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#professor spencer reid
Study Session (S.R.)
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Request: "Professor Reid x reader smut request? I'm just saying I'd like it to be very obscene." + "Enemies to lovers?" A/N: That awkward moment where I forget to write something here. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for your patience! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Degradation/humiliation kink, heavy degradation, Professor/Student, implied age gap (not specified), hate fuck, fingering, penetrative sex, alcohol, drunk sex, protected sex (condom), semi-public sex Word Count: 7.6k
There is a reason bars are referred to as watering holes. Aside from the sticky, sugary residue that coats the floorboards and every other surface, there is an undeniable variety amongst the patrons. I could have pretended like I was somehow above the average person at the establishment I was sitting in, but I always try my hardest not to lie if it isn’t absolutely necessary.
Most nights, I was just like everyone else — seeking regrettable company to cope with the mind numbing monotony of my program.
Most nights. But not that night.
That night I saw him, still wearing his three piece suit and nursing something that matched the treacle color of his eyes while the hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. He looked so unfortunately, tragically beautiful seated alone at the crowded bar.
There was something else about him, though. Something strange and hollow in his usually lively movements. His hand rubbed over the back of his neck, and I wondered if it was because he felt my gaze cutting through him. My suspicion was confirmed seconds later, when he finally turned just far enough to meet my eyes through the crowd.
The contact made my heart beat harder before stopping entirely. I was so busy battling my own instincts and selfish desires that I wasn’t able to respond to the challenge in his eyes. Instead, I looked away, hoping I would snap back to my senses. It wasn’t for long, but it was long enough that he vanished by the time I had the courage to look for him again.
I wasn’t going to chase him. If he wanted to hide among the crowds, I would let him. I would let him slip away from the watering hole back to the safety of whatever he called home.
I wasn’t going to chase him, but he found me.
He passed by me with such a casual step that I almost missed him. But just as he’d felt my eyes, I felt his. My body was drawn to him like the most powerful magnet. All it took was one look, and I found myself leaving my seat and trailing after him through the back of the bar.
He had to have known that I was following him, but he never turned around to check. Maintaining the same slow pace and mysterious aura, the man led me straight out the back door and into the cool night air. The latch clicked shut, the noise making the silence of the alleyway all the more noticeable.
“Fancy meeting you here, Professor.”
“My being here is odd,” he said, leaning back against the brick wall and refusing to look me in the eyes, “Yours is very predictable.”
“Ouch,” I winced, though my body language depicted anything but a wounded pride, “You make me sound so cliché.”
“Aren’t you?”
Rather than falling into the trap that he’d set, I laughed. I accepted his perception and played further into it. He didn’t even try to maintain our distance when I stepped closer.
“I’m sensing a lot of judgement here, Professor. Why is that? You’re also here.”
He finally looked at me, and it caused shivers to run down my spine.
“Unlike you, I don’t have more pressing concerns.”
I didn’t let his words nor his boredom dissuade me. I came as close to him as I could with his stance, and then leaned forward to make up the difference.
“What are these more pressing concerns of mine? I’m pretty content with where I’ve found myself.”
“You really want me to say it?” he challenged, a hint of playfulness finally sparking behind the apathy.
When I nodded, Spencer also craned his neck forward. He was close enough that I could almost feel his cheek against mine, but he denied me anything that could be mistaken for affection.
With his breath hot against my ear, he whispered, “With your marks, you should be spending a lot more time worrying about your academic career, and a lot less time worrying about finding someone to fuck you.”
Goosebumps rippled over my skin, but they still were not the most visceral of responses I had to the filthy words dancing along his tongue. When he pulled back, there was a hunger that was too potent to simply be my reflection. He looked into my half-lidded eyes, and he found something worthwhile.
“What if it’s you? Would that count as me worrying about my academic career?” I asked with a poorly feigned innocence. Spencer laughed. It was a dark, bitter sound, but enough to encourage my antics. “We can even talk about different kinds of marks.”
Any amusement that might have been found among his features was ripped away from me by his hand rooted into the hair at the base of my skull. Spencer used that hold to force my head back before pulling me closer.
“Listen closely, young lady,” he said like I had any other option. Like I wasn’t enchanted by the feel of his warm breath once again hitting my ear. He could feel the way breath stuttered and my body stumbled straight into him with eager hands. I could almost feel his smirk against my ear when he concluded, “I would never... ever sleep with you.”
And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t just drop me; he tossed me to his side like the very notion of being that close to me disgusted him. The desire that had been burning inside of my chest quickly shifted to rage.
He could pretend like he didn’t want me, but there was no other justification for bringing me out to the back in the first place. There was no reason to allow me to confront him, nor for him to discuss my sex life in any manner at all.
Seconds after we were both inside again, I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back to me. Surprisingly, there was very little resistance. It was almost like he was waiting for me to do it. I tugged him into the small, dimly lit bathroom without a care in the world for who might have seen us or what whispers might follow. Spencer was already laughing, apparently amused by anger rolling off of me.
“Say it again,” I ordered through heavy breaths, “Say it to my face.”
I’d prepared myself for a number of responses — most of which were varying levels of humiliating, such as a reminder that he hadjust said it to my face. What I hadn’t prepared for, however, were the words that actually came out of his mouth.
Casually, and without question, Spencer ordered, “Get on your knees.”
He was so calm that I felt like it must have been a trick. It took everything in me not to fall to my knees, and instead I managed to ask, “Why?”
His answer was as unhelpful as it was alluring.
“Because I said so.”
The world was spinning, and I couldn’t tell if it was from my labored breathing, the alcohol in my system, or if my heart had actually just given out. Either way, I stumbled down onto the tile. Spencer didn’t offer any assistance; he just watched me struggle in heels and a too-short dress.
Once I was settled, wavering just enough to show my enthusiasm without him being able to question my capacity to consent, he finally started to undo his belt. I watched with rapt fascination when the buckle finally fell away. I was so fixated on the sight of his hands about to reveal himself to me that I almost failed to respond to his question.
“Is this what you want?”
My cheeks were burning, and a sudden shyness overcame me as I whimpered. It wasn’t enough of an answer for him, though. He demanded something else.
Spencer slid his palm over my hair, taking his sweet time on his descent to my chin. I nuzzled into his hand like there was actually any affection in the gesture rather than the condescension I was certain that he’d felt.
But then he lifted my chin, forcing me to make eye contact with him, and my whole body shook.
“Yes,” I finally breathed, “Please.”
When my eyes were able to focus on him again, though, I found no mercy in fiery golden irises. In fact, I found just the opposite.
“You’re pathetic,” he sneered through more dark laughter, “Look at yourself. You really think I’d let you do that?”
My stomach twisted in knots. The heart that had been lodged in my throat quickly dropped from my chest just as quickly as Spencer’s hand fell away.
Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, or if I honestly believed anything that I had said during the night. But what I did know for sure was that I wasn’t ready to let him slip away from me that easily.
So, with unfettered hope and a pitiful stutter, I replied, “Y-Yes.”
It was a decent enough question. Whether it was meant to be rhetorical or not, I didn’t care. I answered him, nonetheless.
“Yes! I think you would let me. In fact… I think you want me to.”
I raised shaky hands and pressed them against his thighs. Spencer did not stop me; he continued to dare me with narrowed eyes and a tightly shut jaw. So, I moved, smoothing my hands over his legs until they came to rest at his hips. I didn’t remove his pants any more than he had.
I did something better. I listened to every sound I could elicit, running my nose over the fabric and waiting for him to do something. I was a little impressed by how far he was letting this game of chicken go, but I knew what would cause one of us to fold.
Parting my lips around the unmistakable bulge beneath his briefs, I let out one hot breath. Just one. That was all it took for Spencer’s hands to fly to the back of my head and pull me harder against him. Of course, that very movement caused another breath to leave me, albeit this time through the form of a loud moan.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, and I took it as a signal that my plan had worked. Unfortunately, before my hands could get anywhere near close enough to remove him from the confines of his clothes, Spencer had grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back to my feet. He held tighter when I stumbled, ensuring that I wouldn’t go far while he refastened his pants with one hand.
He looked at me again, with slightly smeared make-up and pupils blown wide.
“Fuck!” he repeated, and that time it made me smile.
Whatever delicious thought that he’d hidden behind the profanity wasn’t shared with me, but I hardly cared about the words when Spencer moved again. With his hand still clutching my arm, he all but dragged me out of the bathroom and straight through the bar.
I was barely able to keep up with his pace, much less formulate any meaningful thought. I followed him in a purely instinctive, lustful haze. I didn’t care about the friends I’d abandoned at the bar, nor what they would think watching me chase after our professor like a lovesick puppy.
I’d wanted him for so long, and I was close enough that I could taste it.
Like a true gentleman, Spencer opened the passenger side door of his car for me. Unfortunately, I was a bit too shocked that this was really happening for me to do anything. I turned to look at him, to confirm once more that this wasn’t a cruel joke.
He wasn’t feeling patient, however.
“Get in.”
I crossed my arms, now determined to be as problematic as possible in response to his order.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home,” he answered bluntly.
Still, I scoffed at the pretense he’d chosen.
“Seriously? What are you, my daddy?”
Spencer continued with his frustrated stare, refusing to budge even a little in response to my frankly hilarious joke.
“Fine,” I muttered, my ego soothed by the fact he’d offered his hand for me to hold for balance when I climbed inside. He did not become any more amiable once he was in the car. Every time that I moved in my seat, whether it was to readjust my hair and makeup in the mirror, answer a text, or literally just breathe, he looked over at me with an obvious disdain. He didn’t speak, though. Not until I lifted my foot to rest against the seat.
“Sit appropriately or I’ll leave you on the side of the road,” he snapped immediately.
I tried to respond with a gasp, but I couldn’t help the laughter that filtered through it. “But Professor, I thought you were trying to save me? You’d really throw me out there in the cold?”
“First of all,” he started, and I knew I’d already lost, “It is 75 degrees outside, so it’s hardly cold.”
“I don’t know, Professor... in this dress?” I slurred, drawing his attention back to me quickly by parting my legs.
He was entranced by the fabric inching up for approximately five seconds before he snapped back to reality with a loud, “Second, there is no saving girls like you.”
I suppose I had just proven his point.
“So why are you taking me home, then?”
Spencer didn’t need to think about it for even a second. He’d anticipated the question and probably determined his answer from the moment he’d realized that I’d followed him out of the bar.
“I said there was no saving you,” he explained in a low tone, “That doesn’t mean you don’t have a use.”
The words caused a shiver to flow through me that felt like lightning. My hand slid over to his as it rested on the gearshift. He didn’t even flinch at the touch, and actually loosened his hand just a little.
Enough for me to lift it and guide it over the expanse of my thigh. He didn’t resist when it passed underneath the spandex and inched closer to lace that only barely kept me modest.
“You wanna use me, Professor?” I purred.
Again, he had been waiting for the question. With just one quick glance, he flashed me a smirk that was perfectly timed to his nails digging into my skin. My back arched immediately in response, my hips bucking in the seat to try and draw him closer.
Spencer just laughed and removed his hand like he’d proven his point.
“You are so fucking pathetic.”
But I had my own point that deserved to be recognized by a brilliant mind like his.
“What does that make you then?”
The car came to a sudden stop, which wouldn’t have been nearly as surprising if I’d been paying any attention to our surroundings rather than watching his knuckles turn white from their grip around the steering wheel.
