more surprised that the entire football team was there.” He doesn’t look at you, instead he looks straight past your head to the wall behind you. “They stripped me down and tied me to the goal post. I begged them to stop and not one of them listened to me, no one helped me. Even after everyone left, no one ever felt bad and came back for me, I had to get out myself.”
His gaze is unfocused as you give him a look that could only be described as pity.
“I thought you graduated high school when you were twelve?” You whisper, it’s the first time you’ve ever wanted him to correct you, instead he gives you a sad smile.
“Youngest in my class.”
You feel a fondness for him that you haven’t previously. Here, in the dim light of your room, dressed in normal clothes, picking at his nails, he becomes someone different from the man you see in the office everyday. That man quite literally knows everything, the man in your bed right now knows nothing.
“Come here.” You lean forward, pulling him close so he’s kneeling on top of you.
“Are you gonna make me beg for it?” You know without a shadow of a doubt that he would if you wanted him to.
“Not this time.” You tangle your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “Let me know if you want to stop.” You murmur as you pull him closer.
“If I ask you to stop, something has gone seriously wrong.”
Much to your surprise he’s the one to close the distance between you, there isn’t any indecisiveness in his actions now as his lips press into yours. Warm and soft, and tasting like coffee with too much sugar.
And for the first time in months you get butterflies, low in your stomach, in a place that you thought might be broken inside you. You feel a fluttering as his hands hold your hips with a tightness that tells you he’s worried you might disappear.
You’d convinced yourself you might not ever feel like that again.
Thank god Spencer Reid loves to prove you wrong.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
a/n : i plan on doing things to spencer reid in the next chapter that he has never even heard of. anyways, sorry for teasing y'all for one more chapter before they doink lol
i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for fic updates!!
if you wish to further support me i have a kofi! ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: James, who constantly follows you around, finds himself debating his career after something happens with a patient, so you invite him out for drinks to talk. What could possibly go wrong with that?
Warnings: Death mentioned, crying, SMUTTT holy fuck this is a lot of dirty shit, handjob, semi-public handjob, oral sex (both male and female receiving), riding, names, the word 'pathetic' used to degrade, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, pet names used (baby), ma'am kink, no use of a condom (they just raw dog this shit bruh). MINORS DNI WITH THIS, THIS IS STRICTLY 18+ !!
a/n: guys, I'm sorry to admit, but I am in fact horny for this man. It's most definitely ovulation, but I don't care. I need him NEOW. So yes, I wrote this on Easter Sunday, and I'm sure that's a sin somewhere, but I genuinely don't care. It's 11 at night where I live, I'm watching Caseoh, and I'm listening to old Rihanna, so I'm basically in heaven right now. Also, no, I haven't watched the most recent episode where Ogilvie cries after losing the patient and is found by Whitaker in the Ambuance bay, but I've seen clips on TikTok so this is based off of that. wc. 10,159 (holy shit guys this was so long)
James Ogilvie loves to follow you around.
You noticed it on the second or third hour he was there.
He was always behind you, even though you weren’t his assigned R2. He asked you multiple questions over multiple minutes, kept looking towards you to see if you caught him correcting dosages and calling out the right names for things, etc.
You knew he liked being smarter than most people. That was more than apparent on multiple occasions. So, when he started coming up to you, asking questions once again, to try and show off his knowledge, you had just had about enough.
“Should I start fluids?”
You don’t even look up at first, you’re halfway through a chart, pen moving quickly, mentally juggling three different patients and a lab result you’re still waiting on.
“Yeah,” you say, distracted. “Go ahead.”
“Okay.”
It happens again, not ten minutes later. “Do you want me in room three or five?”
That makes you glance up. Ogilvie’s already standing there, chart in hand, eyes on you. He’s focused on your face in a way that feels just a little too intent for such a simple question.
“Do whatever you want, Ogilvie. Three is fine,” you answer.
“Got it.” He turns immediately, like the decision unlocked something, and disappears down the hall. You frown faintly, but it doesn’t stick; there’s too much going on to think anything about it.
By mid-shift, it’s constant. Not annoying, not yet exactly, but noticeable in a way that starts to itch at the back of your brain.
“Is this okay?”, “Should I call for labs?”, “Do you want me to page cardio?”, “Should I—”
“Yes, Ogilvie,” you say, cutting him off gently but firmly. “That’s fine.”
“Okay.”
Always okay.
He always responds with okay. An immediate response. ‘And soon enough, he’ll be waiting for permission to breathe’, Cassie told you.
“You realize he’d let you ruin his life if you asked nicely, right?” The voice slides in from your left, dry and amused.
You don’t need to look to know it’s Trinity Santos. Still, you do. She’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching Ogilvie move between rooms with a kind of lazy curiosity. Like she’s observing something mildly entertaining.
You exhale through your nose. “That’s dramatic.”
“Is it?” she tilts her head. “Watch him.”
You don’t respond right away, but you do watch.
“I dare you to call him over here. Say his name and watch him come running.” Trinity tells you, poking your arm.
“That’s mean, Trinity.” You say, continuing to watch as Ogilvie looks over at where you two are standing for a moment before looking back at the patient, smiling. “Come onnnn.” Trinity practically whines. “The day is almost over, night shift is coming in soon. I want to have some fun before the day is over.”
You roll your eyes. “You owe me a white-claw.” You tell her before calling him over. “Ogilvie.” You barely even raise your voice as he appears almost instantly.
“Yeah?” he asks, a little breathless, as he got there faster than he expected to.
And then he just… waits expectantly. Eyes on you. His shoulders were slightly squared. Hands still. So ready. The realization settles slowly.
You hand him a chart. “Take this one. Initial workup.”
“Okay,” he says quickly, already reaching for it. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
He’s not incompetent. Not even close. Maybe a little apathetic, but he’s good, careful, and attentive. He notices things other people miss. Which is why what happens next shouldn’t have happened.
A patient comes in just before you’re all supposed to clock out. He complains of having chest pain. Being mid-fifties, you have a fear of it being a heart attack. He looks pale, and he’s sweating buckets, but when he clutches his side like he’s trying to hold something in his body together, your mind shifts to maybe appendicitis.
His vitals aren’t great, but not immediately catastrophic. They’re somewhat manageable, and you’ve definitely seen worse.
“Ogilvie, take point,” you say, passing him the chart. “Run the initial workup. I’ll check in.”
“Okay,” he says again, quick and certain. “Yeah.” There’s no hesitation from him and no uncertainty. At first, everything goes exactly as it should. EKG. Labs. Monitoring.
He moves efficiently, calmly, voice steady as he talks the patient through everything. You pass by once, glance in, and see everything under control, so you keep moving. He’s got this. He’s not alone either, he has Trinity and Robby.
But even with all the help, the patient still crashes.
While the patient was quick to get here, the appendicitis had gone too long untreated, and he had succumbed to it. Everyone held a moment of silence for the patient, then tried to clean the room for another.
It wasn’t until about 30 minutes later that a few of you realized the obnoxious intern was not…here.
“Where’s Ogilvie?” Robby asked, looking around the room. All of you shrugged, you included. “Go find him.” He says, pointing to you.
You nod, and as soon as Robby turns his back, you look at Trinity, Cassie, and Perlah, raising your arms in a ‘what?’ gesture and giving them a ‘wtf why me’ before going off to find wherever the overachiever went.
It was warmer outside than in, and you let out a breath as you looked around the ambulance bay.
“Ogilvie?” But there’s no answer. You shrug, figuring, “Hey, good enough”, and turn to walk back inside. But over the potted plants near the sliding doors, you see a head of blond curls peeking through the greenery. “Ogilvie?” You say again.
But he’s quiet. He looks like he’s trying to shrink away. Like, if he stays small enough, he won’t exist at all.
You step closer now. “James?” He finally looks up at you, and you realize that he’s been…crying. He’s been crying. Why has he been crying? “What’s wrong? Why are you out here? And why are you crying?” you ask, softer now.
He doesn’t answer, he just keeps looking at you. It looks like he doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t even know what crying is. He seems as though he’s waiting for you to tell him what this is, whatever he’s feeling. What to do with it, how to fix it.
You hesitate, just for a second, before you decide to sit down beside him. You notice the surgical gown that he hasn’t taken off yet is covered in blood. The concrete is cold through your scrubs, and somewhere behind you, ambulance doors slam.
Neither of you speaks for a long moment; there’s just the sound of his uneven breathing.
“You can’t save everyone, y’know? I learned that the hard way.”
“I didn’t know what to do.” His voice is quiet. It sounds like it took too much from him to even say that.
You sigh. “You did,” you say gently. “You handled it. It was a tough case—”
“I thought if I just—” he exhales shakily. “If I did everything Robby said, it would be fine.” He swallows hard. His hands curl slightly against each other. “Can you just…” he starts, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I should’ve done?”
The question lands right in your hands. Your instinct is immediate. Answer him. Fix it. Fix how he’s feeling, give him something solid to hold onto. But you stop. Because now you see it. The way he’s been leaning on you all day without you even realizing it.
He likes you. A lot. Probably more than just an intern and an R2, whatever an R2 can mean to someone like him. You already know he wants any attention he can get, to be praised and told he did a great job. But you can’t give that to him, you don’t want to give in. You want him to figure this out for himself this time. As you said, you can’t save everyone who comes through those doors.
You shake your head. “No.”
He flinches at your answer. Confusion replaces the sadness, just for a second. “What? Why?”
You take a breath. “Because you do know what to do, James.”
He shakes his head and laughs ruefully. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” you interrupt, softer this time. “You followed Robby’s orders, right? Sometimes that’s all we can do.”
He shakes his head, frustration creeping in. “If you had been there—”
“No.” This time, your voice is more firm. “You can’t keep doing this,” you say quietly. “You can’t wait for someone else to tell you how to do your job. Most of the time, you’re figuring it out as you go.” His shoulders tense, and his gaze drops again. “I’m not always going to be there. And as I said, we can’t promise everyone we will save them.”
For a second, you think he’s going to shut down again. Retreat back into that quiet, unreachable place of his. But thankfully, he doesn’t. “I just didn’t want to mess it up. It….” He exhales before continuing. “It sucks to mess up.”
“Hey,” you say, softer now. He doesn’t look at you, so you nudge his shoulder, gently. “Hey. Look at me.” He does, but he’s reluctant. “You’re allowed to mess up,” you tell him. “It’s your first day still, mind you.”
He frowns immediately, like the concept is foreign to him. “Not like that.”
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Even like that.” He shakes his head; he doesn’t believe you. You exhale slowly. “James… you don’t have to get everything right just to be good at this.” You soften your voice even more. “You don’t have to earn anything.”
That’s all you say. You two both go back to staying silent, listening to the sounds of the city. The far-off police sirens howling, car horns honking, people on break chatting away as they walk by, coffee in hand.
You debate asking your next question, but you had always appreciated it when Dana or Mateo asked. You suck in a breath, looking at Ogilvie, who is still staring at the ground. You do have to admit to yourself that he’s kind of cute. “Do you want to get a drink after shift? I mean,” you add, a little quieter now, “you don’t have to. I just thought it might help. It always helps me.”
He studies your face. You watch his eyes move around as you look back at him. You look at his own eyes before dropping down to his lips and then back up again. He seems like he’s trying to figure out what the right answer is, so you add: “You can say no.”
That seems to snap him out of whatever hypnosis he’s in because he replies, “…Why would I?” he asks, genuinely.
A small, breathy laugh escapes you. “Just…think about it,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Slow down before answering right away.”
You grab your bag from the locker room, rolling your shoulders as you step out into the cool evening air.
The sky is dim, washed in a muted blue-gray that sits just before full dark. The world doesn’t know what just happened inside those walls, and you like it. You always try to separate your home and work life, but now it’s sort of blending as you see Ogilvie.
You spot him a few feet away. He’s standing near the edge of the parking lot, hands shoved awkwardly into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. He looks… out of place. Not in scrubs anymore, not actively working, just standing there, waiting.
For you.
“You still up for that drink?” you ask as you approach.
He straightens almost immediately, as the sound of your voice pulls him back into reality.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. Then, softer, like he’s correcting himself, “—yeah. If you are.”
You nod toward the street. “There’s a place a couple blocks down. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s fine,” he says, falling into step beside you without another question.
The walk is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. He asks a question every now and then, and you, being you, answer every time. The city hums around you in low, distant sounds—cars passing, the murmur of people further down the street, the occasional flicker of neon from half-lit storefronts.
Ogilvie keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time.
His shoulders brush yours once, just barely, and he shifts immediately, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to take up that much space.
You obviously notice, but you don’t say anything. You’re testing the waters as well, doing this.
The bar you arrive at is small. A dimly lit interior spills out onto the sidewalk, warm yellow light cutting through the cool evening air. The sign above the door flickers faintly, and inside, the noises are low. There are soft conversations all around, the clink of glasses, muted music humming somewhere beneath it all.
It’s not crowded, but there are certainly a lot of people here.
“This okay?” you ask, glancing at him.
He nods. “Yeah. It’s good.” There’s something almost relieved in his voice. Inside, the air is warmer. It smells faintly of alcohol and wood polish. The lighting is low enough that you can see, but it takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust. You catch a booth in the far corner that’s free, so you motion towards it.
You slide into it, your back to the wall behind you, as James slides into the other that’s facing you. “What do you want?” you ask, glancing over at him.
He blinks, the question catching him off guard. “Uh…whatever you’re getting is fine.”
You tilt your head slightly. “That’s not how this works.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth. “Pick something.”
He looks at the menu like it’s more complicated than it should be, like there’s a right answer hidden somewhere between the lines. “…Tequila?” he says finally, uncertain.
“That works,” you nod, standing up and stepping out of the booth. “I’ll go get us a bottle of Tequila and two shot glasses. Maybe some limes while we’re at it. I’ll be back.” You give him a small smile and a squeeze on his shoulder.
You ask the bartender for two glasses and a full bottle, giving him the money and making your way back over to your quaint little booth. You pour some for Ogilvie and then yourself, counting down the first shot as you knock it back.
It goes down easier for you, not as easily for James. The burning sensation crawls down your throat, and it’s just enough to make you feel a little better about today. Across from you, James coughs slightly after his, his shoulders tensing before he exhales, a little surprised.
“Okay?” you ask, amused.
“Yeah,” he says quickly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.”
You huff a quiet laugh before pouring more liquid into the two shot glasses and knocking it back again. James handles it a little better this time around. “So,” you say, resting your elbow on the table, your chin propped lightly in your hand. “Do you always do that?”
He blinks. “Do what?”
“Look at me like you’re waiting for something.”
His face flushes almost immediately. It creeps up from his collar to his cheeks, quick and unmistakable. “I don’t—” he starts, then stops. “I mean—I didn’t realize I was—”
“You were,” you say, not unkindly. “All day.”
He looks down at the bar, fingers brushing lightly against the rim of his glass. “Sorry.”
You reach out without really thinking about it, and your hand lands lightly on his forearm. Warm and solid. It makes him still instantly. “Hey,” you say, softer now. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”
He glances up at you, clearly thrown off—not just by the words, but by the contact. You can feel it under your hand, the way his muscles tense, the way he seems to freeze for a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “You don’t have to apologize for everything,” you add.
He swallows. His gaze flickers—not away, but down, just briefly, like he’s aware of how close you are now. Of your hand still resting on him.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “No more apologizing.”
You don’t move your hand right away, and you don’t really want to. There’s something about him like this—flustered, a little overwhelmed, trying so hard to get it right even now—that pulls at you in a way you weren’t expecting.
You pull your hand back eventually, letting it drop to the table, fingers brushing against your own glass. “Another?” you ask.
He nods. By the third shot, there’s a looseness to him now, a slight delay in his reactions, like he’s not filtering himself as carefully. His shoulders aren’t as tight. His posture isn’t as rigid.
And when he looks at you, it lingers, just a little longer than before. You notice. Of course you do.
“You’re staring,” you say lightly, a hint of a smile tugging at your mouth. His eyes widen slightly.
“I—no, I wasn’t—I mean—”
“You were,” you interrupt, softer this time.
He huffs out a small, nervous breath. Then, after a second, he responds with “…Sorry. You’re just…really pretty.”
You laugh. You actually laugh this time. And without thinking, you reach out again, your hand brushing his arm this time. “James.” You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You know,” you say, voice dipping just a little, “you’re allowed to look at me.” Your gaze drops briefly to his mouth.
When you look back up, he’s already looking at you, and there’s something new in it. Something that wasn’t there before. You lean in, just a fraction. It’s not enough to cross the line, but it’s certainly enough to make heat start to curl in your stomach and between your thighs.
Your hand lifts again, this time settling more deliberately against his shoulder, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. And the best part of all of this is that he lets you do it. He’s so willing in this situation. Always so willing.
Your heart kicks a little harder in your chest because suddenly, it’s not about whether you can, it’s more about whether you should.
“James,” you murmur.
His name sounds different like this. You like the name, James. It suits him. “Yeah?” he breathes. He’s looking at you as if you asked—
But you stop the thought before it can continue as your mind remembers Trinity’s voice echoing in your head. You realize he’d let you ruin his life if you asked nicely, right? Your grip on his shoulder softens. You don’t pull away, but you don’t close the distance either. Instead, your thumb brushes lightly against him, against the collar of his throat, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in response.
You smile—just a little. “Slow down,” you say quietly.
He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “What?” he asks, a little dazed.
You chuckle. “Nothing,” you say, leaning back just slightly, enough to give him space. “Just… don’t let me make all your decisions tonight, okay?”
“‘M’not.” He says, shaking his head. “I promise.”
“If you say so.” You release his shirt, and he slumps back against the booth.
The night stretches as you keep pouring the Tequila. You’ve moved from sitting across from him to sitting next to him now. You look at him while he talks, your face resting in your hand that leans on the table.
Every time he tries to make eye contact with you, he sees you’re already looking at him, so his eyes go back to the wall or the window or just something else that’s not you. You clearly make him nervous.
And he’s cute when he’s nervous. Really cute. It’s not just the alcohol talking.
Your foot finds his leg under the table, and you begin to move it up and down, slowly. You watch as he stumbles over his words, his hand going to your thigh. But then you’re quick to pull your shoe away, and he looks more sad than he was in the ambulance bay.
He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him, shaking your head. “Mmm. Keep talking. I like listening.” You tell him, and he nods, continuing with his story about something stupid he did as a teenager that was a dare from his friends.
Your hand goes to his thigh, and you look up at him. He’s biting his lower lip and looking up towards the ceiling. He won’t look at you.
“Tell me if this is not okay, okay?” You tell him, reaching your free hand up to grab his chin, forcing him to look down at you.
“Mhm.” He nods vigorously.
“Words.” You reply.
“O-okay.” He tells you.
You smile, nodding. “Good. Keep going.” You lean into him as he begins to talk once more, and you press your lips against the side of his throat. At the same time, your hand slides higher, and you hear him choke. Your lips curl into another smile against his skin, and you go even higher, reaching the top of his jeans.
“Is this okay?” You ask him, breaking away from him for a moment. “Shit. I should’ve asked before this but are you clean?”
“Yes and yes.” He says, looking as though he’s in bliss and you’ve barely touched him. One of his hands finds yours and slowly begins to guide it between his thighs. He’s breathing fast, his chest moving up and down quickly as he continues to slowly move your hand along.
When you finally make contact with the bump of his jeans, he lets out an audible sigh and a ‘fuck’. His shoulders shake as he lets out a small, humorless laugh. It’s more like a breath of relief as he pulls down his fly, and you sneak your hand underneath the fabric of his boxers.
He’s heavy in your hand as you grasp him, and above you, James gasps as your stomach twists with butterflies. “Good. I am too. Shhhh.” You have to tell him, trying to remind him that you are both still in a bar.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He apologizes. Your thumb comes up to swipe over his tip, and his knee makes contact with the table, and it makes you laugh, burying your face into his neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologized again, and you shook your head.
“It’s okay. But if you want me to keep going, I think we should leave here.”
He just nods, scrambling to re-button his pants and make sure you two both look like you didn’t just give the start of a hand job, before you guys walk out of the small bar.
The walk back to your apartment feels like the slowest thing in the world. You’re both walking side by side, obviously, on the sidewalk as you reach for his hand. He lets you take it, but he’s hesitant about it still.
He doesn’t touch you in any way besides that. He still has a hard-on in his pants, and you’re trying your best to quickly get back home to finish this up, but you’re both still slightly stumbling and bumping into each other.
Which is why you’re so incredibly grateful when you finally reach the front door of your brownstone.
You pull him inside, immediately connecting his lips with yours, and kicking the door shut. “Jesus Christ.” You sigh into his mouth, grabbing at his clothes. His hands are still by his side, even though you know he wants this too. “What’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away. You wipe the spit from your lips, your chest heaving.
“What? Nothing’s wrong.” He pants, moving in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a hand to his chest.
“You’re not touching me.” You state, plain as day.
He looks down at his hands. “Oh, I.. ‘cause I didn’t know if you wanted me to. O-or not.”
“Of course I want you to.”
“Okay. Okay.” He says, leaning in to try and kiss you again, and this time you let him. You grab his hands too, putting them on your hips. You can feel him shaking and hear his shaky breathing as he exhales.
“Why’re you so nervous, hm?” You ask him and he honestly doesn’t know. James Ogilvie is not a nervous person. But by god as soon as he gets a pretty girl in front of him…it all goes to shit. He can’t think of any other words except for ‘okay’ and ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’. He thinks about if you would like it if he called you ‘ma’am’ but he doesn’t voice that out loud.
“Don’t know.” he replies.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be nervous with me.” You smile, trying to make him feel a little more at ease. “Or are you nervous because…you’ve never…are you a virgin?”
He bites his bottom lip, looking down at you. “Um…I mean, I’ve never…I’ve gotten like…ha-hand jobs before but never…”
“Oh.” You say, understanding. “Okay, that’s okay. Do you want me to fix that, or would you rather just take it slow?”
“I want you to fix it. Please?” He begs. And he just begs so nicely that you can’t say no, really. So, you grab him by the hand and lead him to the living room, gently pushing his shoulders, urging him to sit down on the couch.
You kiss him again, and he whines against your lips as your tongue glides with his. He’s still so hesitant to touch you, and you have to grab his hands again to tell him it’s okay to touch you.
“James, you can touch me whenever you want. It’s okay.” You reassure him.
“I know, I know. I-I just…”
“Do you like it when I tell you what to do?” You ask the question that’s been on your mind all day, even though you absolutely, with no doubt in your mind, know he does. He likes it when anyone tells him what to do. He likes it when he’s praised for doing a good job, he likes it when he’s asked questions he can easily answer, and he even likes it when Trinity says some sort of sarcastic comment towards him because it means at least someone is paying attention to him.
He nods, looking up at you. His hands rest on your hips, too scared to move them away from where you placed them.
“Can I tell you something?” You swallow, leaning back. “I think you’re pathetic-”
“So pathetic,” He whispers, his head coming forward to bury itself in your stomach.
“Take your pants off for me, yeah?” You ask him, and you watch as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his fly, his thumbs catching the hem of his pants and ever so slowly pulling the fabric downwards. Your breath stutters as his skin and blond, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.
“Jesus, Ogilvie.” You whisper, watching the show. You figured he was at least somewhat lean, as he had a tenancy, whether intentional or not, to show off his biceps as he hauled a patient off a stretcher onto an actual bed, or helped Robby restrain someone, etc. But you didn’t know he was this…well…jacked.
When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for you to tell him to keep going. Your eyes flick down to look at him, slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the blond curls.
Oh fuck, how did you even get to this point right now? And why are you so wet already?
“Keep going.”
He’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit before he eases his cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them before he shuffles the fabric all the way down his legs, resting at his feet.
He’s already half hard for you, already thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again onto the cushions. He’s pretty. He looks…good. His cock looks really nice.
God, you want him in your mouth. You have no idea why that’s your first thought. Okay, well, no, that’s not exactly true- you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watching her trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head.
“I…do you not want to…do this…anymore?” He asks, out of breath. The head of his cock lies against his stomach. His hands go back to your hips and tighten on them, his breathing subtly picking up.
“What? God, no. I just want to look at you. You’re so pretty.” You settle into his lap, feeling his cock brush against your cunt through your pants. His hands are now on your sides. “Did you know that? And I want to help you forget about today.” You catch the fabric of his shirt near his neck.
“I’ve been told once or twice.” He says, trying to be funny, but he stops trying when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat. “I…I-fuck- that…you feel good…and…and…I want you to help me forget-”
His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle that connects his neck to his shoulder. He murmurs your name when you reach between the two of you and wrap your hand around his hard cock.
“I really want to fuck you,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up nd down the thick length of him. “But right now, I think you should lie back and let me suck your cock for a little bit. What do you think?”
He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand, and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back more, just enough for you to slip between his already spread enough legs. You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck.
At one point or another, you decide that his not having his shirt off isn’t sufficient enough, so you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting up up up- up until he does the rest, pulling it over his head and letting it fall somewhere on the floor.
Your free hand rests gently on his soft abs, and you lean your head up to whisper against his lips, “Will you let me suck your cock, James?”
“No one’s ever…how do you even know you’ll-”
“Like it? That’s up for me to decide. You just lean back and take it, okay? I know you like to be told what to do, so shut up and listen, okay?”
“Okay.” He nods; his back is now right up against the sofa cushions. “Is it- h-how do you- does it always feel this good?”
“You’re a doctor intern. You tell me. You’re smart enough to figure it out.” You tell him, beginning to slide down his body.
“I-yeah, yeah, you’re right.”
The warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, which is now achingly swollen and a shade darker in color than a few seconds ago. “Keep talking,” you whisper. “I like hearing you stutter over your words.”
And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum. Ogilvie instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of the couch’s armrest, his back arching a little and his head peering up towards the ceiling. You hum as you taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.
“Fuck-” he whines while lifting his hips, every muscle in his body tensing under you. “Y-your mouth is- fuck-” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the cushion beside him with a dull thud. “-fuck, your mouth is s-so, fe-feels so good.”
You pop off of him, and he whimpers. He actually whimpers, and that just makes you more delirious with pleasure as you look up at him. He looks down at you at the same time, stomach pushing up and down as he breathes heavily.
“I’ve barely touched you.” You smile, sliding your hands down to take off his shoes and then his jeans, throwing them somewhere you couldn’t care less about at this moment. You take him back into your mouth, and he moans, jerking forward as you open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can really feel your throat. You’re satisfied when his head falls back, and his hands go to your hair.
He’s gentle, so so gentle. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you do get why he’s only had a hand job. He’s not the most friendly person, but he grows on you. Takes a while, but he does.
You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet. His thighs almost feel like stones he’s strained so hard. You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit. His head rears immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches. You never knew he was this big.
“You’re so tense, James,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand. He doesn’t relax into it; instead, he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Fuck, no. Please don’t do that. Don’t stop. I just…I want to ple-please you so bad.” He moans, the exact opposite of relaxed. “You-”
“This is all about you, James.”
“But I read once that-” he cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, only deeper this time. And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust. One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length.
When you take him down as far as you can, and you drop your free hand to cradle his balls, Ogilvie just about loses his mind.
“C-can I fuck you? At some point? Pl-please?” He starts rasping at the ceiling. “Please, l-let me please you too? I-I want to make you feel go-good too, like you’re doing to me…”
You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit. Thank god you were wearing an easy pair of pants that you could slip your hand into. He probably can’t see you do it from this angle, but it feels so much better this way, regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.
The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the world, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair gently in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. You keep jerking this throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your lit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.
His grip tightens, along with the soft skin under your tongue. “W-wait, wait, wait, stop, st-stop I don’t-”
You look up at him. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out, and his chest rocks up and down with exertion. You obviously pull off of him again, not wanting to go against his wishes and continue.
It might be too much for him, seeing as this is his first time getting head, and he might need a break. That or he doesn’t want to continue anymore. Which in that case, you’ll help him clean up and make sure he’s okay.
“S-sorry, I just- I was-” he gasps, “I wa-I was about to cum-”
“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
“I didn’t know if I- if I was allowed to.”