We’d arrived at the dorm, but I wasn’t ready for the night to be over yet, and I knew he wasn’t, either. Before he could come up with any clever little quip or witty insult, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned close enough to him that he would be able to smell the ethanol on my tongue.
“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”
His response was predictable, albeit a bit boring.
“Get out.”
I couldn’t have expected him to be a gentleman for long, I figured. So, instead of waiting or demanding he open the door for me, I threw my own door open. As he’d described, the night was calm and comfortable. Nothing at all like the way it felt when he looked at me.
I’d barely noticed he’d gotten out of the car himself until he was beside me. He didn’t stay there for long, either. His hand caught my jaw and his body pinned me against the side of his car with enough force to make me dizzy.
“You keep your mouth shut until we are in that room, do you understand me?”
For the umpteenth time that night, I was speechless. I gave a dumb nod that felt impossible against the strength of his hand. One might expect that he’d be gentler with my hand, but he wasn’t. He held my fingers so tightly that they were throbbing by the time we got to my room.
I thought I’d been impatient with myself as I struggled with the lock, but Spencer’s temper was another beast entirely. The second the door clicked shut, he was on me like an animal starved.
He tasted sweeter than I’d expected, but it was hard to focus on any thought for too long. His mouth’s insistence on claiming as much of me as it could was nothing compared to his hands. I was almost surprised he hadn’t torn straight through my clothing.
“You’re a bit impatient for a man who said he’d never ever fuck me,” I said with a chuckle the moment he’d freed my lips.
I almost regretted it, considering it made him stop. But I knew it wouldn’t last long.
“Shut up and take off your clothes.”
I was right.
I took my sweet time removing my dress, much to his annoyance. That only made me want to go slower, to draw out that frustrated look and the ache he must’ve felt from the tent in his pants. I wanted him to want me so badly it hurt.
With my undergarments still on, I took to working the buttons and buckles he wore, instead. He watched me with a shocking amount of desire at the domesticity of it all, and I tried not to let it get to my head. The second I’d stripped him of everything but his own final layer, I pushed him away from me and onto the bed.
I left mine on as well when I followed him onto the bed. I straddled the man I’d been on my knees for earlier and reveled in the feeling of the pure, unadulterated power that I possessed. Before I could kiss him again, though, he stopped me with a few pointed words.
“I thought I told you to take off your clothes.”
“I’m bad at following directions,” I whispered against his lips just before I diverted them entirely. I dropped them to his throat, where I made sure to leave my mark in pink, red, and purple patches.
He didn’t stop me, though. In fact, he laughed at the way my mouth seemed stuck to him.
“Trust me, I’m aware,” he hummed. The vibrations tickled my lips and led me back to his, just as he’d probably planned.
I wasn’t so lost in the kiss anymore, and my hand haphazardly reached into my bedside table until I finally got ahold of the crinkling foil. No sooner than I’d pulled the condom out had Spencer firmly tugged on a small lace strap holding my underwear together.
The sound of snapping fabric was enough to cause me to separate our lips, and I groaned in annoyance as I tried to maneuver to get the rest of the damned fabric off.
“Are you really that desperate?” I asked during the struggle, to which he flashed me a proud, devilish smirk as he answered, “I guess we deserve each other.”
In case his words hadn’t been enough to set off the butterflies and lust raging through me, he paired them with a hand sliding surely up my inner thigh. I heard him chuckle as my eyes fluttered shut, but he never stopped. Now that he was granted access, he was quick to take advantage of that.
One lithe finger slipped between the folds, gathering the wetness he’d caused over the last half hour. He teased me for a few seconds with similarly tantalizing, barely-there motions until even he’d heard enough of my whining to actually do something about it. He entered me slowly at first and removed it at an even slower speed.
I’d nearly forgotten about the condom in my fist against the sheets, too busy chasing his fingers with my hips.
“Fuck, that feels good,” I sighed, finally opening my eyes only to shut them again when I was immediately overwhelmed by the sight of him. “Fuck, Professor.”
He laughed again, although this time there was a blatant delight and fondness in it. Spencer continued his ministrations like there was nothing else in the world that mattered more than keeping me shaking and panting above him. But his other hand traced my jaw gently. It flowed down my arm and a single fingertip settled over my fist where the condom remained unopened.
From there, he patted the back of my hand carefully with a click of his tongue.
“Look at that. Little miss whore can’t even focus on the task at hand.”
“I’m greedy,” I groaned, only getting louder in my objections when he removed his hand in favor of helping me remove his final layer of clothing.
“Again, I am aware of your nature.”
It was my turn to giggle when I finally saw his erection spring free from his briefs. I was only patient enough to allow him to kick off the garment before both of my hands flew to hold him. I abandoned the condom for the time being, opting instead to feel the silky skin I’d fought so hard to have access to. The soft grunt he returned was enough like praise to urge me on.
I scooted closer, pressing myself against him for just a second before I slurred, “I wan’ it.”
“Then do your job,” was his immediate reply, given through clenched teeth and with blunt fingernails back in their place pressed firmly into my hips. “Earn it, you fucking brat.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice. I took my hand back, filling my palm with spit before rubbing it against the tip of his dick. Spencer threw his head back, filling the room with the most beautiful sound of breathy, rolling moans. I watched the way his stomach tensed, and the aching between my legs got progressively more difficult to ignore.
As soon as he felt my heat pressing against the shaft, he looked up at me again. I think he liked whatever it was he saw in my half-delirious, lustful stare. I continued to rock against him while my thumb clumsily traced the head of his cock.
“I want it,” I repeated more clearly then, “I want it inside of me, please. I want you so bad, Professor.”
“Then do it. I’m not stopping you,” he strained. It hardly sounded like an order. It was more like a beg.
He held up the poor, ignored foil wrapper between two fingers. Relief washed over him as he watched me tear it open between my teeth. We were so close to finally getting what we wanted, but I still had to take my time. Just to be a brat, as he’d so kindly called me. Just to drag it out longer, to be with him longer.
Spencer didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he looked delighted with the show I’d been putting on for him. The attention he paid me even started to get to me, and my hands began to shake as I began to roll the latex over him.
He only made it worse when I did finally position myself above him. He settled into his place with his hands beneath his head and a proud smile on his cheeks. He’d hardly look affected when I started to sink down on him, but I was struggling to not lose all remaining composure.
“Don’t act so modest,” he teased, “I know this isn’t your first time.”
I wanted to respond with a similarly snarky comment, but I couldn’t. The farther down onto him I fell, the harder it was to make any noise at all. The noises I could make were just pathetic whimpers and gasps that fed into his already enormous ego.
Spencer laughed again, removing his hands from behind his head and beginning to roam my body. That was the way he showed me just how much it really affected him. He could keep a straight face, but his grip on my hips was ruthless, and his words were strained.
“Awww. You’re not so scary when you’re sitting on my cock,” he cooed. “You’re almost even cute.”
My hips rolled in response to the praise, and I was rewarded with a deep, low groan from the man beneath me. Once I was finally accustomed to the size of him inside of me, I started to move. My motions were still stuttered and inconsistent, but I pressed on all the same.
I hated the way my legs were already shaking less than a minute in. It wasn’t even because I was tired — it was something about the way he looked at me like he was ready to devour me.
I would have let him, too. In so many ways, I’d given more of myself to that damned narcissistic professor than I’d ever planned. I’d done it so quickly. All it took was one thrust, two hands on my hips pulling me down to take him in entirely, and I collapsed onto him.
Spencer responded differently than I’d anticipated. Rather than fully mocking the display of weakness, he gently guided me back up to my previous position. It was probably just selfish, I reminded myself. The desire to see my breasts bounce and my stomach tense.
I found my rhythm again, slamming down onto him with everything I could considering the alcohol still flowing through me. It heightened every sense I felt, and every few seconds, I would catch those coffee colored eyes staring back at me and urging me on.
As if on cue, Spencer’s voice filled my room at the same time his hand cradled my face.
“That’s it,” he praised. His next words, however, were anything but kind. With that wicked smile and a harsher grip, he chuckled, “Show me how badly you want to pass.”
My legs moved harder and faster before I even ordered them to; my whole body was working off instincts. I craved his validation with my everything, and he was finding any and every excuse to dangle that promise in front of me. But he knew I wanted that, too. The thrill of the chase.
That was why he continued, “You won’t, but it’ll be cute watching you give an effort.”
His movements betrayed the nonchalance in his words. With each motion, his hips rolled up to meet mine. We moved together in the way the waves meet the rocky shores - both forever altered by their own unique form of violence.
Spencer continued with sharp words that cut straight through to the broken, competitive parts of me.
“Is this why you act so stupid all the time? Because you get off on men humiliating you?”
“No,” I answered a little too quickly, “just you.”
Luckily, he met my vulnerability halfway. Although his grip remained ruthless, his voice was soft when he whispered, “I bet you love the praise even more, don’t you? You want me to tell you you’re a good girl?”
Still too fast to reply, I nodded. It wasn’t the only obvious affirmative, considering I had started to move too fast for my lungs to even keep up.
“That you’re my pretty little whore?”
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring in enough air to stop the world from rocking with my movements. I didn’t care; I wanted to be so lost in him that I forgot everything else. The muscles in my stomach were tensing in a new way, bringing me closer and closer to the ledge where I’d hoped I could turn to seafoam with him. Where we could stay forever, lost in the bliss that is the natural rhythm of the vast open blue.
While I was busy thinking such poetic thoughts, I’d missed the signs of his own fast-approaching end. Spencer grabbed me by the hair again, tugging me forward into a haphazard kiss that barely came to be.
“I’m so proud of you,” he gasped, “you make me feel so good with your tight little body.”
“P-Professor...” I tried to speak, but the tremors wrecking my body made the words shake too much to be comprehensible.
That was fine, though. Spencer had more than enough to say for the both of us.
“I love how you tremble. I wonder how much further I could push you.”
“Harder,” I cried, “Please, Professor! Please, fuck me!”
That was all it took for him to seize all control of us. He used all possible force of gravity and his own strength to bring us together again and again. He read my body like one of his many books, and with the same proficiency, as well. He felt as my walls started to flutter around him, and he didn’t once stop.
Not even when he spoke through labored breaths, “How bad have you wanted this? How many times have you laid in bed at night wishing it was me between your legs?”
Since the moment I met you, I thought to myself, I have always wanted to break you.
But it wasn’t him that was shattering into a million pieces in my bed. It was me, stuck wordless and practically drooling. Completely in his control, and never wanting him to give it back. He knew it, too. He saw the submission and he basked in the glory of me, finally giving him everything he wanted.
“Now I’m here and you’re a helpless, filthy mess. But that’s okay,” he reassured me just as I started to feel the world again. “I know how use stupid sluts like you.”
With one final thrust, one more cry from myself and a string of curses from the man below me, I watched the bliss wash over him. My eyes were clear and captivated; the endorphins coursing through my veins and making me fall even harder from the brink of sanity.
He was so beautiful. So vulnerable, guileless, and free. Honeyed eyes were filled with nothing but appreciation and praise, and his lips parted just enough to whisper mangled versions of my name over and over like some sort of prayer.
When he stopped holding me up, I fell onto him. While the lack of structural integrity had gone almost unnoticed by me,despite landing on what was essentially a human made only of bones, Spencer was less understanding.
“You’re heavy.”
“And you’re huge. This bed is small as fuck,” I scoffed back.
“Fine,” was all he replied. But hidden within that one little syllable, I detected the faintest hint of something else. Something not entirely unlike submission.