“You what?” You ask, spitting on him.
“If I ha-had to ask. I know some girls don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to ask me, Ogilvie.” But suddenly it comes clearer to you. He loves asking. He wants to ask if he has permission to cum for you. You look at his face, and your lips spread into a smile. “Ohhhh. You like asking, don’t you?” And he nods in response. “What did I say about words?”
“Yes. Yes, I like asking.”
You get another idea too and decide to push him. “Yes, what?”
“Y-yes…ma’am?”
“There you go.” You kiss his thighs, and it makes him whine. “I want you to cum for me, okay?”
“Okay.” He whines, nodding as you start to gently suck on his tip and look up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load. Maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel, and his head rolls to the side.
There’s a subtle shift of his head too, and you finally know that he can see your hand moving between your legs. You can tell because he makes a sort of sob/choking sound and his stomach flexes.
“O-oh fuck. I’m cumming, I-I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted. There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it. It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve heard from him this whole night before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.
You pull up a little bit, swirling circles around his head as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him, which makes him hoarsely whine your name. You swallow everything he gives you until he’s trembling on your couch.
You suck on him a little longer after that, and just look at how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the couch like this. “If-if you keep doing that, I’m go-gonna get hard again,” he eventually tells you, his voice coming out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.
You hum and finally pull off of him. “You like overstimulation too, huh?” You lean down and bite at his hipbone, which has him jerking in response.
“Is it that obvious?” He asks you, smiling a little as you crawl back up his frame into his lap.
“Can I test it?”
“Can I eat you out first?”
“You still want to? I figured you’d be a little too tired.” You push some of his curls out of his face.
“God no,” he shakes his head, looking at you still in your clothes. “Please, can I eat you out? Please? Please, please, please,” he begs you, kissing your neck.
“Yeah, baby.” You nod, your hands tangling into his hair before he’s standing both of you up.
“Can we go to your bedroom…or is that off limits?” he jokes, and you laugh a little.
“No, it’s not off limits. Come on.”
You hear yourself take one shaky breath as you stand, grabbing his hand and guiding him behind you to the last door in the hallway to the right. You don’t get too far into the room before he’s closing the door and pushing you up against it. He kisses you and moans when he tastes himself on your tongue.
“Could you take off your shirt?” He whispers, his hands coming down to the hem of it. He’s gotten bolder with his handling. You nod, and he slowly lifts your shirt, his fingertips grazing your skin, which makes you shudder in response. “Pants too?” He asks, and you nod.
Once your shirt is thrown off, he drops to his knees and begins to take off your pants along with your underwear. He presses his lips to your hipbone, and you groan. He looks up at you with his brown eyes, and you have to bite your lip to suppress a moan.
“Don’t tease me. I didn’t tease you.”
“I’m not teasing,” he says, kissing the tops of your thighs. “I would never tease you.”
That’s when he finally makes contact with your cunt, and you hiss. You look down at him, your hand tangled in his curls, as a soft, dexterous heat slowly envelopes your clit. It nearly hurts with how good it feels. You were so focused on giving Ogilvie pleasure that you didn’t realize just how pent up you were. The noise you make is indescribable in its obscenity. His mouth is a furnace, a slick furnace between your folds, and his tongue comes out like velvet to flutter gently over your clit, humming low in his throat as he tastes you for the first time.
This feels amazing. It feels like heaven, having him on his knees like this for you. He knows as much about you as you do about him, which is absolutely nothing, as this is his first month in the ER as an intern. But you both now know the taste of each other’s pleasure, which has to count for something.
“James…oh, fuck-” Your words are barely discernible. His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue starting to swirl gentle circles around your swollen clit. Your hips almost feel like they’re doing too much to seek out more pleasure, rutting against his mouth. But he seems to like it, moaning each time it happens. And he keeps his eyes on you the entire time. “I thought you said you were a virgin.” You ask him, but it’s not really a question, more of a statement.
Part of you doesn’t want him to answer, because that means he’ll have to stop whatever he’s doing with his mouth to give you this much pleasure. “I am,” he says, licking his lips. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t read a book or two to know what most women like. Can I use my fingers?”
You nod, out of breath. “Yeah. Use your fingers.” And you nearly combust as he sinks two of his fingers deep inside your cunt. “Oh-f-fuck-” You can’t tell if the short, rough little growl he makes into your warmth is from the way your fingers feel tugging on his hair or the way you feel clamped around his own, but it still rocks down your spine and sparks lightning deep inside nonetheless. It doesn’t matter, because he pulls them out and then pushes them back in again, doing it steadily over and over, until you’re sweating, hips arching in presentation.
He continues to lick his hot tongue through your folds and finger fuck you, so utterly slow and steadfast that you’re so close to just completely pulling him back up to his feet and riding him until he’s past the point of tears.
You feel something wicked beginning to burn in your core, spreading along the muscles in your pelvis. It rises up through your abdomen like high tide, seeps down into your knees, and wraps around them. Your breathing gets more shallow.
“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside you quickly pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving, and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “-oh fuck, James, I’m g-gonna cum- I-”
But then his mouth leaves you at the same time his fingers do, and there’s a split-second delay in his rhythm before both his mouth and his fingers come back- only his fingers feel a bit slicker than they did moments before.
Something about it hits you just right, settles down low, and locks your hips in position. “Yes, fuck right there, right there!”
A quiet whine rumbles low in his throat, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit as if he could pull it out of you that way. His fingers curl, press up hard against something that almost makes your knees buckle, and you have to stifle a yelp when your body suddenly erupts in searing hot pleasure above him.
Your back arches away from the door, and a white light flashes, your thighs going rigid and your pussy flooding itself between your legs. You shatter, cumming in his mouth, wailing his name while he moans and whines raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, and everything feels like it’s not important, just you and everything he’s giving to you.
Things slowly return to you one by one; his tongue still fluttering against your clit, the angle of his fingers still touching that spot within you. The solid weight of him between your knees helps to somewhat ground you, and you realize that your fingers are clamped tight in his hair.
You loosen up your grip on his scalp, and he slowly pulls out of your swollen heat and holds your thighs open with wet fingers, pausing to give your sensitive clit a few more gentle sucks, and only lets go once you tap on his head to stop.
You’re still trying to calm your breathing when he stands and kisses your face all over before pressing his lips to yours. You can taste yourself on him as you feel his fingers fumble with your bra clip.
He takes it off successfully and drops it to the ground. You notice that he’s moving his hips against your thigh, groaning quietly to himself. You watch him rub his hardening cock against your skin, and his head slowly tips back at the sensation.
“Wi-will you let me- ju-just for a second, let me put it in? Ngh- righ-right now?” His breathing stutters, hips beginning to rock against yours. “Let me-f-feel you?”
For being such an asshole, he becomes such a pleaser when he’s rubbing his hard cock against you, doesn’t he? You don’t even respond, just desperately start moving off and away from the door towards your bed. His exhale is shaky as he follows, his hands grasping at your hips.
God dammit, you never thought sex with Ogilvie could feel this good. You and Trinity, as well as Victoria, a little bit, all made bets on who is the best in bed. Of course, it was just between the three of you; it never went any further than that. Occasionally, Dennis would join in, but that was it.
You had told them all that you know for an absolute fact that Jack Abbott and Cassie McKay were the best in bed. Parker Ellis, too, and Emery Walsh. Trinity said there was no way Dr. McKay was good in bed, as she hadn’t had any tail since Chad. Trinity voted for Yolanda and, against her better judgment, Langdon. But you told her Yolanda doesn’t count, as she knows Yolanda is good in bed.
Dennis said Dana looks like she’d be good, and Robby, too. Victoria said Langdon as well as Cassie.
But all four of you agreed strongly that there’s no way with that attitude and know-it-all behavior, Ogilvie was good in bed. God, were you so wrong.
The bed is soft underneath you, and it doesn’t take long for Ogilvie to follow suit. “Shit,” he huffs, breaking away from you. “I-I don’t know..”
“What to do? Yeah, I know.” You said before switching positions, so you’re now on top. “I’ll show you. That’s what good R2’s do, right?” You bury your face into his neck and reach your hand down between you two, stroking his cock again. He sucks in a deep breath, his body jerking when you grab onto his cock and downright purr into the crook of his neck when you find him rock hard and throbbing.
“R-right ma’am.” He whines.
You move so you’re hovering slightly above him, your legs on either side of him. Your hips move forward, engulfing the hard underside of him between your slick, swollen lips. His entire body shudders at the blazing heat of you, and he grits a curse when you gradually begin to move back and forth along the thick length of him.
“Such a good boy.” You whisper, your hands coming to press down on his shoulders as your hips drag against his, sliding his cock through your drenched slit, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck. “You still okay? I’m on birth control, so I’m just going to-”
“Ye-yes. I’m still okay-” He gasps, tilting his head to give you more room and hands coming down to clamp tight over your hips, “fuck, I’m- I’m so good. Please do it. I do-don’t care.”
“Good,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, grinding your pussy against his throbbing cock. You gasp, tightening your hold around him as your clit drags over his thick erection. “Such a good listener, too. When you want to be.”
“Fuck, thank you,” he whines, slowly tipping his head back. “Please, please don’t tease me. I’ve been go-good, lik-like you said.”
“I know,” you whine too, rolling your hips along his body.
“You-” James cuts himself off abruptly with a groan, his grip turning to steel on your hips. “I’ll always listen to you.” His fingers dig into your hips so hard, you’re forced to immediately stop gliding your pussy over him. One of your hands moves to clamp down over his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the base of his neck. You pull your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.
You bite his neck and slowly start to sink onto him. He lets out a choked cry as you shove your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock and then further, pressing him up so far inside you with such a chaotic movement that he lets out a sob next to your ear.
Fuck, he hits amazingly sweet from this angle. He stretches you and fills you spectacularly, forces you to yield to him while you breathe heavy through your nose, wondering how dark a bruise he’ll have on his neck from your bites and kisses.
Ogilvie likes it, though. You can tell. His hand comes up to the back of your neck, silently asking you to lean down and kiss him while you gradually begin to pull your hips up, clamp down around him as hard as you can, and slowly drag his thick cock out of your cunt. He likes this. He likes feeling your teeth in his neck while you start to fuck yourself on him.
“Oh my god,” he nearly spits, his hand squeezing your thigh hard enough to leave a mark. You honestly should’ve given him a moment to adjust to you, to feel you, but you had completely forgotten this was his first time from the way he had made you cum seconds earlier. “F-fuck this is- god this feels amazing- ho-holy fuck.”
You whimper, also thinking how good it feels. How the head of his cock is pushed up tight against your G-spot, spreading wildfire in your lower belly and seeping through your pelvis and into your upper thighs. You just started, and it’s already becoming a hassle for you. But fuck, you grind the head of his cock slowly and hard inside you and try not to dig your nails into his arms where your fingers are clutching tight.
“Is this what you think about wh-when you look at me at work like that?” You whisper, already half out of your mind with the aching bliss, saying whatever the fuck comes into your head first and not thinking anything past it. “When I guide your hands on a patient or when I praise you for getting a diagnosis right, hm?”
“Yes, yes god yes!” He sobs, his hips jerking up into yours almost unintentionally with the sentiment. “Oh, my god.”
“And will you be thinking of this?” you moan, starting to move as best you can with his thrusts. His fingers are scraping down your back, the pleasure obviously being too much for him. It just adds to the slowly building pleasure inside you until it’s simmering and burning under your skin. “The next time I tell you ‘good save’ or when I guide your hands again? I bet you will. You really are that pathetic, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He cries, but it’s way too breathless. “I-I’m not gonna last- I ca-an’t-”
You can hear how wet you are. Your pussy is nearly drowning him now, slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him. “Does me talking like that turn you on?” You murmur, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.
He can’t make any sounds anymore. No more words come from his mouth as your hand comes up to dig into his cheeks, forcefully opening his mouth. Only moans and whines grace your ears.
You watch as his stomach tenses up again, and you know he’s about to cum. You lift off of him and delight in his confused reaction. “Wha-what? Why’d you do that? I was so close, please! Are you kidding me-”
He cuts himself off with a grunt as you slowly sink back onto him. Your cunt tightens around him, and the power trip you’re experiencing from this is starting to get to your head, you fear. You feel brash. Reckless and bold, and it translates into a quicker pace of your hips, shoving down onto him at the apex of his thrusts upwards and hitting a spot inside you that he had somehow found with his fingers as well.
“Answer my question,” you pant, still holding his jaw.
“What que-question?” God, he’s so drunk on you, he can’t even remember what you had asked of him.
“Does it turn you on? To hear me talking like that? Calling you pathetic for following me around all day like a little lost puppy? Do you rub one out in the bathroom after each shift with me?”
“You’re- fuck-” He drags his nails down your arms, leaving marks. “You’re asking if it…if it tu-turns me on to hear you tell me what a good job I did?”
“I us-used to think about it,” You gasp, your eyes squeezing shut and just trying to breathe through it. “Some-sometimes. I knew it got to you in a different way than it would just from being praised normally. Used to get off thinking about it. Used to think about you, like this, and touch myself and make myself cum on the floor of my apartment.”
The sound he makes is one you haven’t heard yet. You watch as his face contorts into pleasure and he begins to tell you he’s about to cum again. You slip off of him once more, and he fully whines this time. It turns into a string of curse words as he nearly sobs into the air and desperately claws at you.
You finally decide to let him cum once you know he won’t automatically do it as you slip him back inside you. Your hips don’t give his cock time to realize that he’s back inside of you as you just begin moving at a rapid pace. Your thighs hurt, they’re on fire, but the sounds coming from him make your motivation skyrocket.
He full-on fucking sobs now, his chest heaving as he cries. You look down at him, and he looks beautiful, really. He looks so fucking good as he cries for you, whining and whimpering and sobbing your name as you move on him.
It’s fucking debilitating. It’s madness. The pleasure flowing through both of you feels like you’re about to explode. You just dig your nails into his shoulders and listen as he cries brokenly for you at the ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as you fuck him down hard into the mattress of your bed.
Your mouth is at his neck as you grit the words darkly against his throat. “Fuck, you’re amazing. You’re so good. Such a good boy, listening to me, doing exactly what I tell you to do.”
“I’m-” He gasps, eyes screwed up so tight you don’t notice the tear slipping down his cheek. You lean down to lick it. “It’s ca-cause I like you.”
“Fuck- of course you do. All those longing looks from across the nurse’s station while I talk to Trinity. You think I didn’t notice those? You’re not as bright as you say you are, are you? Hm?” Fuck, he’s hard and throbbing, and he probably can barely hear you over the sound of his crying, so fucking close to the edge and begging for you. “If you want me that bad, next time take me to the bathroom and beg me to get on my knees for you.”
You shift your weight so you can use one of your hands to grab his and lead it down between your legs. “Come on, Ogilvie. Come on. I know you can do it. Make me cum, and I’ll let you cum too, m'promise.” You feel like you can’t even breathe anymore. “Does that sound good?”
“Ye-yes.” He wails, beginning to rub tight circles over your clit and pounding directly into your G-spot with such precision and force, your eyes roll back, and white-hot pleasure licks its way up your spine.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, James,” you whisper, your voice frantic and rushed and breathless as your hands plant themselves on either side of his head. Everything inside you suddenly pulls up sharp and burning, and you’re already starting to bear down on him, starting to slowly squeeze his cock and tighten down hard in preparation for it. “I’m gonna cum, James, you-you’re gonna make me cum-”
He begins to babble, but you don’t hear him. Everything is suddenly drowned out by the roaring of blood rushing through your ears, your body locking down so fucking tight around him. Ogilvie keeps going as your orgasm slams through you with such force that your voice cracks. He rubs at your clit and makes sure with the right amount of pressure for you, which forces you even higher through the explosive pleasure and muttering filth about how gorgeous you are, how he’ll never stop looking at you across the Nurse’s station, how he wants to make you cum so many more times, but he can’t hold it back-
“I’m gonna cum, fuck, please can I cum?! Please? Please, I’ve been good this who-whole time, please,” he cries and whimpers, stuttering to a halt inside you. You can feel him swollen and throbbing hard inside you now that he’s still. Can I- can I cu-cum inside you? Please? Oh fuck, please? I can’t, I can’t hold it anymore, I can-”
“Yes,” you gasp, not needing anything else. “Please.” He can cum wherever the fuck he wants to. His body jolts with pleasure beneath you, and a sob tears itself from his throat as he immediately does as he’s told. He cums, spurting thick ropes of his warmth inside you and gasping out curses and thank you’s.
His entire body is spasming as it happens, and you hear him whimper your name as he lets go. When Ogilvie’s body finally stops shaking, and he slows down your movements with his hands on your hips, you wait a few seconds before asking.
summary: dr whitaker thinks he has a pretty good handle on his crush on you, until he sees you out of your scrubs for the first time.
pairing: fem!reader x dennis whitaker
warnings/tags: dennis being the little nervous cutie that he is, alcohol consumption, flirting, fluff, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you'd expect from the pitt!
notes: i can't believe it's taken me this long to write for the pitt, I love it sm <3
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
Growing up on a farm, Dennis Whitaker learnt early on the benefits of effectively compartmentalising things.
Like a flick of a switch, he could shut off one part of his brain when he went into work and could switch it back on when he stepped out of the PTMC doors.
It was a skill that served him well as an ER resident. A place where you were literally in sink or swim, life or death situations for 12 hours straight.
Steady hands, steady voice, steady mind. No matter how intense things got, how quickly he needed to react, he handled it.
Which is why his very manageable, very under-control crush on you had never been a problem.
He wasn't completely unaffected of course, he wasn't a total robot.
His heart rate still picked up when you smiled at him from across the pitt, his eyes sometimes lingered just a touch too long when you laughed, his pulse thrummed in his ears when you teased him and said his name coyly - Whitaker - like you knew just how much of an effect you had on him.
He noticed little things too, like the way you pushed your hair back with your wrist when you were gloved up and stressed, how you would bite your lip when you were locked in on charting, or the way you would anonymously (or at least thought you did) leave snacks in the break room for your colleagues.
But it was fine.
You and your radiant smile were completely compartmentalised.
Filed neatly away under do not open - things that will get me fired or someone killed or both if I think about it at work.
Until tonight.
Javadi's 21st birthday - organised by Princess, Perlah and Dana despite her weeks of protesting against it.
He almost hadn't come.
The clinical side of his brain warned him that mixing coworkers with alcohol and personal time was a bad move - teetering way too close to the 'friend' sphere - which would make it all the more harder for him to engage his compartmentalisation switch.
"You literally live with me, I think that ship has sailed Huckleberry." Santos had remarked when he'd confided in her about his doubts.
Amy had texted him that afternoon asking him if he was coming up to the farm. His thumbs had hovered over his phone, willing up the courage to text Javadi to say he wasn't going to be able to make it.
Then, his phone buzzed.
His heart leapt.
A message from you that simply read:
You're coming tonight, right?
An hour later, he was walking to the bar with Santos, trying to keep any thoughts of you shoved firmly in your assigned compartment.
When he stepped inside, he spotted the group instantly. Milling around in a corner clustered around a bunch of high tables, a set of slightly deflated pink balloons numbered '21' floating half heartedly above them.
A chorus of greetings met them as they approached. Dennis tried not to think about how weird it was to see everyone out of uniform, glowing in that post-shift, one drink in kind of buzz.
"Drink?" Santos turned to him.
He nodded, suddenly eager to be on the same level as his colleagues. They had just made their way to the bar when a set of wolf whistles and cheers erupted from their area.
"Watch out Pittsburgh!"
He turned to locate the source of their ruckus.
And then everything - every neatly labelled, meticulously stored thought - came crashing down around him.
You were not in scrubs.
Logically he had known that would be the case. People did not wear scrubs to bars. You were not going to be an exception. He had psyched himself up for this exact sight on the walk over.
But seeing it in person was something he could never have prepared himself for.
Your hair was down and styled, not tied back in that purely practical way he had grown so used to. Your makeup sculpted your features in a way that made you look even more angelic than usual.
Your outfit fit your body perfectly, hugging you in places and curves he had never dared to let himself think about, had trained himself very deliberately never to follow.
He found himself silently thanking the inventor of scrubs for designing them to be so baggy, because if this is how you looked all the time - he wouldn't be able to control himself.
Heck, who was he kidding, how was he ever going to control himself again now that he'd seen you like this?
He watched as you crossed the crowded bar, oblivious to the hungry looks of random men that you passed. A huge grin was on your face as you twirled around to show off your outfit to the group, causing another huge bout of cheers.
There was no clipped efficiency, no fluorescent lighting washing you out, no neat, clinical version he could pretend was easier to ignore.
This was what everyone else outside of the pitt had the privilege of seeing.
It felt almost wrong, like he was seeing a version of you that he hadn't been cleared access for.
"You might want to put your tongue back in your mouth Fuckleberry."
Dennis' cheeks bloomed violent red.
"W-what?" He stammered, finally tearing his eyes away from you.
"Trust me, I have eyes too. I get it." Santos continued, her gaze flickering over to you. "But she is so out of your league."
He huffed. "Gee thanks. Want to tell me something I don't know?" He grumbled before pressing his drink to his lips and downing it in one go.
"Atta boy Fuckleberry." Santos slapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "Drown your sorrows with me."
"Why, Garcia not paying you enough attention?"
Santos shot him a glare. "Watch it or-" She cut herself off as she glanced over Whittaker's shoulder.
"Oh shit - incoming."
Dennis turned to see you making your way towards the bar.
"I gotta pee, good luck farmboy." Before he could protest, Santos pushed off the bar and disappeared into the crowd.
By the time he turned back around, you had spotted him.
Your smile widened when you locked eyes.
You slipped through the crowd toward him like it was the most casual thing in the world, like you hadn’t just fundamentally altered his understanding of reality.
"Whitaker!" You called out by way of greeting.
God. It was somehow even worse outside the pitt.
"I was worried you were going to bail." You teased as you slid in beside him at the bar. You were so close he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of mascara painting your lashes, the pink sheen of your lip gloss.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He cleared his throat, motioning for the bartender to try and stop the red from creeping back into his cheeks. "Yeah. I um- yeah. Do you want something to drink?"
Smooth.
"Please, I'll have whatever you're having."
You leant an arm against the bar, angling your body towards him. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes roaming his body as he ordered for you in a way that made his pulse trip over itself.
And then you grinned.
"You know, you scrub off quite well Whitaker."
Dennis was pretty sure there was a full, tangible moment where his brain fully short-circuited.
You had to be teasing him, surely. You'd probably made the same joke to every single one of his colleagues, who had all probably laughed in a way that only you could illicit from them.
He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's uh.. that's not how that phrase usually goes."
"I know." You said easily. "I'm reinventing it."
"Right."
"I have a theory." You continued. He watched as you twisted around, pressing your back into the wooden edge of the bar.
"You either look way better in scrubs or way better out of scrubs, there's no in between."
You gestured to your table.
"Take Robby for example, can you imagine that man in anything other than scrubs? I saw him out on a run once and I can confirm, it was disturbing."
Dennis let out a genuine chuckle at that.
"Ok, I like this game." He nodded, feeling himself relax slightly without being under your intense gaze. "Javadi's an out of scrubs for sure."
Your grin widened at his willingness to go along with it. "Exactly. I never thought I'd see her part with that purple sweater."
Dennis laughed again, watching out of the corner of his eye at the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled.
"So uh- which one am I then?" He asked sheepishly just as the bartender plonked your drinks down on the sticky surface.
You grabbed your drink before you turned your attention back to him. You took a sip from your straw as your eyes flitted up and down his figure, a smirk forming on your lips.
"I haven't decided yet."
Dennis gulped.
"Thanks for the drink Whitaker."
He watched helplessly as you walked away.
All composure and restraint had flown out the window. He was a man completely undone, like putty in your gentle hands.
"What did I miss?" Santos reappeared at his side, surveying the dance floor with eagle eyes.
"She... she said I scrub off quite well." He murmured, his eyes never leaving your figure as you animatedly chatted with Mohan.
"Huh?"
"She said everyone either suits scrubs or normal clothes more, so I asked her which one I was."
"And?"
"She said she hadn't decided yet."
Santos looked over at him in disbelief. "Oh my fucking god."
Dennis' neck snapped to look at her. "What?"
"Huckleberry, she was fucking flirting with you!"
"What?" He repeated, blinking in a few times. "No she wasn't."
"Uh yeah - she was." Santos insisted. "What you just told me? That's a fucking line. She lined you!"
"No I-" Dennis stammered. "There's- there's no way she was flirting with me. Aren't you the one who said she was way out of my league anyway?"
"I did." Santos nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "But even geniuses can be wrong on the rare occasion."
She turned to face him fully, her face completely serious. "This is your chance."
"What-"
"Go flirt with her! Ask her out! Do something!"
"B-but I-" He cut himself off as he glanced up, watching you twirl Javadi around.
"If you don't Huckleberry, I will."
One look at her face and Dennis knew she was fully serious.
-
As the night wore on, people began siphoning into the 'I have work at 7am tomorrow' and the 'I have a day off tomorrow' camps.
Mohan and Ellis were doing shots off a strangers stomach. Mel and Langdon were animatedly discussion the upcoming renaissance fair. Santos was making a point of flirting with any girl within earshot of Garcia.
Dennis had found himself and you alone, clustered together on stools at one of the high tables. He tried to ignore the way your shoulder casually brushed against his every now and then, sending a shiver up his spine. He couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse.
"I think Javadi is going to have a headache for about a week." You remarked. "I'm also pretty sure I just saw her sneak into the bathroom with Matteo."
"We've all been there."
You raised a brow.
"What, hooking up with co-workers?"
The tips of his ears turned pink. "No-no I-"
"Relax, I'm teasing." You laughed.
He let out a breathless chuckle. "Oh, right."
The thumping bass enveloped the two of you, preventing the possibility of awkward silence.
"You're quieter than usual." You observed after a few moments.
"I-" He cut himself off before he tried to deny it as you looked at him imploringly.
Who was he kidding? You would see right through him, you were way too good at reading people. He saw it everyday at work. It was a skill he'd always admired in you, your ability to coax the truth out of patients, but right now he found himself cursing your keen eye.
"Yeah, sorry." Was what he ended up saying.
You frowned. "You okay?"
He hesitated, then exhaled.
"Yeah I think just seeing everyone and you like this kind of threw me off."
You stilled, just slightly.
"Like what?"
"Like..." He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Like not in clinical grade hospital lighting."
That earned a quiet laugh from you.
He didn't know why he opened his mouth again. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Santos' words from earlier, maybe it was the way you'd ignored every single man in here tonight who had tried to hit on you and only seemed to want to talk to him, and he couldn’t help but hold onto the smallest spark of hope that it meant something.
"You um-" He gestured vaguely to your figure, immediately regretting it. "You just look... different."
He winced as the awkward words rolled off his tongue.
But instead of the teasing look he'd expected, your expression shifted into something gentler.
"Different....good?"
He huffed a small laugh, looking down at his drink for a second before gathering himself.
"Yeah." He looked up at you, his voice quieter. "Different good."
Your smile widened.
The familiar bass of Maneater started thumping through the bar speakers.
The sound of your name being called made the two of you break eye contact.
A slightly dishevelled Javadi, apparently having been summoned from the bathroom by Nelly Furtado, was grinning at you.
“This is our song!”
You and Dennis laughed as she pointed at you, demanding your presence on the dance floor immediately.
“Sorry, duty calls.”
Dennis pressed his two fingers to his head in mock salute. “Good luck soldier.”
You grinned, giving him a salute back before going to join the small dance circle that had started to form.
Dennis’ eyes followed you all the way there.
-
As the night wore on, the herd thinned.
Santos and Garcia had conveniently left at the same time. Abbott had muttered something about sunrise yoga before vanishing. Princess and Perlah were slow dancing in the corner.
It seemed you were next in line for departure. Dennis watched from his chair as you started doing your rounds, handing out obligatory goodbyes.
Dennis turned as Robby cleared his throat this throat beside him.
“You know, she told me she walked here.”