Something almost sort of like fondness.
Something that some might call falling in love.
The next morning was the most beautiful sort of nightmare. I woke up before the man — my Professor — draped on top of me, and I wondered if it would be worth it to try to wake him. My arm was numb, and my head was pounding, but he looked so goddamn cute with his lips half-pouted in his sleep.
I’d almost wanted to keep him there longer, even at risk of my own discomfort. I took in the innocence and comfort he clearly found in my bed, and my stupid sentimental heart even had the audacity to pitter-pat before it came to its senses again.
Its timing, however, was poor. Unfortunate and disastrous.
Spencer’s eyes opened at the same time I’d realized that I was staring, and he immediately took note of the tender longing I’d managed to convey while hungover and apparently still blissed out from what was definitely the best lay of my life.
His feelings on the night, however, were summed up very easily. In just two simple sounds.
“Ah, fuck.”
“Good morning to you, too, asshole,” I groaned before shoving him off of his position on top of me.
But, keeping on trend, Spencer took all of the covers with him as he toppled gracelessly off of my bed.
Then, cold and markedly less comfortable than before, I shouted loud enough to hurt my own head, “Oh my god, you ruin everything!”
“You’re such a brat,” I heard him grumble from the floor.
“Yeah? Do something about it, then.”
“Give me five minutes.”
I reached down to take the blanket from him but abandoned the effort when I realized just how heavy a bag of bones could be. Instead, I just stayed hanging off the side of my bed until my Professor finally managed to stand.
He had been kind enough to toss the covers back over me, but the rest of the morning was spent in an awkward, tense silence. I sat with the blanket wrapped around me, watching him wordlessly gather his things and make himself look as presentable as possible in a desk mirror and while covered in hickeys.
When it was time to say goodbye, his demeanor shifted for the first time that morning. A strong undercurrent of something I’d willfully misconstrue as regret ran beneath the apathy. In retrospect, ‘fear’ was a better descriptor.
“I’m not a snitch,” I informed him as he stood in front of me at his full height.
“I know,” he said, blowing just enough air out of his nose as he smiled for me to categorize it as a laugh. “You wouldn’t tell anyone because if you do, this will never happen again.”
Gentle, practiced fingertips traced over my jaw as a smile finally appeared on my own face to match his.
“That’s what you said last night,” I correctly pointed out.
I thought he would have a clever reply — something to win, something to shut me up for good.
In a way, I guess he did.
His lips met mine with just enough force to knock the breath from me, but still tenderly enough to lend me his in return. Spencer kissed me unlike the night before. There was no battle of dominance. There was no fear or uncertainty. There was only that strange, gut-wrenching feeling that I’d spotted in his eyes just before we turned to foam together.
“You’re not scary anymore,” he whispered before placing another chaste kiss on my forehead.
I rolled my eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way my throat closed around the half-hearted scoff that followed.
“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he called while halfway through the door.
And I wondered to myself how it could have been possible to have already missed him as much as I did then.
There are times in every girl’s life where she doubts herself. Those times had been fewer and further between as I’d gotten older. But that day, sitting in Professor’s Reid’s class, I realized that I might have gone too far this time.
Although I found the tie – Spencer’s tie – wrapped loosely around my neck to be a cute, albeit odd accessory, he decidedly did not appreciate the bold statement piece. Maybe he just had something against women wearing traditionally masculine clothing. But realistically, I knew he was probably just jealous that his clothes looked better on me.
Throughout the class, his eyes would settle on me with every excuse. He returned to me, with a fire burning through him that was likely to burn down the whole building if given enough time and oxygen. I could feel how badly he’d wanted to scorch me, to light the offending fabric aflame and see how I choked on the smoke.
He said nothing, though. He would just pause and smirk whenever our eyes would meet. Then, he would let them wander over what he could see of my body. His memory would make up the rest. I could almost see those images myself, just by the way he cleared his throat like that would stop everyone from noticing just how red he’d gotten.
Spencer remained cordial as we exited the room together. He walked beside me without a word. Until I spoke, that is.
“Good morning, Professor.”
“We’re definitely going to talk about this,” he answered immediately. He’d just been waiting for the opportunity.
But I had also been waiting for one.
“Professor, please!” I balked before whispering, “not with all these people around!”
The other people in the elevator seemed completely unfazed by the supposed scandal. I figured Spencer might be a little more upset, or at least unimpressed by my confidence in my sarcasm abilities. But instead, he just smiled as the cabin started to move.
“I happen to have office hours right now,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Maybe I’ll meet you there.”
“I have a pretty busy schedule…” I sighed.
When the elevator doors opened and the people began to exit, I leaned over to the man beside me, only to find that he was also inching closer. So, when I did finally manage to finish my sentence, our faces were practically touching.
“I might have more pressing concerns.”
Spencer didn’t answer, but his eyes lit with a familiar fire that made my cheeks burn and the oxygen evade me in favor of feeding into the flames. As soon as the doors closed again, though, the smoke of his lust drowned out all other thoughts.
With no one left to bear witness, myprofessor slammed me hard against the wall of the elevator. But even still, that impact was nothing compared to the way his mouth hit mine. He seemed hellbent on crushing me to the point of bruising; of writing his name on every inch of me until the impression stayed.
“Come with me,” he said breathlessly, “… Please.”
He begged. A single word powerful enough to shatter the illusion that this meant nothing.
“Oh my god!” I shouted as my hands firmly shoved him away from me, “Shut up — You like me?!”
“What?!” he said, forgetting to scoff until a few seconds had passed. Needless to say, I wasn’t convinced.
“You do!” I screeched with a shudder. “What the fu— How can you like me?!”
And Spencer, consistent in his inability to deceive, gave the worst denial known to man.
“I don’t kno—I mean, I don’t! That’s ridiculous!”
It earned him a firm, but still playful punch in the shoulder, which he had the audacity to pretend hurt him.
“I can’t believe you, Professor!”
I sounded angry, and in many ways, I was. But when I stepped off of the elevator, I took the turn towards his office. I beat him there, too, and I didn’t hesitate to throw the door open. The man behind me had built up enough inertia that when he barreled into the room, he both slammed the door and ran me into his desk.
Before I fell too far, though, he caught me by a handful of his silk tie.
“You are infuriating,” he seethed with something other than anger.
“Yeah? Kiss me, then,” I dared.
And then he actually almost did it. Almost. He was stopped by my palm flat over his mouth, clumsily shoving him to the side as I shouted, “You aren’t supposed to actually do it!”
But to my surprise, and my pleasure, Spencer was quick on his feet. His hands found my hips the same way they had that wonderful night, and he used that hold to hoist me up onto the edge of his desk. From there, he felt comfortable pushing the fabric up my thighs.
“Why not?” he teased with his lips finding my neck just as quickly, “I happen to know for a fact that you’re good at it.”
Realizing how the tides had shifted, and that the carnal desire we’d harbored between us had returned in full force, I gave in to him once again. I spread my legs to make room for him to step between them, and he eagerly accepted the proximity.
“This I’m cool with,” I sighed.
“Yeah. I know,” Spencer chuckled as he pulled a condom out of what appeared to be thin air, considering I couldn’t focus on anything other than the way his lips felt against my skin.
While he worked to tear the wrapper open, my hands were busy undoing his slacks. Just as we’d been before, we remained perfectly in tandem. I helped him work the rubber over his erection and guided him to me without an ounce of hesitation. Likewise, he didn’t wait before pushing into me as far as he could before the tense muscles stopped him.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Any other praise was kept to himself, but I felt it. I could feel the way he cherished every spasm, every atom of my being that accepted him. Inch by inch, he worked himself to the hilt inside of me.
Once I’d become accustomed to his size again, I felt a surge of power. The realization that the man currently between my legs was completely enamored with me; that he had begged me to come grant him an audience.
So, wielding that power, I asked, “Still sure you want to fail me?”
As expected, my professor scoffed. Then, seconds later, he withdrew so that he could slam into me again with what I’d probably poorly perceived to be his full force.
“Not a chance in hell you’re passing now, sweetheart,” he groaned before pulling me forward to the edge. He used the new angle to ensure he could bottom out inside of me with each ruthless thrust. “Not if it means I can bend you over my desk for another semester.”
“Selfish prick,” I muttered back. I’d wanted him to hear it but was still surprised when he answered.
“Awww, are you not enjoying yourself? Am I not being mean enough?”
I’d almost answered yes, but his hand was too fast. It had rooted into my hair and tugged me backwards before my tongue could form a single word.
“Because I can be cruel if you want me to,” he said like a promise. That assurance was paired with his hips hitting mine with bruising force, and his other hand pulling my legs further apart to accommodate him.
He was so enraptured by the sight of him disappearing inside of me that it made honest to god butterflies swarm in my stomach. I could feel his gaze all over me, his mind working at its maximum capacity to ensure that he captured every single detail about how we existed in that moment.
I couldn’t be blamed for getting caught up in the moment. With our skin slapping together and the smell of sex filling the antiquated office. My breath was practically nonexistent, but I still managed a loud, desperate moan.
If I’d thought Spencer’s hands were quick before, I didn’t know what to call his speed then. He clamped his hand over my mouth so fast that it might as well have been a slap with the sting it caused.
His words were similarly intense.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled.
There was no reason for that phrase to affect me the way it had. With any other man, I would’ve taken it as a challenge. But with Spencer, all I could do was let out staccato whimpers as my legs tried to close around him. He didn’t let them.
He fought the tension and increased his pace and force. While I fell into that sea foam space again, Spencer’s confidence soared.
“Fuck, yes,” he panted when my orgasm finally washed over the both of us.
I kept my eyes open for as long as I could, hoping my imperfect memory would capture even just half as much as his had. The jealousy and spite kept me from letting go of that feeling until Spencer’s staggered thrusts came to a stop at my deepest point.
Until he pulled on my hair hard enough to elicit a yelp, and he answered it with one final order.
“Take it, you fucking brat,” he said with an eerie sense of calm. “You were made for this.”
But I swore I heard, You were made for me.
When it was over, though, he was quick to pull away. He’d removed, tied, and tossed the evidence into the bin before I had so much as fixed my underwear, much less tried to stand.
Spencer offered me his hand, and I suddenly found myself in that same position as before — ready to climb into his car to prove to him how badly he’d wanted me, too.
But there was no challenge in the way he helped me to my feet, the same as there was none when he’d kissed me goodbye. And when I stumbled forward on shaky legs, he caught me with arms that seemed to fit perfectly around me.
“For fuck’s sake, Professor,” I laughed, trying to still that pesky pitter-patting of a lovesick heart, “You actually caught me?”
“Would you rather I let you fall?” he asked.
“Kind of.”
“Well, I’m not going to.”
I wanted to fight him. I should have fought him. But he saw the hearts in my eyes and felt the way my muscles gave in to him in an entirely different way.
“Ugh,” I whined when he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
Not gonna let me fall, huh?
“Too late.”
(Tell me what you thought about this story here!)
Reid Taglist: @cupcake525 , @sana-li , @shilohpug , @averyhotchner , @laurakirsten0502 , @pinkdiamond1016 , @imsuperawkward , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @trxshpandax , @hopefulfangirl24 , @softhetixx , @nyasiablack1899 , @x2moonlight2x-blog , @violetclifford , @itsmytimetoodream , @archiveofadragon , @hobireasns , @bitchwhytho, @witchyb1tchysexy , @spencerreidspp , @padfootswife , @wentz2005 , @musingsofadamagedgal , @reidabookforonce , @thotforcriminalminds , @willyoulovemeinthemorning , @spenxerslut , @auspiciousharriet , @gspenc , @goobs-mismatched-socks , @el-vs94 , @gubler2323 , @sapphic-prentiss , @random-human-person , @ssa-natalya-reid , @viagracex , @spencie-adams , @dontcallmekittens , @insomniaticdyke , @blxndeprincess , @a-broken-pact , @spencers-beanbag , @strictlyforliterarypurposes , @impossibleghoststatesmanneck , @lotties-journey-abroad , @gublersss , @tvandfanfic ,
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iconicc · 8 days ago
Professor!Reid fic - Sneak Peak
“So today- we’re going to take a closer look at-“ you heard as you entered the lecture hall.
Your shoes, making more noise than necessary. Almost immediately, all eyes turned and looked at you by the door.
Damn, these bloody shoes!
You only ducked your head and mouthed a quick “Sorry!” to the students and the professor. An apologetic smile gracing your face.
Holy cow - he’s hot, you thought.
The very young professor simply raised an eyebrow at you and nodded, accepting your apology. Dressed in a navy suit and light tie, his hair framed his face. Almost astray. Yet, he seemed to make it work. You were sure you looked like a fish out of the water at that moment - aimlessly gaping at him, completely in awe.
Iconicc's Taglist :)
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iconicc · 8 days ago
Who’s interested in a professor!Reid x gn!reader ? 👀
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wintersoldierbaby · 9 days ago
finally gotten to the season where all of the Professor!Spencer Reid smut and fics come from 🧐🥵
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gollumgayghost · 10 days ago
professor hidgens is a spencer reid kinnie send tweet
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kagsangel · 11 days ago
you get what you deserve prof!Reid & fem!reader
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summary: reader is a student in professor reid’s class and they never got on despite reader being one of his best students. one day reader challenged reid in front of class and embarrasses him, pissing him off. calls reader to his office after hours to punish her
warnings: dom spencer, age gap (15 years), angst, degradation, strong language, slight verbal abuse, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, edging
word count: around 3-4k i didn’t count lol
this is part 1 of a 3 part professor reid series
i groan internally as i watch professor reid slink into the lecture hall, late. i was hoping he was called away on a case and class would be cancelled, i wasn’t in the mood to be lectured on things i’d learnt last year. i adjusted myself in my seat as he pulled out his books, mentally and physically preparing myself for the boredom the next hour and a half would bring. he begins to address the room-somethings different, he’s not as chirpy and excited as he usually is. his voice, it sounds strained, almost as if he...doesn’t want to be here ? i cock my head to the side trying to profile his mood today, debating whether to piss him off yet again just for the fun of it or give this poor man a rest. piss him off.
we’re only 10 minutes into the lecture where he makes his first mistake. “errr professor?” i quip, “shouldn’t you replace x with y and rearrange the equation, you know, for the sake of expediency?” i shoot him a sickly smile, sweet enough to rot his perfect teeth. he stares at me hard, trying to figure out if i’m just messing with him or if he actually made a mistake. professor reid took a deep breath and spoke in an overly professional tone, “there’s no need to be expedient if we’re not against the clock is there now” he replied, forcing a smile so stiff not even the largest hammer on earth could change its shape. i felt like pushing my luck today, if he hasn’t done anything to me by now he definitely won’t...right? “everything we do is against the clock, we could all drop dead any second” i started “some more than others old man ”
the few people around me heard and chuckled, i smirked from my comfortable back corner hoping that i’d struck a nerve. reid’s eyes narrowed in on me, a blonde eyebrow arched its way upwards challenging me. “care to repeat that for everyone for the room young lady?” he spoke slowly, careful to not let his voice waver despite the anger coursing through his prominent veins in his arms. “oh me? no i didn’t say anything professor, your way is probably better anyway” i responded with fake tenderness. he gazed at me with the most blank expression on his angelic face. he continued his speech for a couple more seconds, before i so cunningly added “are you losing your hearing and your sense old man?” loud enough to reach the ears of the majority of the room.
professor reid’s face suddenly dropped its filter, now displaying his internal emotions, anger and frustration. he slammed his piece of chalk down on the desk so hard it shattered into mere molecules. a silence quieter than death blanketed the room instantaneously. “alright, since you’d rather spend your time in this class making half hearted insults to tickle your obviously extremely large ego rather than learning, you can come back tonight and re do the entire lecture on your own with me.” he projected loudly. he was not happy, time to poke the bear i guess. “i hope you know you just contradicted yourself...professor,” i said, earning a collective ‘oooooooooo’ from my peers. “my office, 6 o’clock. now get out.” professor reid bellowed.
i knew he would be there until at least 8pm, so i didn’t bother showing up until 7:35. i knocked on the glass pane of the heavy door once before i heard a a gruff voice tell me to enter. i walked into the room slowly, shutting the door behind me. standing in front of his large mahogany desk i feasted my eyes on the beautiful sight before me; spencer reid, sat leaning back in his wide chair, legs ajar, blonde curls tousled, rolled up sleeves with the veins in his arms fighting to be seen on the surface of his skin, a loose tie and the top 2 buttons of his shirt undone...exposing the smooth skin underneath. his face was illuminated by the soft yellow glow of his standing lamps on either side of the desk, casting a warm glow on his features. i exhaled mentally.
“sit down” he barely moved an inch. maybe i pushed him too far because he looks vexed. i strolled round to the front of his desk, perching myself on the edge of it, directly in front of him. he chuckled lightly to himself, “you’re just such a brat aren’t you. can’t seem to follow simple instructions.” he said in a low voice, a small grin spreading across his face. “i follow the directions that are worth following” i retorted, hitting him with one of my sweet smiles again. he stood up abruptly, towering over me, throwing long shadows around the glowing ambience of the room. he looked down at me with a look of such distaste and contempt on his face it almost hurt. almost.
“oh what so you think i don’t know what game you’re playing? you think i haven’t met little whores like you before? girls who think they’re so brave and so different from their peers because they don’t faun over me the way the others do? lemme tell you a little secret about yourself you don’t even know sweetheart. when you go home after a long day of making a fool of yourself in front of the person deciding your grades this semester, you feel empty and lost. you tell yourself you’re having an off day and maybe your try to fill the emptiness with ice cream, alcohol or meaningless sex, but in the end you’ll never know why you feel this way because you’re nothing but a dumb needy slut whose incapable of behaving like the mature adult she so proudly thinks she is” he explained, slightly out of breath.
we stared at each other for a while, each waiting for the other to react. we were so close to eachother, my legs parted wide to accommodate him between them. he still stood towering over me, face inches from mine, my head tilted upwards. he was waiting too. he knew i would have to react, that i’m too cleverly quick mouthed to let that slide. so for once i’m going to behave like the adult he says i’m not. it wasn’t a good idea for either of us to let it go further anyway, considering my serious commitment issues and his obvious affection deficiency. i placed my hands on his chest and gently pushed him further back enough for me to stand and leave. i turned away from him but felt a hand grip my wrist and drag me backwards.
professor reid swooped me into a kiss so hungry and feverant, so passionate and aching, i nearly passed out. his tongue dipped into my mouth almost immediately, he tasted like mint chewing gum and chocolate. he breathed into the my mouth, refusing to let me come up for air for fear that i’d change my mind. I linked my arms around his neck and pulled him closer into me, my hands exploring and tugging at his soft blond curls. he moaned deeply, further increasing the puddle of arousal that had formed beneath my joggers.
he pulled away for a second, leaving me breathless and needy for more of his touch. i whined and traced my fingers in swirly patterns on the back of his neck, praying he’d understand the implication and lean down to kiss me again.
he looked at me intensely, maybe trying to figure out if this is what he wanted, to mess around with a student, a student who’d cost him hours of research and irritation trying to figure out if her unnecessary and impolite facts she so rudely interrupted his flow with were correct. ‘she’s so beautiful’ he thought to himself. he was careful not to let his thoughts show on his face, though it proved difficult. the professor was so infatuated and entwined with her and her everything it was hard for him not to melt right there. reid zoned back in when he felt her hand trace gentle patterns on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. the look she gave him, silently pleading for him to continue, looking so needy and so demanding, it irritated him, but he loved it so much.
professor reid slowly dipped his head down level with mine, to let me lean in and reinitiate the kiss. slower and deeper this time, wanting to savour everything about him and this moment. his large veiny hands trailed down my chest, gripping a single boob whilst he moved his tender kisses down my neck and into my collarbone. i moaned softly in his ear, so breathless from the sheer feeling an passion of it. his hands dropped to my thighs, squeezing them so hard i was sure it would leave bruises. he parted my legs even more, to get better access to my throbbing centre that ached for him so badly. he slipped a finger underneath the waistband of my joggers, then my underwear, running a long digit across my pussy to gather up all that was waiting for him. he chuckled lightly, “all of that for me and i’ve barely touched you, what else could i have expected from a whore like you?” he whispered into my collarbone, where he continued to leave bruises and bite marks. he removed his finger, sending me into a frenzy. i shuffled closer to his veiled erection in his trousers, desperate to get some friction down there.
“uh uh uh pretty girl not yet” said reid. “off. now” he wanted me off his desk and on the carpeted floor. of course i didn’t listen, only cocking my head to the side as if i didn’t understand. he gripped my upper thighs and pulled me close. i didn’t have time to embrace him before he slid me off the desk and dropped me on the floor in front of him. now on my knees, face to face with the large bulge in his trousers, i knew what he wanted.
his dick popped out of his boxers with ease, bobbing against his bellybutton. i took him in my hand and pumped a few times. he was looking down at me, i knew he loved this position-him on top me in the bottom. i swiped the precum off his tip with my thumb, causing him to wince beautifully. my head began to bob up and down gently, teasing him. i revelled in the way he felt in my mouth, the bitten back moans and escaped curses as i hollowed my cheeks. a hand found it’s way into my hair, gripping the back of my head firmly. it was mesmerising , the way he shoved my head in and out on his swollen dick, the noises i made when he went a little to rough, making me gag on his length. i gazed up at him in adoration, feeling myself get wetter and wetter with each “fuck that’s it angel” and “wider, slut” that left his heavenly mouth. by the time he was finished with me, saliva and semen dripping down my chin, lips swollen and pink from the abuse they’d so willingly received, i was rocking back and forth on my heel just to get some release.
with the pad of his thumb he wiped the remnants of our encounter ever so gently off my chin, before prying my mouth open implying he wanted me to suck the rest of it off. i moaned into his finger, so enthralled by this subtle yet sexually infuriating act i wanted to get up and slap him right there. “you were thirsty for that weren’t you, trouble” he grinned. he wouldn’t touch me and it was driving me crazy. this teasing and edging wasn’t going to stop until he had had his fun with me-and i knew full well he was going to make me pay for all those times i pissed him off in lectures, in the worst way imaginable.
this was the most chilled i’d ever seen him in my two years of having him as a lecturer. he leaned back in the great mahogany cushioned chair, his slightly unshaven face and his razor sharp cheekbones illuminated in the soft yellow light of his lamp. his dick still stood erect against his happy trail, as if it were waiting for me to come and relieve the built up tension. “what?” it was more a statement than. a question. the harshness of his tone stung a little. after everything that just happened, he discards of me like trash. the only thing i can do is stand there in front of him, semi-frozen to the spot with disbelief and revelation.