Dennis followed Robby’s gaze, leading directly back to you.
“Lives just a couple of blocks away.”
“Uh… ok.”
“So… she’ll probably walk home.” He spoke slowly, like he was describing some incredibly complex medical term to one of his patients.
“And she’d probably appreciate it if someone were to.. oh I don’t know…” His lips quirked ever so slightly, “… offer to walk her home?”
“Oh.” Dennis balked, jerking his head over to look at you as realisation hit him. “Right yeah- that’s a great idea.” He shot up of his seat so quickly that the table shuddered, half drunk, forgotten drinks sloshed in their glasses.
“Thanks Robby.”
Robby's eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched Dennis hastily make his way towards you.
“Kids.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.
You were rifling through your purse, making sure you had everything as Dennis approached you.
“Hey.” He jerked a thumb towards the door. “You heading home?”
“Yeah.” You sighed. “Figured I should try and get at least four hours sleep before my shift, I don’t think it would be ethical otherwise.”
Dennis chuckled. “Yeah I feel that.”
There was a slight pause before.
“So, how are you getting home?”
“Oh I was just going to walk. I only live a couple blocks that way.” You gestured vaguely behind you.
“Right.” Dennis nodded. A heartbeat passed.
“Would you um- would you like me to walk you home? You can totally say no.”
You smiled softly. “Yeah I’d love that, thanks.”
He shot you a tight lipped smile back as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Great ok, well we can head off whenever you’re ready.”
You glanced over Dennis’ shoulder to see Robby watching the two of you.
“See you tomorrow Robby!”
Robby raised a hand in passive acknowledgment. “Later kiddo.”
The Pittsburgh weather had decided to be kind to the both of you as you spilled out onto the lamplit street. A warm, gentle breeze lapped at the two of you as you began the short walk to your apartment.
You made small talk, mostly about work, giggling about the crazy patients you'd both had recently, until you came to a reluctant stop at your doorstep.
Things felt calmer out here, away from the loud music and the preying eyes of co-workers.
“This is me.” You gestured to your building.
Dennis felt his heart sink. He thought he would have more time. More time to build up the courage to finally say something.
How was it that he could intubate a critical patient without breaking a sweat, but the thought of saying anything remotely risky to you was enough to turn him into a quivering, spiralling mess.
You peered up at him. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Happy to.”
You observed him for a few moments.
Dennis wondered if you could tell exactly what he was thinking. Wondered if you knew the effect that you had on him. If you could tell that he was frantically flicking through a list of things to say that could stop this moment from ever ending.
“You’re giving me that look again.”
“What look?”
Your smile curved. “Like you’re still trying to get used to seeing me not under clinical grade hospital lighting.”
Dennis chuckled weakly. “Sorry for being weird tonight I…” He sighed as he looked at you.
As the soft light of the street lamp hit you, Dennis felt something unfurl beneath his ribs.
You were so beautiful, both in your scrubs and out of them. Neither one was better than the other. One would not exist without the other. Both sides made you whole, culminating in one perfect, sweet, smart person.
And now he had seen both sides, he didn't think that he could ever live without either of them again.
That feeling swelled in him, creating a tidal wave finally ready to knock down those barricades he'd held so stubbornly in place for so long.
He met your eyes then, properly, and whatever nerves he had seemed to settle into something steadier, the realisation grounding him.
"I've spent a long time trying to pretend that you don't exist outside of work." He finally said.
"Why's that?"
There was something so open about your face that made his remaining walls crumble, made him desperately want to spill all of his thoughts at your altar.
"Because... because I knew that you were someone I really, really wanted to know outside of work." He confessed.
"And uh-" He gestured to you. "I don't think I can keep pretending anymore. Actually, I think it might make me go insane if I keep trying."
You smiled softly.
"You know how you asked me earlier whether I thought you were a scrubs or no scrubs type?"
Dennis nodded, thrown off by the sudden change in conversation.
"Well, I've been waiting all night for you to ask me again. I uh- I had this whole thing planned out, I was going to say something lame like, 'I don't know, I think I'd need to see you a few more times not in your scrubs to make an assessment.'"
"Holy shit." Dennis blinked. "You were flirting with me."
That made you burst out into a fit of giggles, relieving some of the tense energy crackling between the two of you.
"Yeah no kidding. Trin said I was going to have to lay it on pretty thick for you to get it, but I didn't realise how thick she meant."
"Wait-" He stared down at you, eyes wide. "Santos knew about this?"
You nodded.
"I'm going to kill her."
"Wait no, don't be mad at her - I swore her to secrecy." You said hastily. "I only asked her for advice after none of my more subtle attempts worked. I figured since you literally live with her, she'd know you pretty well."
Dennis thought his brain was about to implode.
"What... what other subtle attempts?"
For the first time tonight, Dennis finally caught a hint of colour in your cheeks.
You chuckled sheepishly. "I don't know... I always made an excuse to consult with you, or to take a break at the same time. And didn't you think it was weird that I started bringing in your favourite snacks every time you mentioned what you liked?"
"Wait - you don't like Doritos? I thought you said you loved them."
You shrugged. "More of a Fritos girl."
Anyone who walked past them must have thought that Dennis resembled a stunned mullet.
"I'm an idiot." He stated matter-of-factly.
"You're not an idiot." You reassured him. "You're just-"
"Blind? Stupid? A combination of both?" He let out a dramatic groan, burying his face into his hands.
"I'm so sorry I- I was so focused on keeping you off my mind and convincing myself that I didn't like you that I had total tunnel vision at work."
"It's ok, really." You insisted. "I can get so emotional at work." You huffed. "But you...you're always so composed and clinical and precise." You cut yourself off before you started rambling.
Dennis' heart hammered in his chest.
"Really?"
"Really. I wish I was more like you at work."
Dennis' brow furrowed. How could you not see that you were perfect?
"What do you mean? You're a literal ball of sunshine at work. Everyone loves you, you manage to make the grumpiest of patients smile. Jesus Christ I'm pretty sure I even saw Park the Shark crack a smile once-"
"-I think he was just trying not to sneeze."
He glared at you playfully. "It was a smile...by Park's standards anyway." He insisted. "You light up every room you're in. And you just get patients. If anything, I wish I was more like you."
This time, a fully fledged blush flushed your cheeks.
"Well then…I guess we balance each other out."
Dennis smiled, "I guess we do."
"And for the record." Dennis continued, "That's one of the many reasons why I.. you know..." He bit his lip as he glanced down at his feet. "...like you."
He looked up at you shyly, his nerves making his stomach churn. There was a pause. Then you whispered your next words so quietly that Dennis almost missed it.
"I like you too, Whitaker."
You eyed each other for a few moments, like you were both trying to figure out the new energy that swirled between the two of you.
It was uncharted territory, but it was something new and exciting, something that you both wanted to explore.
You only broke your eye contact to glance down at your phone, wincing at the time.
"I really should get to bed." You eventually said reluctantly.
"Yeah, me to." Dennis studied you for a moment. "I guess I'll see you today?"
You chuckled. "I guess you will."
A small silence settled between you.
Not awkward.
Just...comfortable, full.
"Good night Whitaker." You finally said, your eyes bright despite your sleep deprivation.
"Good night." He replied softly.
Dennis waited until you were up the stairs, behind the safety of a locked door and out of sight before he started his walk home.
You didn't need to know that his apartment was in the complete opposite direction of yours, meaning he had to double back past the very bar you had just been in.
As he approached the bar, he noticed a familiar figure standing by the curb.
Robby looked up from his phone as Whitaker approached. He peered over his glasses, observing the biggest grin he had ever seen on Whitaker plastered across his face.
"You get our bundle of sunshine home safely?"
"Delivered without a scratch."
"Alright, well I'll see you bright and early."
Whittaker's grin somehow widened as he patted Robby on the shoulder as he walked past.
"Thanks Robby."
This time, Robby couldn't fight the smile that appeared on his features.
"Anytime kiddo."
-
Five hours later, you shuffled through the ED doors, clinging to a double strength red bull like it was your life blood.
Shen rounded the corner, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you.
"Well well well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
You shot him a weak smile, pressing the can to your lips.
"What? No witty reply?"
"I don't have the brain capacity."
Shen chuckled, twisting around to grab something off one of the nurses desks.
“Here. This might help.”
He watched as your eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning at the sight of an extra large Dunkin iced coffee.
You immediately threw your measly substitute in the bin beside you.
“You are a lifesaver.”
“Actually it’s pronounced doctor.”
You let that joke slide as you eagerly took a sip, resisting the urge to let out a moan. If you could, you would have this stuff injected straight into your veins.
“Thank you. Seriously.”
“Anytime. Oh and good luck today, it’s a shit show.” He called out after you.
“As opposed to what?” You called back, giving him one final wave before making your way to your locker.
You went to keypad in your code, only to realise the door was slightly ajar. You were the worst offender when it came to leaving your locker unlocked, much to Dana's despair.
You froze when you yanked open the door.
Placed unassumingly on top of your things, was a packet of Fritos.
Upon closer inspection, you realised there was a small note attached to it, fastened with what appeared to be surgical floss contorted into a delicate looking bow.
You glanced around to make sure no one was in sight before leaning forward and carefully unfolding the note, revealing scrawling handwriting.
Figured you would need some sustenance to get you through this shift.
P.S I've completed my initial assessment. My findings are that you scrub up just as well as you scrub off.
P.P.S To really make sure, I think I need to run some further observations. Dinner this Saturday?
You bit your lip, unable to contain the wide grin that spread across your face.
Unbeknownst to you, Dennis was peaking through the glass, scrutinising every micro expression that appeared on your features.
A smile just as wide as yours spread across his face as he watched you fold the note back up neatly and tuck it into the front pocket of your scrubs.
Dennis subconsciously filed you under a different tab.
Except this time, it was labelled something far more dangerous.
High risk, once in a lifetime opportunity - proceed anyway.
He allowed himself to stare at you for moment before making his way towards the centre of the pitt for the day shift handover.
"Whitaker!"
He turned around, his heart rate increasing at the sight of you making your way towards him.
"Morning."
"Good morning."
The two of you naturally fell into step with one another.
"Ready for another day in paradise?"
He glanced over at you to see you peering up at him.
"With you? Always."
Both your smiles widened.
Then, very deliberately, he turned off the switch.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done
warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n
authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism
main masterlist. other Robby fic
“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”
Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”
“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”
You nodded along, humming.
She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”
You took a long gulp of your wine.
“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.
“Me?”
“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”
“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.
The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.
When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.
“It's um?” Trinity asked.
“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.
Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.
Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.
You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.
Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”
You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”
“Different how?” asked Dennis.
“Is it still casual?”
You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”
“You want to be more?”
You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"
“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”
With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.
“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”
She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.
“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”
“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.
On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.
She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.
You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G
“You're gonna leave them,” he said.
You and Trinity sat up. “What?”
“No!”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Their medicine?” you asked.
Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”
You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.
“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”
The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.
“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.
“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”
You thought we was giving them too much credit.
Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”
He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”
That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.
Easier in practise when you work with them.
The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.
“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”
“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.
“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”
Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”
“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.
“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”
“Which one was Mark?” you asked.
“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”
Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.
You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”
“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”
“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.
Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.
“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”
Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”
“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”
Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.
“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.
“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.
Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”
“On a Wednesday? Nop.”
“Wanna come over?”
There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.
You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.
Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”
He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”
The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.
“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.
Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.
You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”
He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.
“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”
“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.
Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”
Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.
He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”
“Films,” you confirm.
“And talk.”
“We talk.”
Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”
“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.
You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.
Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”
You answered truthfully. “No.”
That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.
Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.
You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.
Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.
The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.
The next day passed like another dry spell.
It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.
It felt something like punishment.
Or a test.
By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.
“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.
“What? No.”
“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.
Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”
You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”
It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.
“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.
Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”
Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.
“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”
It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.
Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”
“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”
He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”
“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.
He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”
By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.
“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”
“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.
“No other choice.”
You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”
“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”
Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.
“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.
“Blood loss is slowing down.”
“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.
“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.
“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.
Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”
“Trin-” you snap.
“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”
You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.
It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!
But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.
“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.
“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.
“You think you could show me?”
You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.
“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”
You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.
“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”
You nodded with an absent mind.
Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.
He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”
Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?
With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.
You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.
“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.
You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-
Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.
If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.
“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.
You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.
“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”
Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.
“Good girl.”
When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.
“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.
Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”
“Where's Huckleberry?”
“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”
You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”
“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”
You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”
“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.
“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”
“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”
She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.
You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.
You'd never do that again.
Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.
Your phone was heavy in your pocket.
Call him.
But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.
You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.
Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.
You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-
That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.
You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.
Robby stood on the other side of the door.
You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”
His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”
You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.
Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.
“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”
“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.
“Oh?”
He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”
“Oh.”
His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”
You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”
“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.
“What-what-what do you mean?”
Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”
“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.
“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”
It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.
“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.
They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”
If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.
“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”
Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”
“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”
Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?
“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”
Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-
You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”
Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.
“Robby-”
“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”
“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.
He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”
Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?
“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”
His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”
Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”
Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.
His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.
Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”
“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.
You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”
“Good girl.”
You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.
He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.
You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.
“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.
His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”
His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.
“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.
Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.
“I should hope so.”
You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.
You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.
“Michael-”
He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.
Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.
He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.
“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.
Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.
All the while you wet down his scrubs.
“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.
You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.
Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”
His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.
“Mmph-”
“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”
Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.
His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.
You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”
He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.
“Michael-”
His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”
With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.
“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.
“All mine, huh?”
“Yes,” you said, breathless.
Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.
You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.
Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.
Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”
The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.
Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.
“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.
He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”
You shook your head.
Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.
His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.
“Want your cock, Robby-”
He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.
You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.
“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”
You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.
The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.
“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.
“Michael.”
He nodded.
“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.
Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-
Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”
When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-
Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.
His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.
“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.
The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.
Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.
“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.
“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”
Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.
His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”
“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”
“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.
Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.
“Oh god,” he uttered.
You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.
The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.
Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.
“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”
In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.
If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.
He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.
You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.
He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.
Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.
If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.
Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-
A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.
Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.
Robby stirred next to you. Last night.
He stayed.
“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.
You hummed, nodding and readying to move-
His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”
You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”
Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”
Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.