“i’m not sure why you’re still standing here, expecting something. what, you wanna trophy for being a slut? you get what you deserve sweet cheeks, now get out.” that stung. he scoffed coldly as he began to redress himself. there was absolutely no way for me to play this off cooly and once again professor reid was twovsteps ahead of me. he made sure that i’d look like a fool and a naïve little girl by the time he was done with me. it was humiliating. i spun on my heel and walked slowly out of the room. “paper due on monday!” i heard him call after me.
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inlovewithaboygenius · 12 days ago
I can't be the only one who thinks of Spencer when I hear this...Right??
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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 14)
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| Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen |
Summary: Spencer finds out Bunny has been tutoring Kyle. He tells each of them how he feels about it. A/N: Hi everyone! I will actually be taking next week off (and possibly the next week) because I am visiting family! But I’ll still be around to answer questions 😊 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, possessiveness, jealousy, anger, male on male violence, implied/hypothetical sexual assault, threats Word Count: 6.9k
The library was quiet, but still bustling for the time of night. The students were starting to panic about the end of term, and although I never really experienced that particular concern, I remembered witnessing it throughout my time in academia.
It was the same unfortunate phenomenon that had taken my Bunny away from me. While she had been diligent in her studies for most of the semester, I couldn’t say the same for our students. Unsurprisingly, her tutoring sessions were far more preferable than my office hours.
I couldn’t blame the students too much. After all, I’d wanted to waste the days away with her, too, and I would’ve taken any excuse that would have allowed me any second of her time.
She was the reason I was in the library, although the stack of books in my hand was the cover story if anyone asked. It wasn’t that we were necessarily a secret — I had a very well-drafted e-mail waiting to be sent to Human Resources the second she gave me her blessing — but I also understood that it wasn’t the best look for her.
As much as she insisted otherwise, I knew it would be strange for her to have a professor pining for her in front of everyone. I’d already made a bit of a joke out of her by revealing her nickname to the class. I was pleased to realize that it hadn’t done anything to taint the name, however. She still responded to its call with a fervent enthusiasm and batted lashes.
She knew what she was doing, too. She was blatantly aware of just how alluring her every move was to me. Each and every time she touched me, her fingers would linger just a little bit longer. Her eyes would, too, begging me for permission to stay. To roam and discover new pieces of ourselves that had remained buried under longing and fears that seemed silly in retrospect.
My Bunny knew the effect she had on me, and I suspect she knew about the others, as well. I wouldn’t forget the way she’d broken down my concerns about her virginity with sharp, calculated terms. She was not so innocent as to not realize how highly society would treasure that status, but she was still innocent enough to miss the fact that her virginity was, by far, the least pure aspect of her. That was the most compelling testament to the kind of person she was.
She was talented, brilliant, and so unbelievably, infuriatingly kind.
But above all else, my Bunny was a petty and precocious little thing.
She always knew what she was doing, so imagine my surprise when I finally spotted her through the wide-open door of a study room in the back corner of the library. She had her back to me, but I could recognize that silhouette and style anywhere.
Even when it was half blocked by a rather putrid site of a truly pitiful young boy.
Kyle stood far too close to her, with a wandering hand that found home on her hip after she’d stumbled over his feet. I thought of how manipulative a man must be to know how to trip a girl just to find a way to catch her. How easily someone like that could creep into your mind and make you question your own perception of him.
But more than anything, I thought about the fact that I wanted nothing more than to get him the hell away from her.
I could feel the glass beneath my fingers, which moved with a practiced precision that didn’t even require me to look down. I didn’t want to miss it in case something even more regrettable happened.
I dialed her number, and I waited for the sound of her ringtone to fill the area. I smiled at the way she jumped when she heard it, and I took great pride in the way her face lit up further as she read who was calling.
Then, as I’d been waiting for, her voice floated through the device as I rounded the corner to leave her view.
“Hey Professor!”
“Are you busy?” I asked, already making my way back to the office to ensure that my plan wouldn’t be foiled before it had even really begun.
“Hm? Do you need me for something?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Can you come meet me in my office?”  
“O-Okay,” she muttered. I could only imagine the look on her face as she stared at the boy practically begging for her attention, just to realize that she was ready to abandon him immediately and without question.
Well, without a lot of questions, anyway. She did ask the one.
“Is everything alright?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, through a sly smirk that I was certain she could hear through the static, I hummed, “Quick as you can, Bunny.”
Entering Spencer’s office never felt the same twice. He had a way about him that was almost contagious. An aura that displayed his emotions to anyone who was willing to take some of them on for him.
So, when I entered the room to find him leaning back in his desk chair and watching the door, I knew that something was wrong. Not necessarily bad — just some information he was withholding.
Sure enough, he moved his hand from his chin to greet me with a suspicious smile.
“You got here fast,” he drawled, “Where were you?”
The playfulness elicited within the utterance of the second question made me weary, and although I stepped closer, I kept my wits about me to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. The second that Spencer stood up and began approaching me with a devilish, knowing quirk of his lips, I knew that I was doomed.
“I was tutoring some students in the study rooms,” I explained.  
He must’ve not liked the way I didn’t stutter when I said it, because he quickly became hellbent on taking my breath away.
Close enough to grab me within a second, he asked, “Who?”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
There was a genuine smile on his face despite the possessiveness bleeding through. I’d never felt so much like prey than I did in that moment, and when I took a step back, I hit the bookshelf with a yelp that carried through to my answer.
“I-I’m getting the feeling that you already know.”
He’d never been the biggest fan of the boy, and I was starting to realize that he must’ve figured that out, and that was the dreadfully urgent reason he’d needed my attention.
“You’re so clever, Bunny,” he purred into my ear.
Desperate for something, anything resembling power or control, I pressed one firm hand against his chest and made him look me in my eyes, no matter how anxious they looked.  
“Is that why you called me here? Because you were jealous?”
“Should I be jealous?” he whispered before he ran a thumb over the pout that had formed on my face. The touch, although welcomed, was not helping my words sound any clearer or more confident.
“N-No. It’s my job to help our students.”
“Interesting…” he muttered, his touch becoming harder with each word as he clenched his jaw and pressed his whole body against me. “I don’t recall writing anything in your job description about letting that pitiful little boy touch you.”
My face was burning, and I knew that he could feel it. He could probably hear my heart pounding, and he definitely saw my pulse fluttering in my neck. My lungs weren’t filling fast enough, but I was able to give one very unconvincing half-truth.
“He didn’t.”
Because Kyle hadn’t touched me in any significant way — if he had, I surely would have told Spencer long before he’d backed me against a wall. The contact Kyle and I’d had was cursory and forgettable.
Nothing at all about the way I felt then as Spencer warned, “Oh, it’s not smart to lie to me, Bunny. You know better than that.”
All I could feel, smell, and think was him. His presence was suffocating in the sweetest way, and I had no intentions of freeing myself from the predicament I’d found myself in.
If anything, I wanted to bare my neck to him and let him do whatever he wished. He could punish me so long as he cleaned the wounds, and I would still hold him all the same afterwards.
But when he touched my face again, it was so tender that I could hardly believe the words that accompanied it.
“Turn around, sweetheart,” he whispered, gently moving my hair away from my face and pressing the sweetest kiss against my temple.
“Why?” I asked.
But nothing could have prepared me for his answer. For the feel of his smirk against my skin and the sharp feeling of his nails sinking into my jaw as he said, “You’re going to want something to hold on to.”
Breathlessly, I started to turn. My movements were stuttered and awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind. His hands never really left me, either. He just let me slide around within them until my back was to him.
“Good girl.”
Spencer wrapped his arm around my waist and stepped closer. I could feel the outline of his erection pressed hard against me, and I barely contained a shocking desire to moan. Instead, I whimpered. The sound urged on the man behind me, who immediately tried to elicit it again. The hand that had been resting on my stomach quickly undid my slacks and slipped into my underwear.
“If you need to feel desired, I promise, all you have to do is ask,” he cooed between barely-there kisses over my ear.
I could hardly focus on the way that felt, though. Not while my thighs rubbed together to try to alleviate the frustration that I felt with his hand so close but not doing nearly enough. Just holding me — a reminder that he had unfettered access to my body. That I wanted him to touch me, and that he was, as always, the only one of us showing restraint.
But then, with a dark tilt to his voice that reminded me of dry whiskey and smoke, Spencer gave one very simple order.
“Spread your legs.”
I did what he asked, albeit while trembling in a way that suited my moniker well.
Spencer must have thought so, too, because he was all too happy to chuckle at the state of me, trapped between the shelves and the wall of his chest. He dipped one finger between my folds, and that was enough for me to almost come completely undone.
“So obedient,” he growled, “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”
I wanted to answer him — I did — but I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I was suffocating, and I didn’t miss the air at all. Not if it didn’t taste like his lips and feel as torturous as his hands.
The finger that had begun to toy with me sunk into me with ease. I almost thought to be humiliated by just how badly I wanted him, but how could I think it a troubling thing when he wanted me just as badly?
And he did. He must have. I could feel it in the way his hips shifted along with mine, grinding against me while his fingers did what he wouldn’t allow other parts to do.
Spencer was more confident in his authority than he had been when I was in his lap, and part of me wondered if that’s why he had my back to him in the first place. The idea of it gave rise to a new, pleasant tension between my legs.
I thought of how often he closed his eyes when he touched me. The restraint I felt in his hands, even then, when he began to ruthlessly stroke me from the inside. My breath grew more impatient, and the sounds slipped easier from eager lips. Before I knew it, I’d started to ride his hand the same way I had ground myself against him.
“What are you dreaming about, sweetheart?” he whispered, as if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t removed his fingers and dragged the wetness over the small bundle of nerves above my heat.
“Professor, please,” I gasped, my knees buckling and my hands holding tightly to the shelves. When I heard him chuckle at his theory being proven correct, I resorted to a low, grumbling beg. “Please, don’t tease me.”  
“Why is it only you get to tease, Bunny? Am I not allowed any fun?” he whined sarcastically against the side of my face. All the while, he’d continued to draw tight circles over and over again, winding me up like a plaything that he never planned to let loose.
The tip of his nose traced over my skin with a touch much lighter than his hands seemed capable of. But if I thought it had been his showing of mercy, I had been very wrong.
No sooner had the thought occurred to me than Spencer had buried his teeth into my shoulder. I cried out at the animalistic display not out of fear, but greed. The need to have him closer. To feel him mark and consume this body however he saw fit.
But however romantic or lustful I wanted to be, I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world when he began to suck fervently at the column of my throat.
“Ah! W-Wait! You’re going to leave marks!” I squeaked.
“Good,” Spencer growled back, “I hope he sees them.”
The sheer possessiveness, the sincerity behind the hope made my muscles tense within his hold. Although he had dramatically cut back on attempts to write his presence on my skin with mottled colors, the burning venom did not stop trickling from his tongue.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To know how badly I want you? You want to push my limits, Bunny?”
It hadn’t been the purpose for anything I’d done before, but once he’d dangled the prospect before me, I wasn’t able to shy away. While his lips worked to stop any words from sneaking between my whorish moans, his fingers began to apply more pressure in their movements.
For one of the first time while he touched me, I actually tried to imagine what it would be like for him to fuck me. Rather than meticulously charting each sensation to return to later, I let my mind wander.
I could feel his cock pressed against me, and I wondered how unhinged he would become when I was not the only one receiving pleasure. I imagined me not following through on his instructions just to see him finally lose that carefully maintained restraint.
Spencer, as usual, was able to read my mind so effortlessly. His hips began to rock against me, his fingers moving quicker around my clit and his voice taking on a dark, dangerous tone.
“I already told you what I want to do to you,” he warned, “Do you really need me to prove that I am a man of my word?”
“Spencer…” I answered immediately. His name still had the same effect on him, and he used his whole body to shove me closer to the bookshelves. The items rattled, but I felt like I was the thing ready to fall.
“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” he teased.
I tried but failed to answer in anything other than a bat of my lashes over eyes hazy with need.
“Have you had enough?” he continued. When the sensations became overwhelming, he caught a single tear that had slipped over my cheek by giving a small, chaste kiss to the skin.
“My beautiful little Bunny,” he hummed as he felt the crescendo and collapse approaching, “I just want to make you feel so very well-loved.”
Because he wanted me the way fire lays claim to drought-ridden brush. I could feel the desire laced through every stroke of his fingers. He sparked things to life inside of me that would linger forever like the images of his heavy smoke clouded irises.
It burned, the way he wanted me. It tore through the tired muscles that broke down and gave in around him to the tune of his voice softly calling, “Go ahead, sweetheart. That’s it…”
The force of my orgasm stole any sense from me in seconds, but thankfully also robbed me of my voice. Wordless cries were still muffled as Spencer kissed the sides of my mouth through it all. And when my legs gave out and he still caught me in a loving embrace, I heard him continue, “Oh, that’s my good girl.”
I let myself rest in the sanctuary of him for a little while longer. Even after he’d finished fixing my clothes back up, I rested my body weight against him without ever worrying that he’d let me go.
But he did eventually, guiding me back to my chair and silently instructing me to rest before he fetched his scarf from the coat hanger next to his door.
“If you’re so worried about him knowing...” he whispered while his skillful, steady hands carefully wrapped the fabric around me like he’d done before.
I smiled at him from underneath, and I knew that he could see it in the way my cheeks bunched and my eyes wrinkled. He smiled, too, and he dragged the back of his palm over my heated cheeks like he was remembering something that hadn’t happened yet.
“Go get yourself a coffee if you’re going to run back to him. It’s late.”
“Would you like one, too?” I asked quietly.
Spencer laughed, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous question in the world.
“No. You aren’t here for my coffee runs.”
I almost protested; I almost reminded him of all the times I’d done exactly that. But then his hands fell to my lap and grabbed hold of my own with an abundance of tenderness.
I held them back, lifting them to my face in a shy suggestion for him to give me reason not to leave yet. To give me a chance to return to him instead.
“But I want to make you happy,” I mumbled.
Again, Spencer chuckled. But that time, he punctuated the sound with a kiss. Like I’d suggested, he cradled my face with his hands and pulled me close as he could for those few seconds that would never be enough.
When we broke apart, breathless and still longing for more, he forced himself to instruct me, “Go. Be safe.”
Deciding that I’d already tried his patience enough for one night, I conceded quickly.
“Okay. I’ll text you later tonight when I get home.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said before sneaking in one more little kiss, “I can’t wait.”
“Goodnight, Professor,” I said below my breath, because I hadn’t wanted to say it at all.
It was strange how different the world felt when my Bunny wasn’t around. It had been less than five minutes since she was in my arms with heavy, tired breaths; I could still smell the subtle scent of her shampoo on my clothes, and it was the only thing that managed to keep my heart rate at a tolerable level.
The library I’d just passed through not thirty minutes before felt more barren than it had before. Almost like the god-fearing creatures of the forest had taken refuge somewhere else. Like anything with even the slightest sense of self-preservation sensed the danger and abandoned the building.
There was at least one creature, though, who remained ignorant to the danger that approached. Ignorant, or possibly just arrogant. Regardless of the reason, the young boy still seated in the room perked up immediately at the sound of the door opening.
I relished the way his entire demeanor changed when he realized that the one who’d come knocking was not the kind, demure little flower he’d thought it was.
“Expecting someone else?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he immediately answered. The slight, nervous laughter and the twitch of his upper lip gave away the discomfort he felt by my presence. But it wasn’t enough to dissuade him from continuing, “It’s late for you to be here.”
“I could say the same for you.”
I didn’t need to glance up at the clock ticking steadily on the wall to know that it read 9:00PM. But while I was used to late night hours, and indeed preferred to work them most days, I knew that a boy like him had no business in any academic building at that hour.
“Gotta study hard, right?” he slurred through a yawn. He stretched his arms back, displaying his chest and failing to mask the fact that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable the closer I came to the table where he sat.
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Then, with a quick shift, he tilted his head up at me with a laugh that was more like a scoff.
“I heard a rumor about her, you know. About you, too.”
“Is that right?”
“I don’t think it’s true, though.”
While he seemed endlessly entertained with whatever pathetic thoughts were rolling around in that black hole where his brain ought to be, I was positively bored by the attempted threat.
“I wouldn’t know,” I droned, “I don’t concern myself with the whispers of desperate little boys.”
But, as most men like him do when backed into a corner, he turned the discussion away from himself — or anyone both willing and able to defend themselves — and shifted instead to the only innocent party.
My sweet Bunny, the only one of us who deserved to be left well enough alone.
“I’m not the only one who’s desperate if you ask me.”
He chuckled, his hand grabbing the edge of the table before he drummed against the wood. The slightly off-beat sound, paired with the words that were clearly aimed at her, awoke something in me. Something dark and unseemly; something I had tried very hard to keep at bay throughout most of my years.
He is just a boy.
He is just a stupid, reckless boy.
He won’t hurt her. He can’t hurt her.
“I didn’t ask,” I said as I talked myself down.
I won’t let him hurt her.
My heart was pounding in my chest, the possessive beast that had its talons sunk into her moments before was now begging for blood. To tear him to shreds and finally achieve the catharsis for the pain of the last few weeks.
It wasn’t his fault, I reminded myself. I was the one who’d abandoned her and cast her away. He was nothing but a lucky fool who’d caught her as she fell away from me.
But she had come back to me. I didn’t need to worry about what she had done in my absence because it didn’t matter. All that I cared about was knowing that she would be safe then, kept sheltered within my wings and protected from the evils that stalked just out of sight.
“She’s sweet. A bit helpless, though. Doesn’t seem to know how men work.”
My jaw snapped shut at the implication, and every grounding technique and attempt to distract or reason with myself was quickly dwindling. The oxygen reserves were being devoured by the white-hot rage that was aimed at any and all boys like him. Disgusting, filthy creatures that seemed destined to destroy everything beautiful they ever had the privilege to witness.
I said nothing, not trusting myself not to say something I would regret. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having broken me with nothing but allusions to things that weren’t a real concern, anyway.
I wanted to respect her in the way he’d failed to. I wanted to believe that she was capable of standing up for herself, and that I didn’t need to resort to brute masculinity or any other toxic method of laying claim to her body.
She had said that she wanted to be mine, but that didn’t mean she stopped belonging to herself.
I took a deep breath in, but it did nothing to clear the smoke that had built up. It shrouded the room, and the absolute idiot beside me believed him capable of laughing despite it.
“Especially when she was at my place,” he said, and with each word added, I could hear the breath and resistance leaving me. “She really does shake a lot when she’s nervous, huh?”
The images that crowded my thoughts were mind-numbingly painful. I had seen her tremble before, surely, but I got that sick feeling in my gut that he was speaking of a fear unlike what she’d displayed in my presence.
I saw a faun, wide eyed and terrified. I saw her crumpled in on herself, with tears sprouted in tender, naive eyes. I saw my Bunny with her hands pulled in tight, silently begging to be spared.
“It’s cute,” he said, but I barely heard him.
All I could hear was the way it sounded when she cried.
Then I turned to the boy who couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut. I saw his hubris, his absolutely astounding arrogance. I saw the foolish, vile kind of creature that would witness a girl like my darling and dare to align his crosshairs over her.
I tried to pity him, but I saw nothing worth seeing at all.
Whatever he saw, however, didn’t scare him like it should have. Because without an ounce of sense, he uttered the one thing that I never wanted to hear come from his mouth.
“Is that why you call her Bunny?”
I hadn’t even noticed I’d moved until I felt the tight pull of his hair wrapped around my fingers. His head was craned back, held in place by a relentless grip with a hand that hardly felt like it belonged to me.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growled with lips much the same.
But even if it all felt alien, none of it felt wrong.  
If he was willing to frighten her, to imply that she was nothing but an object for his consumption, then he should have no qualms about a similar violence. If he thought he was a god, he had no reason to fear me.
And sure enough, he tried to demonstrate the size of his terribly fragile ego with the least convincing thing he’d said yet.
“I’m not scared of you.”
Funny how that’s usually the first thing people say when facing inevitable danger.
He knew not to beg for mercy; especially not after taunting me with the thought of her, terrified and alone. Suggesting that I’d failed to protect her the way I so clearly craved.
I saw her again, drowned in tears and legs dripping with blood until the iron overtook everything else. Until I saw nothing but red rage that demanded its presence be known.
The satisfying ‘crack’ of his nose against unforgiving hardwood made goosebumps ripple over heated skin. I hadn’t felt power like that in so long, and I hated how it hadn’t even scared me. I took pleasure in the silence that followed before he’d realized what happened.
I pulled him back up with the same grip in his hair and continued in a low, quiet voice, “Well, you should be.”
I heard whistling breath and felt trembling not from fear, but anger, and I almost hoped that he would try to fight me.
But he didn’t. He had already started to grasp the position he’d found himself in. We both knew that he hadn’t actually hurt the girl in the way he had been suggesting. She wore her pain freely, and I would have noticed. I would have known if he’d hurt her that way.
But he had put the images in my mind; he had revealed his character and his plans. And I would make damn sure they never came even remotely close to fruition.
“If I ever see you lay a hand on her again, you’ll have a lot more than a crooked nose to worry about, do you understand me?”
He didn’t answer. I took the silence as confirmation. So, with an eerie calmness only betrayed by a tight jaw, I uttered my final warning.
“I will end you. There will be nothing left.”
“Fine! Fuck!”
The broken words were music to my ears.
“I didn’t realize she was your fucking property!”
Those, less so. But I didn’t think much of it. If that was all it took to get him to leave my Bunny alone, I was willing to let him think that. I wanted him to see my name on her skin; to feel the scorching heat of my rage anytime he so much as looked at her.
She would understand one day. As for the boy before me, I thought the same, though less kindly. When I let go of him, my hand ached like it was still locked in the grip. I threw his head forward again, and his hands on the edge of the table continued to hold on for dear life, despite small, trickling droplets of blood.
“I’m glad you finally understand,” I said, back to boredom as I calmly fixed the cuff of my sleeve. “Now get your shit, tell her something came up, and leave.”
There was no argument from the boy then, either. As I passed back through the threshold, I heard the sounds of his leaving. I thought to myself that there were few things more relieving than being done with the boy. But I was wrong. There was something far more beautiful, in the form of my phone chiming softly from my pocket when I returned back to an empty office.
For once, I was fine with the solitude, because I knew it would be over soon.
“Change of plans… Kyle had to leave,” she’d sent before adding, “Can I come bother you until you tire of me?”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave long before that happens,” I initially answered, too excited to say yes to realize that I’d failed to do just that. “But yes, I will always welcome any opportunity to see you.”
I’d been excited for her to arrive, and she certainly didn’t disappoint. Everything about her was much different than it’d been an hour before, but neither of us minded. She curled up in her favorite chair, with my jacket sprawled across her like she didn’t always carry her own with her.