You hadn't closed the door.
“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.
“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”
The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.
You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.
Robby beside you didn't even stir.
“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.
He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.
You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.
summary: spencer hasn’t been sleeping well lately. thankfully, you’re a great roommate, who’s more than eager to help him relax. genre: smut, fluff tags/cw: MDNI, smut, subby!spencer (a little), soft dom!reader (kind of), blowjob, handjob, kissing, making out, begging, boobs, spit, an offensive amount of ’i don’t know’s, whiny spencer, mention of condoms, insomnia, no use of y/n w/c: 4.3k. a/n: first part of a roommate!spencer mini series is here! it’s my first time writing smut so let me know what you think and i am very open to advice. gif by @reidgif !!
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Living with Spencer proves, day by day, to be better than you could have ever expected. You didn’t expect much, to be honest – initially just hoping for some peace and quiet. Ideally, for him not to be a creep.
After meeting with him, your worries started slowly fading away. It was hard not to take notice of his, rather timid, nature. Spencer Reid – agent of the FBI, as you later found out – did not seem like a guy who likes throwing parties late at night or spying on you while you’re naked in the shower.
Actually moving in with him ended any doubts you could’ve had. In fact, you learned pretty early on that you probably couldn’t have found a better person to share your living space with. Well, his living space.
Spencer turned out to be perfectly respectful. He always takes your opinion into account, which is honestly more than you’d ever expect from a guy. He’s neat, though not as quiet as you thought in the beginning.
It was in no way bad, though. The exact opposite, actually. The longer you lived together, the more comfortable you got with each other, which encouraged both of you to open up – share facts and stories about your lives until you got to know one another so well, you could say with confidence that you’ve never been closer with a person than you have with Spencer. Not even the friend you lived with all throughout college, the one who kicked you out of her apartment – the very reason you found Spencer at all. A blessing in disguise, as they call it. (Though you’re pretty sure They don’t understand the meaning of this saying as well as you do. Not when they never had the courtesy of experiencing him.)
So, overall, living with Spencer ended up being nearly perfect. With the small exception of his very demanding, very time-consuming job. While it made you feel safer at first, with time, the feeling turned more into one of frustration. You’d gotten so used to his presence that whenever he’d have to leave for a case – which you initially considered a free-of-charge bonus – you’d end up missing him like crazy, all while worrying for his life until he’d send you an occasional text – even more rarely, a call – or let you know he’d be coming back.
Thankfully, Spencer isn’t away right now. He’s as close as he can be – in your shared kitchen, where you can hear him moving around as you wake, probably preparing his morning coffee. And normally, you wouldn’t think anything of it, but last night he sent you a text, letting you know he’d be going out for drinks with his team. And you have no idea when he got back, because before you could even realise, you passed out after a busy week of work.
So, while you got your – approximately – ten hours of sleep, you’re sure Spencer came back much later into the night, waking earlier than you, considering he’s already up and… doing things people usually do when they’re awake.
Still, you don’t want to seem neurotic – though you discovered pretty early on that Spencer understands such behaviour better than anyone – or overbearing, confronting him about his sleeping habits first thing in the morning, so you head to the bathroom first, making sure you look presentable.
And then it’s on.
—
“Morning, Spence,” you say, as cheerfully as you can at 8:30 in the morning, walking into the kitchen where Spencer sits at the table – still in his pajamas, a cup of coffee in one hand, a rich fountain pen in the other. Most likely to do the crossword from the morning paper, another one of his day-off rituals. He doesn’t bother using a pencil like other mortals, his genius brain never makes any mistakes.
“Hi. Good morning,” he replies, a soft smile on his tired, pretty face. “Did you sleep well?”
“Oh, yeah. Went, like, straight to bed last night.”
“Yeah, I figured. It was all dark and quiet when I got back,” His chuckle forces a smile of your own. It’s impossible to keep a straight face, even in the most tiresome of mornings, when the person you’re pretty sure is your best friend in the world greets you like this.
“What about you?” you ask, subtly concealing concern in this overall normal question. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh– Not really. That’s my second cup,” He lifts his coffee up for you to see, emphasizing his point, a flat, almost-smile decorating his face.
“No!” you gasp. “Spencer! Get back to bed right now– What are you doing?”
“N-no! I won’t be able to sleep anyway, I’d just be wasting my day.”
“If you keep drinking the coffee, then maybe, but I’m sure if you just lie down–”
“Honey…” he replies, the smile on his face almost condescending. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Well… I mean, can’t you just try?” you ask as you, not so subtly, grab his hands and urge him out of the chair, slowly walking backwards in the direction of his bedroom. Leading him right back to bed. “Please?”
For all that it’s worth, he actually entertains your whining. He follows you obediently until you’re on his bed – knees navigating over the nicely made covers – and he stands in front of it, waiting for further instructions. His hands still in your grasp.
“Okay, now you’re in my bed. What’s the plan?” he asks, sarcastically but now cruelly. Never cruelly. Pretty boy’s got jokes now.
“I’m not in your bed, I’m on it,” Your reply comes with a playful frown. “And the plan is that you get on it with me. Not even with me, actually, by yourself would do just fine. But since I have to lead you by the hand now…”
“Whoa, okay! No need to get all– hostile with me,” he says, but still sits on the bed, facing you. “But, you know, since you’re basically forcing me to do this, the least you could do is stay here with me. Entertain me a little.”
The laugh escapes your lips before you could even think about stopping it – quick, disbelieving, probably a little louder and more honest than what you’d usually feel comfortable sharing with a guy. That never stops Spencer's gaze from trailing down, down, down your face with a soft smirk of his own, until it reaches the source.
“You, my dear, do not get to demand any entertainment from me. You’re supposed to be sleeping, remember? Lie down.”
He rolls his eyes but settles his back against the pillow anyway – not really lying, more like… sitting back.
“I’m serious, Spence,” you say as you lean over his body, resting on your elbow by his side – not bothering to hide the concern anymore. “I’m worried about you. You’re already not getting enough sleep as it is, and you know how important it is, and it’s Saturday! You’re allowed to sleep in a little! Instead, you’re getting up earlier than the birds. How are they gonna get their worms, huh, genius?”
“I–” He can’t help but laugh at how, even when worried, playful you are. “I know that, and I appreciate your concern – I really do – but I just can’t. I would have slept in if I felt like I had it in me, but it’s just… not working.”
You let out an annoyed huff, throwing yourself back against the pillow and staring at the ceiling of genius Spencer Reid’s bedroom. You hate how he always has a good point.
“You seriously need to relax more. Maybe you should start doing yoga? Or get laid.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Oh yeah? And how would I do that, oh mastermind plan maker?”
“I don’t know – go to a bar, talk to a pretty lady. I don’t know how you pick up girls.”
“I don’t,” he replies, looking at you partially as if you just said the silliest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth, partially in a way he usually does when he starts doubting himself. “Besides, I’m not really… into that.”
“What, you’re not into sex?”
“I’m not into casual sex. You know,” he starts, his eyes locked onto yours before they drift away slowly, making their way over the entirety of the space he can see without pulling his head from the pillow. “Sex is a powerful ritual. It’s intimate and vulnerable, and it’s not something I feel comfortable sharing with a stranger. Even for just one night. Or especially for just one night. I can’t imagine doing it all and then just leaving as if nothing happened when it’s done. Not without a connection.”
You look at him in silence for a minute, staring at his profile as his eyes bore into the ceiling.
“And it’s not like I can just form the connection. I’ve never been good at talking to women, and with the job and everything… I don’t know, I just don’t really see myself getting into a relationship anytime soon.”
You take a deep breath, gathering words that will seem smart, since he’s always smart, and the least he deserves from you is good advice. After all, you’re the one who forced him into bed. And into this conversation.
“I understand what you mean. But it’s not like you can’t talk to women – you’re doing just fine with me! You just… don’t think of yourself as highly as you should. But I get it, I’m not going to try to convince you to get into a relationship. It’s just… you could if you tried.”
You stay silent for a minute more. He lets out a hum, you know he doesn’t believe your words. You’re both stubborn when it comes to it, both hellbent on holding your ground. Neither of you really feels like arguing about whether or not Spencer Reid is capable of picking up a woman.
“At least a little self-care, then. Or, you know, I’m always here if you need me,” Your words are playful, though not completely unserious. Beneath the joke lies a very real proposition that feels entirely too heavy to just say outright.
“Wow, such a good roommate I have.”
“Oh, you know it,” You hold eye contact for a while, each of you sporting a teasing smile. “But, I mean, why not? We have a connection, right? Some kind of connection, at least. If you, I don’t know, don’t feel like it’s too weird or something, I wouldn’t mind.”
You shrug, playing it off as if you were completely nonchalant and friendly about it, even though the thought of his rejection is suddenly making you feel more and more like an idiot by each passing second.
He stays silent. Thinks about it.
“I don’t know– don’t you think it would be weird? Or something?”
“I don’t think so? We already live together, it’s kinda like we can’t get much closer than that. And if it means I could help you finally relax… Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
Your heart is beating faster as the possibility of hooking up with Spencer gets more real. He’s chill about it. Be chill about it.
He lets out a resigned half-laugh. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You wouldn’t be asking,” You shrug. “I offered.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Mhmm. Are you sure?”
Spencer’s mind miraculously turns slower at your proposition. It’s not something he would usually do – probably not ever – especially with someone as close and dear to him as you. But the truth is, even though he discards your concern, he can feel the tiredness in his body. He’s pent up, tense, obviously not getting enough sleep – as you so wisely pointed out – and it’s been a while since he felt truly relaxed. Also, it’s not every day that your gorgeous flatmate offers to help you take care of it. So it’s kind of a no-brainer in his book.
“Yeah. I am.”
You lean over his body, face nearing his own, while your gazes stay locked on one another. You love it when his eyes get all dark, but right now, courtesy of the sunlight falling through the window, they resemble liquid honey more than the usual milk chocolate. You think, very briefly, that you might actually prefer this sight.
And then you kiss.
His lips feel softer than you thought they would, considering he often bites them, and he tastes faintly of the coffee he drank not so long ago. Which reminds you he was drinking coffee to stay awake instead of trying to fall back asleep like he should have been–
The thought doesn’t dwell in your mind for much longer, as he brings his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper, the way his tongue is inside your mouth.
You didn’t really imagine what it would feel like to kiss Spencer much – maybe once or twice in passing – but it’s safe to say you’re surprised at how good he is. The way he talks about his inability to get women to notice him – in a positive light at least – would make you think he’s completely inexperienced or just very lousy. And here he is, making you forget you were ever even the slightest bit annoyed at him. Making you forget anything that isn’t him, touching you, kissing, pulling you closer until your chests touch.
You move, hand drifting slowly – starting from his shoulder, resting there just for a little while, before it starts trailing down, lower, until it reaches his abdomen and the waistband of his pajamas.
“Is this okay?”
“Y-yeah.”
He nods quickly, cheeks flushed, lips pink – raw from the kissing. You have a feeling you’re not looking much better. Certainly not any more put together, as your hand finally reaches him, still over his clothes.
He’s half hard already – quick, you think – the makeout clearly taking its effect. You start rubbing your hand over his cock, and it takes barely a few seconds before Spencer's head falls back against the pillow, soft puffs of air and quiet noises escaping his parted lips. So plump. So pretty…
He looks so pretty like this. His hair has been getting longer, and even though it’s not as messy as it usually is right after he gets out of bed, something tells you it will need some work after you’re done with him – the way he just can’t keep still.
“Feels– that feels good.”
He says and tilts his head up to chase your lips. The kisses are dizzying, and he’s not really sure how much more he can take before snapping like a cheap rubber band – quickly, pathetically.
“Yeah? Can I touch it now?”
“You are. T-touching it,” His mind is a little hazy with pleasure and, oh look! Seems like you finally found a way to dumb down the genius.
“You know what I mean.”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer nods eagerly, a few strands of hair falling over his face. “Yeah. Please.”
You run your nails gently over his stomach, dripping low. He shudders at the touch. It feels good – he's as hard as can be now, but it’s not nearly enough.
He laughs weakly – it’s more of a breath than a laugh – but it catches your attention. As if he didn't already have all of it.
“You said you were going to touch me now,”
“And you said that I am touching you.”
You smirk down at him, but you’re not cruel. He looks like he needs it – you know he needs it – so you decide not to deprive him of your touch any longer.
Your hand finds its way into his pajamas, then into his boxers, until it finally reaches the smooth skin of his cock. You run over it a few times, rub it just a little, before taking him into your hand. He feels heavy, and you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to see it just yet, but you lower his clothes and– Oh.
To say Spencer is pretty all over would be an understatement.
Soft sounds escape his lips, bordering on needy and ruined, when you pull your hand away. He looks as if he’s about to protest until he notices you bring the hand up to your lips, and then his eyes are fixed on your spit as it drips from them, your own gaze never leaving his face.
The drop lands on your open palm like a prophecy of what he’s about to experience. He can barely form a thought other than you and how good it feels when you finally start stroking his cock, your lips running over his jaw, then down his neck.
“Thank you. Ngh– Thank you.”
“It’s okay, baby,” You press a single kiss to his lips. He chases them for more. “Does it feel good?”
“God, yes,” The whines would sound pathetic even to his own ears if he were capable of caring about anything other than his pleasure right now. To you, they’re dizzyingly beautiful. Enough to make arousal drip between your legs.
Your hand starts moving faster, gripping him tighter until he can barely breathe. And, if there’s any thought in his head, it’s that:
“I don’t… I don’t have any condoms.”
You take a moment to think about his words, not stopping the movement of your hand. You couldn’t, not when he looks so pretty, falling apart for you.
“That’s fine. We won’t need them today.”
Normally, if Spencer’s mind was working the way it usually does (which it is not), he’d think about your words, make sense of them. However, that doesn’t happen so quickly. Not while you’re kissing his lips, glossy with spit, not when your kisses start moving down his jaw and neck. Not until he feels you pull away and push his shirt up, lowering your face to reach low on his abdomen and start pressing kisses there, dangerously close to his needy cock, which throbs for attention.
“Wan’ me to use my mouth on you?” Kiss. Deliciously messy. “Gonna let me do that?”