She fell asleep just like that, too. Sweet and serene; at ease, at home within my office. I thought to the time I’d accidentally referred to it as such, and the way she’d lamented over it for days. But anywhere she was would always be home to me.
When I woke her from her slumber, it was only to transport her to a more suitable bed. She stirred awake, clutching tightly to the suit piece on her like I’d have the gall to take it back when she looked so positively adorable.
“Let me take you home,” I whispered.
“Really?” she sleepily slurred, and I tried not to take offense to the idea that I’d ever leave her to her own devices now that she’d given me any part of her heart.
“Yes. I want to see you get home safe.”
With a comically big yawn, she pulled my jacket closer to cover her mouth as she struggled to speak.
“You worry too much, Professor.”
Rather than arguing that there was no such thing when it came to her, I chuckled.
“Only about you.”
The ride back to her place was so domestic that it frightened me. It awoke that deeply ingrained fear; that long-learned lesson that good things never lasted too long for someone like me.
I tried not to think of anything bad happening to her, but it was so hard. That damned boy had gotten to me, no matter how much I was loath to admit it. Soon, I felt the storm clouds brewing in those dark recesses of my mind, and I knew if I didn’t do something about it, they would take control before I was able to rest my own eyes. And she wouldn’t be there to kiss away any tears that might fall.
“Can I come in for a second?” I asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
My Bunny looked the proper amount of surprised by the question, and I felt the need to clarify before I received a justified rejection.
“I meant what I said about wanting to know you’re safe. You can say no if I’m being overbearing, I just...”
“Did something happen?” she returned in lieu of an answer, “Or is it that you’re still jealous?”
When I laughed in response, she joined me. A smile sprouted over cheeks that were still too young to have started to wrinkle. As a brief aside, I imagined what she might look like as she aged. I thought of the dance of the decades and how I’d watch the years shift in front of me while recounting this exact memory.
Then, I remembered that she had asked me a question, and I gave an honest reply of, “A little bit of both.”
But I don’t think it would have mattered whether I had lied. She sprung up in her seat before the words even finished.
“You can come in for a minute, sure,” she chirped.
A few seconds later, she had flown out of the car and practically took off skipping her way to the entrance. She would slow down and sway in place whenever she’d wait for me to catch up. I suspect she knew that I was trying to extend the time I had left with her, but she never told me to hurry.
She had a way of being patient, my Bunny. I was grateful for it in so many ways.
It became clear to me shortly after we’d made it inside, however, that she had been overcompensating for just how tired she was. Like a child fighting a bedtime purely out of spite for having been given a hard rule, she continued to bounce in place and chatter with mostly incoherent sentences while she prepared herself for bed.
For the most part, I just watched her flitter to and fro throughout the intimate space. I would pretend like I could understand her when she had her toothbrush buzzing in her mouth, and I would wait and wonder behind closed doors while she changed into softer fabrics that were adorned with the creature that I associated with her.
She opened the door to her bedroom, but I didn’t follow her in. I was ready to say goodnight to her there, knowing that she would be safe when I locked the doors behind me.
But her small hands were so inviting. She wrapped them both around one of mine and pulled me forward into the room I had only visited in my dreams.
The smell of her perfume and soap lingered, and I breathed in slowly without even realizing the lovesick smile I sported. My Bunny noticed, but she just giggled and pulled me all the way over to her bed.
We both fell together, and her legs wound around mine before I could protest. I wouldn’t have, anyway. There was little she could do in her current state of exhaustion, especially considering her inexperience around dismantling three piece suits. That didn’t stop her, however, from fiddling with the tops of mismatched socks like the most subtle contact with tickling toes would be worth the effort.
Her arms wrapped around one of mine, and her cheek squished onto my shoulder; she didn’t even hesitate a little bit to make her home in our embrace. She settled into the warmth and her eyes shuttered despite best efforts to avoid it.
But the second I touched her face, she forced them open enough to spot the gentle smile I returned.
“I’ve seen a lot of awful things in this world,” I explained to that wistful little lavender girl, “I hope you know that I respect you. I just... I don’t want to watch you get crushed under the badness.”
As I said it, I wiped phantom tears from her cheek to make up for the nights I’d already missed. The way her mood immediately shifted to a somber stubbornness told me she knew what I was doing, and with all of her usual gusto, she tried to combat it however she could.
“I’ve survived bad before,” she grumbled, each word sounding sleepier than the last. She must’ve realized she was fighting a losing battle, because she raised a proverbial white flag with a lighthearted, dramatic sigh. “But I appreciate you, despite your worrywart tendencies.”
Before she could offer any other backhanded compliments, I caught her pouted lip between mine. It changed to a smile immediately, just as I’d always intended. And though I wanted more than anything to kiss her longer, I pried myself away from her. It was a bad idea to give her any ammunition, after all. I’d learned that lesson the last time she had been this close to me on a surface that lent itself to horizontal activities.
I cleared my throat like she’d been able to hear my reverie. She giggled like she actually had. I almost kissed her again to quiet that snickering, but then her face was buried in my shoulder again, and I found no need to correct her.
“I meant it when I said I wasn’t a delicate man, but...” I said with closed eyes and a somehow calm and vacant mind, “Thank you for believing me capable of it.”
With another lackadaisical sigh, she took hold of my hand and brought it up to her lips. She placed a soft but unforgiving kiss against the scar, then lingered to laugh against it.
“I know you no other way,” she muttered.
As much as I wanted to keep her awake, to draw more secrets and memories from her tired mind, I let her start to fade away from me. I watched as the energy she’d pulled from the reserves dwindled and dissipated. In a way, it felt like I was losing her. But I knew that was just my paranoid mind convincing me that I was somehow already running out time.
I was just being selfish, wanting to live an eternity in her shadow. To watch and to worship each incarnation, each annual bloom. I would collect strewn, discarded petals and dry them until I could create rose colored curtains and gowns.
I wanted to love her forever. But for now, she needed to sleep.
“Goodnight, Bunny,” I whispered, “I hope your mind spins the most wonderful web.”
“Will you meet me there?” she asked as she started to blur the two worlds together.
Just before she slipped into slumber, I made sure to promise, “Always.”
I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and tried to recall a time I’d ever slept so peacefully. I dreamed of a day where I felt comfortable staying.
The very tips of my fingers dragged over the soft, heated skin of her neck. I rested scarred knuckles over her pulse just to convince myself that she was real. That she had succumbed to sleep so soundly, so quickly, knowing that I could never hurt her.
I counted the pitter-patter and promised myself that I would leave when I hit 100. But every time I got to 99, I would convince myself that she wasn’t ready yet.
I didn’t want to leave her. I wanted to keep her close, to keep her in a sachet tucked safely in my pocket. I wanted to show her so many things without ever having to worry about what happened to her when I wasn’t around.
Because there would be times when I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t lock her away, because I knew she was too beautiful to keep only to myself. She had too many things to accomplish, too many lives to irrevocably alter and make brighter by nature of her being there.
Eventually, I was able to convince myself to leave by removing my hand from her entirely. I lifted it to move stray strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes so that I could see the tranquility unobstructed one more time before I left her.
I pressed a soft kiss against her forehead but caught her hands before they could wrap around me in her sleep. I replaced my body with a pillow and watched the way she wrapped around it like the most perfect little honeysuckle vine.
I reassured myself that it would be me again one night. Just not that one. Not yet.
I would grant her just a little bit of space for just a little bit longer. Because she was just a bud, and I knew it was better to let her bloom before I plucked any more of her petals.
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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 13)
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| Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen |
Summary: Spencer and Bunny have a heart to heart (and a little bit more on Lover’s Lane). A/N: The angst is over! ... for now... Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Yelling, verbal argument, pushing, kissing, heavy petting, brief allusion to a handjob, embarrassment, security officers Word Count: 8k
“Can you come in early tomorrow? We need to talk.”
The text had been unanswered for over 12 hours, but I couldn’t stop staring at it like it would change. I kept my hope in the young girl; foolishly told myself that she’d want to see me enough to make it happen sooner than necessary. That she might sacrifice a couple hours of sleep if it meant things would be okay between us again.
I had been wrong. That was clear to me when the clock slowly trekked, ticking ever so torturously slow, creeping closer and closer to class time. Some part of me still clung to the possibility of her bursting through the door in a clumsy, panicked way. She would tell me that she’d planned to come, really, and had just overslept.
I let myself believe that it could be that easy. That I could turn back the hands of time until she was there again, laughing like nothing had ever happened.
Then again, I wouldn’t have turned it back even if I could’ve. The events, however unfortunate and regretful, felt almost necessary to bring me to where I was.
Those couple of weeks without her felt so horribly dull; so lackluster and listless.  It felt like waiting for rain just to be drowned in the tides that followed. It felt like the way I used to stare up at the Nevada desert sky and wonder why we ever did anything to drown out the stars. Contemplated whether the skyscrapers were just a fool’s attempt to outdo what had already been perfected. Nothing but unsubstantiated hubris.
It felt like most days before I met her. I never wanted to feel like that again.  
Truthfully, leaving my office hadn’t been the hardest part of accepting that she wasn’t coming. The hardest part was almost arriving late to my own class just to see that she was already there. She sat in her usual spot in the back of the classroom, chatting with the students who’d taken a liking to her the same way I had.
She didn’t look up when she heard me announce myself, and she hadn’t flinched or cringed as I’d expected her to. She almost looked like she did every other day I’d known her. But while I thanked her for the feigned normalcy, I was pained by the thought of how different it would be when we were stripped of an audience.
I tried not to think about it. When she began to pack her things without speaking to me, I accepted it as her silent way of saying that she wasn’t interested in talking as I’d suggested. I accepted the answer, albeit reluctantly and with an ache in my everything.
I walked to my office alone, too afraid to turn around to know if she’d trail behind me. I kept my eyes and feet forward the entire way, but when I got to the door, I couldn’t bring myself to close it just yet. I left it cracked just as I’d left the proverbial front porch light on in the darkness that followed Persephone’s exit each year.
Taking my seat, I pondered on the inevitability of it all. The way that I’d predicted every single thing that had happened but was unable to stop it despite my best efforts. I didn’t understand how, but I knew it to be true — that I was connected with that poor girl, whether I liked it or not.
But my Bunny still had a way of catching me by surprise. Of making me fall in love all over again with the utterance of just three words.
“Good morning, Professor.”
“Hey,” I answered dumbly. I stared at her like there was something she was meant to do for me, and she looked at me much the same. All I could think to say, however, was the obvious, but necessary observation. “I… You didn’t come this morning.”
“Sure didn’t,” she confirmed as she idled by the door.
“Why not?” I asked, but she’d already started to answer before I even finished.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
Despite her insistence and stoic face, I saw the anxiety bleeding from her pores. Her fingers were shaking as they gripped the excess fabric of her shirt, and her eyes had an undercurrent of insecurity that was as obvious as the red rimming her eyes.  
“I disagree,” I said.
She did not take it well.
“You said it was a mistake. So, I don’t really care if you disagree, Professor. You’re wrong.” Then, more aggressively she spat, “It’s not the first time that’s happened, either.”
I could see the struggle as clearly as I felt it. I saw the way she took a step forward when she spoke and tried to convince herself it was to stand her ground. But I saw the way she bit the inside of her cheek. I saw the way her eyes couldn’t settle on mine, and instead opted for the couch where she used to sit. When that became too painful, she stared at her own two feet instead.