Spencer’s head jumps from the pillow to look down at you before dropping back again with a moan. He doesn’t think he can handle the sight. Not unless he’s ready to finish right now. (He’s not. Please, let him keep his composure just a bit longer. Forever, ideally.)
“You don’t have to do that, honey.”
“I didn’t say that I have to, I asked, nicely, if I could,” you say and lean back, sitting on your knees, as your hands grasp the very bottom of your shirt, tugging it up, and off, until it ends up at the end of his bed. “So?”
“Yes. I need it, angel, please.”
That’s what you are to him. With your lips wrapped around his cock, you’re the closest thing to a deity he’s ever known. The only one he wants to believe in.
His eyes travel between your mouth – so warm against him – and your bare breasts. He feels like the world's biggest asshole at the thought of never being able to forget the sight. Damn his stupid eidetic memory.
“Fuck– that’s it,” He begins, but the words are interrupted by a loud whine as you suck, then slowly lower your head until you’re ready to go back to his head. “Please, don’t stop.”
Spencer can feel you hum around his length, most likely meant as reassurance – It’s okay, I’m not stopping – but the vibration only serves to give him more pleasure. It’s hot and overwhelming, and he’s not sure how his hand is ever supposed to live up to this.
And he’s trying – really trying – not to ruin this, but it’s impossible to focus on anything other than the feeling of you, touching him, you all over him– Fuck. He’s getting really close.
He takes a second longer, desperately fighting with his mind to wait until he’s ready for it to be over, but it’s getting harder each time you suck, run your tongue over him, hum – do the things that you do that drive him positively crazy – and he doesn’t even notice when his hands tangle in your hair. Then in his sheets, then your hair again, because, fuck, he truly doesn’t know what to do with his body.
What he does notice is your own hand, joining your soft, wet mouth on his cock, following after your head, up and down.
It’s then that Spencer realises his end is painfully near.
“Wait– stop! Mgh– honey, stop.”
“What is it?” you ask, pulling away in concern, though your hand stays on him.
“I’m getting close. I don’t wanna finish yet. Don’t wan’ it to be over…”
You don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him, but it sure is hard to keep it from slipping out.
“Spence, you’re supposed to enjoy yourself. Relax. You can cum, baby.”
He’s almost ready to protest, beg you to wait – just a second – until he can think straight again, but then he sees you take him back into your mouth. And it’s over before it really begins.
He gets loud, just seconds before the coil inside him snaps, and he tries to warn you, but you stay near, and soon, hot cum floods your mouth.
And it all goes quiet. Only in his head, though Spencer could swear it’s a feeling he’s never felt before. He moans and whines, hands tighten in your hair – his attempt to keep himself grounded as his hips lift from the bed and his head turns deliriously empty.
Only when he settles back down do you finally pull away, pressing one last kiss onto the head of his cock, before tucking him back into his pants.
“Wow, doctor. Seems like you really needed this,” You say with a playful smile, your eyes now at the same level as his.
“Yeah, I… I’m sorry, I don’t… finish this fast, usually. It’s just been a while…”
“Don’t worry, I’m glad I could help,” You look at his flushed face, tender hands brushing strands of hair from his sweaty forehead. Then, you press a kiss against his jaw.
“That was– perfect. You’re incredible. Thank you,” Spencer pulls you into a kiss, his hands once again in your hair. There was a moment when he was worried it might be too much – too intimate – but thoughts as mundane as this one meant nothing to his soft, mushy brain, possessed by post-release hormones.
You, in turn, were cautious of kissing him in case he found it gross, considering you’ve just had him in your mouth. Spencer, however, continues to prove that he’s different from any other guy you’ve ever known.
“How about you get some sleep now, hm?” you ask, petting his cheek gently.
Truth is, your attempt of tiring him out seemed to work, as his glassy eyes keep growing heavier by the second.
“Mmm… Could you stay?” He grasps your wrist and looks at you in a way that makes you believe you could never refuse anything he asks of you.
“Okay.”
And when you get under the covers next to him, his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest. Though soon, as he drifts further into sleep, they begin to loosen, only sometimes tightening involuntarily.
You can’t help but think – you’re not sure whether this is a sleep or a sex thing – that Spencer Reid is a cuddler.
—
When you wake, the sun is high and bright, signalling that you’ve slept far longer than appropriate, and you’ll most likely regret it later.
Still, you try to keep your movements as subtle as possible so as not to disturb Spencer. He deserves this, you think, for all that he does for you, and the whole country, for that matter.
It’s hard not to stare a little as you pull away from his body. You never get to see him like this. He naps on the couch sometimes, though very rarely, since he tries to keep the common spaces available to you at all times. But even when it happens, he’s usually facing the couch, or his face is scrunched up in this really cute way that tells you he’s actually somewhat conscious and will likely wake up if you’re not careful enough.
You’ve never seen him like this, though. So soft and relaxed, gentle in the sweetest way possible. It makes something warm and fuzzy settle deep in your chest.
So you get up from the bed. Debate pressing one last gentle kiss somewhere on his skin – his forehead, maybe – then decide against it.
Even the thought alone feels far too intimate despite the fact that you can still faintly taste him at the back of your throat. You find it leaving you all giddy instead of disgusted. That’s something to worry about another time, though. Right now, you need to start functioning – even if normal people have probably already been up for hours – and leave your sweet, exhausted roommate to get his rest.
You wish him sweet dreams in your head. Scold yourself for it because it’s stupid and he can’t even hear it – and giving him a blowjob was probably more than enough for sweet dreams – but for a reason unknown to you, you don’t actually despise yourself for thinking it.
Maybe you’re just a little embarrassed by your mind.
likes, reblogs and interactions of any kind are greatly appreciated!!!
a/n pt2: i did the thing. gradient title and dividers, i feel all fancy and professional
married spencer reid and reader where every time they try to get freaky with each other, they are interrupted by spencer getting called into a case 😼😼 so they are both just super desperate and needy
this is the shit i live for fr
thank you for the request, hope you enjoy 🤭
-
pairing: spencer reid x f!wife!reader
rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.
warnings: spencer is obsessed with his wife (can i get a hell ya), reader works at a publishing house in this fic, mentions of light alcohol consumption, lots of teasing and yearning, aaron hotchner and derek morgan are unintentionally the biggest cockblocks, soft dom!spence, smut (fingering, f oral receiving, unprotected piv, one [1] ass smack), reader is nondescript aside from being shorter than spencer and wears a dress. no use of y/n.
word count: 3.6k
a/n: this has zero revision so sorry for any grammatical errors / spelling mistakes
-
Thirty seven days.
It’d been thirty seven days since you and your husband have had any chance at being intimate, and truth be told, it was driving you fucking insane.
You understand that his job is very demanding. You really do.
And you obviously know crime doesn’t stop for anyone, even right after he and his coworkers close a case.
But every time you two try to initiate anything, it always seems to get interrupted with the ringtone of his phone you’ve come to learn and dread.
And every time, your husband leaves the house half hard and you feeling needier for him than the last time this reoccurrence took place.
You try and make it work, truly, but your job is also pretty demanding and your hours can be odd.
You’ve given up on trying at this point, because if it happens, it happens. You don’t want to set any expectations up only to be let down once again.
Spencer feels awful about it too. When it’s just you two in your space, he loves to be all over you or has to be touching you in some way. He sees the disappointment in your eyes every single time his phone rings, but you never complain about it to him.
You just give him a small smile as you walk him to the door with a sweet kiss and a be safe out there, baby, before sending him on his way.
He just got back from a case earlier this morning, and now you’re both sitting at your dining room table working on some extra paperwork for your jobs. You, a rough draft manuscript for a new author your publishing house just brought on board, and him, the case file paperwork from the case he just came home from.
It’s silent in the house aside from pens writing on paper and pages being flipped.
His knee brushes yours under the table, and every time it does, electricity zings through your body. You’re in denial that a single brush of a knee could get you so wound up, but it’s been weeks of tension building between you two with no release.
You glance up at Spencer, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip in concentration as he reads impossibly fast before scrawling something on his paperwork.
The furrow in his brow and concentration on his face makes you wonder what he’s reading that’s got him so deep in thought.
You know better than to interrupt him, though, so you get back to your own work. Two more pages to go.
When you’re on your last paragraph, Spencer closes his case file and stacks it neatly with the other paperwork surrounding him.
You’re marking a few more words and highlighting a line before you sigh, finally finished with your work. You roll your shoulders back and close your eyes, taking another deep breath.
When you open them, Spencer is staring at you.
“What?” you huff a laugh, putting your pen down before stacking your papers to be orderly.
“C’mere,” he coaxes, jerking his head.
You grin before moving yourself to straddle Spencer on the chair he’s sitting in. He softly smiles at you as you trace his features with your fingertips, tucking a curl behind his ear.
“My mind is exhausted. I just wanna turn my brain off,” you joke half-heartedly.
“Oh yeah? Maybe I can help with that,” he murmurs.
Heat strikes your core like lightning, warmth flooding through your veins as you stare down at him. You can see the neediness in his eyes, feel it in the way his hands twitch around your waist.
He wants you just as badly as you want him, so he decides it’s time he does something about it.
You run your fingers through his hair, and Spencer shuts his eyes for a few seconds before re-opening them. This time, they’re much darker and full of a burning, carnal desire.
“Spence,” you whisper, and his mouth is on yours. Not in a soft way, no. More feral. More ravenous.
You match his energy all the same, moaning into him as he grips the sides of your face with such urgency, deepening the kiss.
You trail your hands down his chest, frantically trying to unbutton his shirt as you go.
His tongue sweeps over yours, and it’s messy for a few seconds. Teeth clashing, lips smacking and full-fledged desperation.
His hands roam your body, immediately finding the hem of your dress. One of his hands travels between your legs, fingers brushing your clothed cunt.
The whine that evades you is involuntary, but his touch is making you have the utmost visceral reaction. You grip his shoulders tightly as he moves your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through your arousal.
“Please, Spence,” you cry. He hums against you and separates himself from you to see the look on your face as he circles his fingers around your clit.
“You’re so fucking wet, angel. You want me this bad?”
You look down at him, chest heaving rapidly as you desperately try to catch your breath.
“You have no idea how badly I want you, Spencer. I need you.”
He groans at your words, and you can feel his hard length against your thigh. All you have to do is unbuckle his belt, and he’ll be yours….
And then his fucking phone rings.
You let out a half-laugh half-sob, slumping your shoulders as you look down at the phone on the table behind you.
Derek Morgan’s name flashes across the screen, and you sigh before picking up his phone to hand it to him.
He looks absolutely crushed as he removes his hand from between your legs. You move to get up, but his grip stops you in your tracks. He shakes his head at you while he answers his phone.
“Hey Morgan, what’s up?”
His grip on your waist tightens, and you slump into him a little more just to be closer to him. Your nails lightly scratch the nape of his neck, patiently waiting for him to get off the phone only to probably tell you he has to leave again.
Except he doesn’t. “What time?” he asks Derek.
He moves the phone away from his ear slightly. “Derek wants to know if you’re up for drinks at Shaw’s in half an hour. Everyone’s going.”
You rear back slightly, not expecting the invitation. You shrug a shoulder and give him a nod, thinking a drink or two will distract you from him. Plus, knowing you’ll get to see Penelope, Emily and JJ brightens the mood a bit.
It’s been awhile since you’ve hung out with them with everyone being busy and all, so you’re looking forward to some girl talk.
“Okay, see you in a bit. Bye,” he says, hanging up the phone.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
You shrug. “Don’t worry about it, Spence.”
You pat his chest to get up, but his grip tightens once again on you. He leans up to kiss you softly before giving your ass a love tap.
You hope to god these drinks become a decent distraction.
-
“You made it!” Penelope squeals with excitement, bringing you into a welcoming bone-crushing hug.
“Easy with my wife, Garcia. She’s precious cargo,” Spencer jokes.
You laugh as you hug her back, kissing her hair before separating from her.
She puts on her best grumpy pout and points an accusatory finger at Spencer. “Well I wouldn’t hug her so enthusiastically if you didn’t keep her away from us so much.”
Spencer puts his hands up in surrender. “It’s not intentional, I swear,” he pleads.
“I missed you too, Pen,” you laugh, hugging her again before saying hi to Emily, JJ, and Derek. You wave at Aaron and Dave, and you all walk over to a large booth that could easily hold ten people comfortably.
“Drinks, ladies?” Derek asks, and you all list off what you’d like. The men all head toward the bar as you and the girls get comfy in your seats.
“So how’ve you been? It’s been so long since we’ve last hung out,” JJ asks with a small pout.
“Too long,” you sigh, “But I’ve been good. Just working a lot.”
“Amen to that,” Emily says.
“So are you and Spence gonna try for kids anytime soon?” Penelope gets straight to the point, and while Emily and JJ look at her in horror, you laugh.
“Not quite yet. We barely even have time to… you know,” your hand gestures around, but they get the point.
“God, don’t I know it,” JJ huffs. “How long has it been for you?”
You tip your head side to side. “A little over a month.”
“Yeah. No offense to him, but your guys’ boss is a total cockblock.”
All three of them laugh loudly, drawing Spencer and Derek’s attention.
“Can I ask how?” Emily says, raising her brow in curiosity.
“Every single time, and I mean every. single. time. Spence and I try to get intimate, he calls him to come back to work because there’s a new case.”
“God, talk about terrible luck in that area,” Penelope sighs.
“I mean, when we actually get to, between us ladies,” you look at all three of them, “it’s incredible. He’s incredible. Like mind-blowing-world-shattering type of incredible.”
All three of them gawk at you like you’re saying the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“And this is Spencer we’re talking about? Shy, reserved, full-of-too-much-information, stubborn, innocent little Spencer?” Penelope says, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh.
“He’s anything but innocent, believe that,” you say, and you leave it at that.
They all gasp in surprise, and you laugh at their reactions. It’s incredibly rewarding knowing the side only you get to experience of him is a complete shock factor to everyone else.
“I’ll be damned. Go Spence,” JJ roots on.
“And go you for bagging him,” Penelope adds, with a no kidding from Emily.
The four of you immediately switch the conversation as you see the men walking back to the table with drinks in hand.
Spencer hands you yours with a sweet smile, and you thank him as he slides into the booth next to you. You cozy up to him and he puts a hand on your bare thigh, rubbing circles into your hot skin.
You clench your thighs together, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He hides his smirk behind the glass of his club soda as he takes a sip.
And then he casually moves his hand higher on your thigh. You take a sip of your own drink to calm your nerves, because his teasing isn’t helping anything.
All it makes you want to do is drag his ass into the bathroom and have him fuck you senseless. Your self restraint was hanging on by a thread, and you had to sit there and act nonchalant while his hand was burning a hole into your thigh.
You squirm a little, trying your hardest to follow the conversation that was happening.
“You okay?” Spencer asks, lips brushing your ear. You shiver at the proximity.
“Mhm,” you muster poorly. To everyone else at the table, the interaction you two are having looks innocent enough. But you know he’s taunting you. Teasing you. Snipping the thread piece by piece.
Another sip of your drink, and that warm feeling returns. Except it’s all over your body, and it burns for your husband.
His hand moves dangerously higher on your thigh, and you roll your lips into your mouth to stifle a moan. You try to move his hand down, but he grips on tightly and won’t budge.
You huff quietly in frustration, chugging the rest of your drink before you take your opportunity during a break in the conversation.
“Would you ladies like to dance with me?” You ask, because it’s the only logical thing you can think of right now that can get you away from your husband and his insanely tempting touch.
“Oh you know I’m always down for dancing,” Penelope says, Emily and JJ agreeing. You peer up at Spencer under your lashes before flashing him an innocent smile.
He wanted to tease you? Fine. Two can play at that game.
“Scooch over, handsome,” you say, and you catch his throat working as he swallows slowly. He moves out of the booth so the four of you can get out, and as soon as you hit the dance floor, you feel his eyes burning holes through you.
So you put on a show. You’re moving your hips sensually to the rhythm of the song playing, no doubt attracting other wandering eyes as well.
“I so know what you’re doing, and it’s totally working,” Emily says into your ear, looking over your shoulder at Spencer. “He’s coming over here now.”
You smirk at her and continue to dance, feeling his hands grip your hips seconds later. His cologne fills your senses and you sigh in content at the familiarity.
You continue to dance, grinding yourself into him purposefully.
He leans down so his lips brush your ear, and you gasp at the contact. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
You turn around and fake pout at him. “But I’m having so much fun. You afraid your coworkers are going to deem you unprofessional if you dance with me?”
“I really don’t care what they think.”
“Your innocence card would be completely stripped,” you tease.
He raises an eyebrow. “I was innocent. And then I met my wife.”
You gasp and mock feigning offense. “Me? Take your innocence? Nonsense. You already knew what you were doing when we met.”
“You may have not taken my innocence, but you’ve built up my confidence.”
“Use that confidence to dance with me,” you try to negotiate.
“Not today, sweet girl. Say your goodbyes. We’re leaving.”
Your heart thunders against your ribcage at his words. They almost sound threatening, but they’re far from it. You know that tone. That stern, no-nonsense authority that has you wanting to fall to your knees.
You make your rounds to say goodbye, chalking up your early departure to having to get up early tomorrow for a family function.
The car ride home is deadly silent. The tension is so thick and palpable, you can practically cut it with a knife. You’re throbbing by the time he parks in the driveway, and when he opens your door for you, you nearly trip over your own two feet as you rush to get into the house.
Because as soon as that door closes, he’s all over you. He pushes you up against the door, grabbing your cheeks as he kisses you so desperately and passionately that it makes your knees physically weak.
“I’m turning this fucking thing off until we’re done. No more interruptions. I need you so fucking bad, angel.” He makes a show of turning off his phone, tossing it onto the entryway table before resuming kissing you.
You whimper into the kiss, gripping his shirt like your life depends on it. You both stumble back to the bedroom, lips only parting for brief intervals. You’re both bumping walls, feeling your way around before you finally make it to the bedroom.
He wastes no time taking off your dress, groaning when he sees you in your matching panties and bra.
“So gorgeous. All mine,” he nearly growls, pushing you gently down onto the bed. “I need to taste you.”
“Spence, please,” you cry.
He gets down on his knees before you without hesitation. He starts with frantic kisses on your thighs, but slows himself down when he gets to the apex. He looks up at you, kissing your clothed cunt.
Then a lick. Another kiss. And then he rips your panties off of you, tongue delving into your pussy.
“Spencer!” You gasp, hands flying to his hair. He hums against you, arms sliding up your body until his hands are resting on your hips.
His tongue works wildly against your core, the sounds reverberating off the walls of your bedroom nothing short of obscene.
Kiss. Lick. Suck.
Alllll the way down. Then back up.
Your hips start to writhe in tandem with his tongue, and you’re so pent up that it doesn’t take you long to come.
But he doesn’t stop there. Of course he doesn’t.
“You were being such a tease earlier,” he murmurs dangerously low, hand sliding down to your pussy. He spreads your arousal, coating his fingers. Your hips absentmindedly chase his fingers, and he pulls back to look up at you.
“You started it,” you weakly retort.
He chuckles, pushing his ring and middle finger into you. You gasp at the welcome intrusion, squirming against his hand. His free hand smacks your hip lightly—a silent warning to stop moving.
“True, but you should’ve seen the way other men were gawking at you. Gawking at what’s mine.”
He starts to thrust his fingers, curling them in a ‘come here’ motion. It makes you twitch, and the corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement.
“And I didn’t notice a single one. None of them hold a candle to you, Spence.”
“My beautiful wife. You don’t know what you do to me.”
“I felt it earlier,” you snicker, and his fingers move faster. Then comes his mouth. The combination has your toes curling and you can’t help but bite down on the back of your hand as a white hot feeling rips through your body once more, stronger this time.
You cry out his name as you come again, legs shaking and body trembling like a leaf.
“And you’ll get to feel it again.”
You moan at his words as he leans up to take off your bra, discarding it to the side. He works off his shirt, pants and boxers so he’s left completely bare for you.
You can’t help but admire him like this, but he doesn’t give you much time to look as he flips your body over, putting you on all fours.
He uses his hand to gently press between your shoulder blades, prompting you to position yourself face down ass up.
“You want me?” He asks, coating his cock with your arousal.
It rips a whine straight from your throat.
“So bad. Please.”
“Mm. My baby’s so polite, too.”
He teases the head into your entrance, and you clench around him. He hisses at the contact, pulling back before giving your ass a smack.
You moan at the stinging feeling.
“What my baby wants, she gets,” he says, finally pushing into you. You cry out his name, gripping the sheets beneath you.
He thrusts in and out of you slowly at first. Deliberately. Like he’s savoring the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him every time. Like he’ll come too fast if he stays buried in you for too long all at once.
“You’re so fucking perfect. So beautiful in every way possible,” he whispers.
He thrusts harder this time, faster.
“Can’t believe you’re all mine, angel.”
“I’m all yours, Spence.”
Your words are muffled by the sheets, but by the way his fingers flex and grip your hips tighter, he heard you loud and clear.
Then he sets a brutal pace. One that knocks the air out of your lungs and has you seeing stars. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, legs shaking.
Your body feels like complete jello and the only thing keeping your mind semi-clear is the sound of skin slapping skin.
That, and the whimpering sounds he makes. The way he moans your name with so much desire, so much passion. It’s enough to get you soaring over the edge once again, but you hold on for a little longer.
You want to savor this moment for as long as you possibly can, because getting put into the goddamn mattress by your husband has unfortunately become a rare occurrence.
He tilts his hips at a different angle, and that has you screaming his name into the sheets.
“Fuck! Please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” you plead.
One of his hands curls around your front, finding your overly sensitive clit, fingertips working at it in calculated circles.
With the heady feeling of how heavy he is in you, the push and pull, the scent of him, the feeling of him all around you, fingers on your clit—you don’t last another second.
Without warning, your third orgasm rips through you viscerally, and your body collapses into the mattress. Spencer keeps at it, not giving up until it’s only moments later he finds his release.
He moans your name as he comes in you, breathless and in a daze.
He gently turns you over and scoops you into his arms, kissing your forehead as your body comes down from the tremors.
“You okay?” He’s breathless and sweaty and smells like sex and god, you can’t believe he’s yours.
“More than okay.”
He hums and kisses your forehead once more before getting out of bed to wet a washcloth and bring it back to clean you up. He climbs back into bed, tucking you into his side before tossing the sheets over your bodies.
Exhaustion settles into your bones as you rest your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat soothing you.
Feeling satiated and well-fucked (rightfully so), you kiss his chest over his beating heart before giggling softly.
“What is it, my love?”
You look up at him with a knowing smirk.
“You should really turn your phone off more often.”
DOING THIS TO DENNIS WHILE HE EATS YOU OUT AND EVERY TIME HE BREAKS AWAY YOU TELL HIM TO RESITE A BIBLE VERSE ABOUT LUST—*gets fucking blown up to smithereens* 
AND HIS WORDS ARE ALL MUFFLED AND HES TRYING SO HARD TO KEEP HIS EYES ON YOU AND CONTINUE SPEAKING BUT HE KEEPS GETTING DISTRACTED AND HIS LIPS ARE STICKY AND WET AND HES MUMBLING OUT APOLOGIES BC HE CANT DECIDE IF HE WANTS TO EAT YOU OUT MORE OR LISTEN TO YOUR INSTRUCTIONS
synopsis: in which Spencer’s daughter is teaching her stuffed animal class and he is taking it very, very seriously
genre: fluffy
wc: 930ish
notes/tags: professor! spence, yes spencer named his childhood teddy bear after carl sagan, inspired by “reid, is your name samuel?”, space facts should be correct because i got them from NASA🤓☝️badger is named after badger from the wind in the willows his daughter isn’t just unimaginative
masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog it helps promote the fic so much !!
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Spencer shifted where he sat cross-legged on the carpet, wedged between a small pink teddy bear and a large stuffed elephant. He clicked his glittery blue pen a couple more times, scribbling on his Disney princess-patterned paper again and watching as no ink came out. Sighing, he raised his hand in the air.
“Excuse me, Miss Reid?” He called out. Across the room small brown eyes much like his looked up from where they were helping Pebble the Penguin with his quiz. “May I have another pen, please?”
“Yes you may.” The little girl nodded seriously, rooting around her small pink desk before giving up, with all of her pens currently being sprawled across the floor in front of various stuffed animals. Instead, she opted for sneakily taking Pebble’s pen from beside his worksheet.
“Thank you very much.” Spencer said, taking his new sparkly purple pen from her warm hands before she promptly shoved them back into her pockets.
He watched her as she strolled across the room, reciting mostly-accurate bits and pieces from the astronomy book he’d caught her studying with a flashlight long past her bedtime the night before. Her little voice filled the room, her cadence rising and falling in a way all so familiar to him- a way that stood out to him even more so ever since he realised she was mimicking him. She paced up and down the room, the way he did in his classes, the way she’d seen him do a hundred times up and down the kitchen as he practiced his material. Spencer bit back a smile- having already been told off once for not taking her class seriously enough- before dropping his gaze back to his lap.
His daughter’s scratchy handwriting stared back up at him in glittery pink rows of questions. The exact same questions had also been painstakingly copied out on each piece of paper sitting before the entire circle of stuffed animals she was standing within, a faint smell of strawberry wafting up from each sheet. His eyes focused on a small smudge on the corner of his paper, a tiny little thumb print the evidence of her efforts. It’s rather silly the things that make tears prick your eyes when you’re a father.
“Carl.” She called, spinning to face a rather worn out looking teddy bear with a NASA logo on its chest. The same teddy bear had been Spencer’s earliest student as a child. “How many moons does Mars have?” He thought it was a little odd to ask additional questions during what was supposed to be a quiz, but he daren’t question her teaching methods. He understood better than anyone the itch to keep on teaching. Carl answered, albeit in a voice very similar to his teacher’s but in a slightly lower-pitch, earning a gold star sticker to his paper. Spencer’s cardigans were littered in the same stickers. He was, after all, her star pupil and he made sure everybody at the BAU knew it when he wore them like badges of honour with a proud smile to match.
“Badger.” She said, turning to the rather appropriate named stuffed badger at her side. “How many moons does Mercury have?”
Spencer’s spine straightened instinctually, ears perking up like a puppy hearing the world ‘treat’ as his hand shot straight up in the air. “That’s a trick question- Mercury doesn’t have any moons. It’s far too close to the sun to hold onto its own moon and even if it did it would likely eventually get pulled into the sun anyway.” He beamed up at her, holding himself back from prepping his sweater in preparation for its next gold star.
Instead, the little teacher furrowed her little brows at him, hands on her hips as she sighed. “Daddy!” She chided in her sternest voice. “I asked Badger, not you!”
Spencer’s mouth silently opened and closed like a fish, a slight flush tingling in his cheeks as his posture shrunk. “I’m so sorry, Miss Reid.” He offered her a sheepish smile before gesturing to the class for her to continue. “It won’t happen again.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, twirling on her heel to where Toto the dog was apparently waiting with his paw raised, not that Spencer could tell. He tilted his head back down to his paper, admiring where he could see that she’d stumbled over the spelling of Uranus a couple of times before getting it right. His was clearly the first quiz she’d written. A fruity smell wafted from the pen as he speedily answered the rest of the questions- play pretend class or not he was not about to lose his star pupil streak.
“Daddy?” He heard her call after a while. His neck snapped up to find her standing right in front of him, her sheet of gold stars in hand. “Which planet in our solar system has the shortest days?”
“Jupiter!” He answered immediately, and if he was in a seat he would be practically jumping out of it. “Jupiter’s days only last approximately 10 hours. Comparatively, Venus has the longest days- one day on Venus is equal to 243 days on Earth. That’s even longer than its years.”
“Perfect answer!” She was smiling at him now, her joy infectious to her father as a grin broke out on his own face.
“Well I have the best teacher ever.” Spencer answered simply, shrugging like it was the most true thing in the world. In the universe, even.
She reached out, pressing another sticker to his chest so that it sparkled over his heart. “And I have the best student ever.”