The sight of her being unable to look at me, let alone anything that might drum up the memory of the two of us, hurt me in a way I hadn’t expected. Perhaps it was just my narcissism bleeding through. Perhaps it was heartbreak.
But either way, it was my fault to fix. Not hers.
“I was wrong to say it was a mistake. You’re right.”
My Bunny finally met my eyes, and her hands turned to fists while she took a firm step forward.
“I know that,” she said.
I feared she’d missed my point.  
“You were never part of the mistake,” I clarified. “It was all my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Whatever retort had immediately come to mind was swallowed just as quickly. Her steps forward continued until she was just a couple feet away from me. I saw evidence of anxiety on her nails, and I wanted nothing more than to take her hands and kiss them better. But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t have let me, and for good reason.
As I sat there, looking up at the girl staring back at me with narrowed, inquisitive eyes, I got the feeling that I’d missed something. A sickness was brewing in my stomach that felt eerily familiar. The feeling of walking through a doorway only to forget why you’d ever gotten up from your seat.
“Is that really all you have to say?” she challenged, and I immediately knew I had lost.
The something I’d forgotten must have been important, because pools were forming in her eyes and her knuckles blanched with a fervor that I hadn’t seen from her in some time. In fact, the last time I’d seen it had been in this very room, when I’d uttered yet another of many regrettable things.
I couldn’t remember what she’d clearly wanted me to. That alone was an awful aberration from my usual experience. It was not often that I forgot anything, let alone something important to her.
So, as I usually did, I resorted to the most pitiful of techniques.
I begged.
“Please, at least try to understand how hard this is for me.”
“What about this is hard for you, Professor?” she snapped back. But words were not the only thing that showcased just how desperate and furious she’d become. Her arms were crossed, tightly wound with her jaw as she towered over me to gain whatever advantage she could.
Of course, it did nothing to help the shame I’d been trying to suppress. Her proximity, the smell of her perfume dancing along the air that I sucked in with hurried breath; the knowledge of how it would feel to pull her closer. To sink my teeth into her throat to silence the pain and replace it only with pleasure.
I remembered it all. I could count breaths panted into my ear. With perfect precision, I could draw every dent and scratch her nails and teeth had left behind. I could feel her skin and taste her on my tongue.
It was that overwhelming lust; that all-encompassing desire that clawed its way through my throat in a series of even more pathetic cries.
“Because I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire fucking life, and I can’t have you!”
You already know this.
You’ve already seen what happens when you get too close.
She was so fucking close. Her hands stretched to her sides, and I thought only of how defenseless she would be if I touched her then. How I could steal the rest of her, and she would let me.
It would be so much easier to hurt you.
Please, don’t make me.
“Why not?” she yelled, and I almost told her to be quiet. I was too late, though. With a haughty laugh, she continued at full volume, “I was trying to give you what you want, and you threw me out like I was nothing!”
“Bunny, please— You know that’s not what it was about—“
“Then fucking tell me!”
“— It’s because you’re a fucking virgin!”
The room fell silent, then.
I’d done it again. I’d watched as anger faded to horror only to return with a vengeance. I watched as she choked on words and tears and tried to decide which might hurt me worse. She bit down on her tongue and pursed her lips until she came to a conclusion.
“Seriously? I’m not experienced enough for you, so you don’t want me?” she balked, her voice gaining power with each uttered syllable. “Is that what this is?!”
When she took a step away, I couldn’t stay seated any longer. I couldn’t risk letting the hummingbird loose when I knew damn well that she had every reason to never return. When I knew that I could never dream of flying with broken, bloodied wings of bone and torn skin.
“No,” I tried to counter as I grabbed her wrist before she could flee. I wanted to explain, but I realized for the first time how petty and selfish it would sound.
I just want to protect you, I’d say, as if she weren’t clearly capable of doing that without me there to hurt her in the first place. But when she started to yell, her voice taking on an anger and pain that I hadn’t heard from her before, any excuse I had faded away.
I don’t deserve you, Bunny.
The thought sounded so familiar for some reason.
I’ve never wanted to take care of something the way I want to do for you.
Unfortunately for the both of us, though, my Bunny was no mind reader. It was unfair for me to expect her to understand the nonsense behind my chaos. The absolute, unrivaled stupidity and arrogance that I consisted of.
That being said, she did get one part right.
“What, you’re so self-deluded you think my value will diminish once you break me in? You think my worth is defined by whether or not I’ve let a man shove his dick in me?!”
“Bunny, please,” I begged, hating the way that the crude language sounded on her otherwise innocent tongue. Despising the frivolity she found in my concern. “That’s not the problem.”
Thus far, I had managed to maintain my composure relatively well. I could stave off the devil on my shoulder that told me how much easier it would be to just give her what she wanted. To finally show her the beast she’d been so adamant that she could handle.
I was doing so well… until she almost closed the gap. She’d taken one look at the state of me and knew how close I was to breaking. Her free hand pressed hard against my chest until my back hit the shelves behind us. I heard the teetering of picture frames and tchotchkes, but it was soon drowned out by the feel of her breath against my lips.
In the quietest, angriest voice I’d ever heard, she whispered the final blow. My fortitude crumbled with the utterance of just one word.
“So tell me what it is, then, Spencer.”
My name.
That was all it took to ruin everything; to break my resolve and do everything I swore that I wouldn’t.
She was so close, it took almost nothing at all to take her. Her face was in my hands again, and within seconds I had weaved my fingers through her hair to hold her against me. Our lips crashed together, filled with every ounce of anger and regret we’d ever felt.
She kissed me back, too, but only until she’d realized how it would end. Then, the sides of closed fists hit my chest, and she shoved me away from her with enough force that a few items that had been perched on the shelf clattered to the floor behind me.
“No!” she yelled with eyes screwed shut but still crying, “Talk to me!”
“Why? It never goes anywhere—!”
“—How would you know if you haven’t even tried?!”
Because I’ve seen it, I thought to myself. I could still see it then, in the sound of my parents’ voices out of our own mouths. I could see shattered porcelain and hearts. I could hear the iron-stained sound of screaming with a raw throat.
Why would I try something if I knew it would end like that? I wasn’t my mother; I didn’t have a child to come pick up the pieces when the doors slammed shut. I couldn’t retreat into my mind anymore, either. It was rarely a better place to be than the present.
I wondered if now was one of those times. If her tears were enough to trigger that void I so often submerged myself in. But it wasn’t. I was torn from my reverie by the soft sniffles from a girl who barely had any tears left to cry. She clumsily wiped her cheeks to catch the tears before they fell to trembling lips.
“You don’t even remember calling me, do you?” she mumbled.
The question hit me like a swift punch to the gut. The answer somehow felt worse.
No. I don’t.
“When?” I asked cautiously, trying to recall a number of questionable nights.
It was the wrong answer. Her head fell back and she shook her hands that were wet with evidence of my cruelty.
“God, I’m so fucking stupid,” she said between heavy sobs. Each word, each sound, felt like acid and salt over an open wound.
“No, you aren’t,” I pleaded, hoping she might believe me. Praying that she might still find some part of her that was willing and able to trust that I knew the quality and content of her soul. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, it’s stupid,” she answered before I finished.
My hands still burned with the memory of her, and they ached to find her again. To soak up the tears and replace them with something, anything else. All I’d wanted to do was apologize, but it felt so impossible. It felt cruel and unusual, a disservice to the pain she’d clearly suffered from my actions.
I saw the withered flower and wanted to revitalize frozen petals between my fingers. Warm, humid breath like the kiss of summer. The winter had come too soon, and she hadn’t been ready. But I could still save her. I could drip sugar water on closed off blooms and watch her open again. Her vibrancy could return, would return, if I could just find a way to be near to her again.
If I could just convince myself that I wasn’t a horribly selfish, stupid man.
I turned my back to her; not to ignore her, but to show her that her exit would remain open to her if that’s what she wanted. I took my seat behind my desk to show her that I would not hold her hostage in the glass vase of my authority.
She was free to go if she so pleased, but I begged her to stay, anyway.
“Come here, Bunny.”
She took a staggered step forward at the command, but then stopped herself.
“Why should I?” she snapped.
“You should only come if you want to.”
Her eyes that I’d once likened to universes went tumbling back to her feet at my answer. She pulled at her clothes like she might find an answer hidden in a pocket.
I’d expected her to leave. She had every reason to. It would hurt less if she had let me go first that time.
But she didn’t. She took another step forward, albeit with a lighthearted scoff. I could only assume she was doing that thing where she laughed at her own desire to follow the rules, even to a fault.
I could have written it off as just that — a timid response to a showing of authority — but it didn’t feel that way. When I extended my hand to her, with my scarred palm open and trembling just like hers, I had expected the action to be followed with pain like it so often had. Yet, her damp fingers brushed across the hardened tissue with the delicate embrace of desert rain. I felt the life return to me, and I watched it blossom in her eyes.
How different it had been, when she touched me then, compared to just moments before. How easily she had unfolded like the pristine petals of the queen of the night. The night-blooming cereus with its faint, calming scent of vanilla, which it would only share with those who are patient enough to wait until she was ready to bloom among the prickly thorns.
Our hands slid together effortlessly, and instead of pulling her, I guided her back to me. She followed in earnest, eventually getting close enough to all but collapse into my lap.
I held her nothing like before. My arms wrapped around her while she shook, holding her to me like I might be able to soak up the badness through some strange sort of osmosis.
I thought nothing of the wordlessness of the exchange until she spoke again.
“This is—This is exactly why I didn’t come earlier,” she whispered against my neck. I’d meant to ask her to explain, but the words lodged where her tears continued to fall.
She must’ve heard it, anyway.
“I knew that as soon as I saw you, I would forgive you. And I’m not done being angry, and it’s not fair that I don’t get to be angry at you.”
I winced at the thought of it. The way that she was clinging to the rage that seemed to come to me so easily. I let my hands roam the expanse of her back, tracing love letters that would otherwise go left unsaid.
She looked up at me, closing her eyes briefly when my knuckles drifted over her chin to catch the few droplets that had slipped over heated cheeks. I fixated on them for a few seconds, but found myself captivated once again by the stars in her still dewy eyes.
“I am not worth your tears,” I said without thinking.
And to my surprise and pleasure, she laughed. A graceless little snort that carried through the words she whispered out of the side of her mouth.
“No, you’re not. I’ve been through worse things than meeting you, Spencer Reid.”
It was my turn to laugh again, distracted from all of the pain and thinking only of how I might be able to keep her where she was. Preserve the slight curvature of her lips and the sound of her laughter for as long as humanly possible.
“Please, don’t let that be a challenge.”
As she rested her chin against my hand, a soft sigh followed along with flickering eyes.
“You called me after your date with Professor Hawkin,” she quietly admitted once she’d managed to convince herself that I was ready to listen (for once).
Unfortunately, the both of us winced at the memory. I’d understood then what night I had forgotten, and it was a regrettable one to say the least. Tara had insisted I talk to her after — sans alcohol — but I assured her I would be fine.
However, considering the things I had divulged to her, I could only imagine the dreadfully idiotic things I must have said to the girl now curled on my lap. She didn’t make me wonder.
“You told me you were sorry,” she told me.
“I did?” I asked. Her sad silence was confirmation and punishment enough. At first, I just repeated the phrase with an equally pensive nod of the head. “I… did.”  
But then it occurred to me that she had only given me half of the story. If I had apologized, then surely, she must have done something in response.
So, a little bit stupidly, I asked, “What did you say?”
Her cheeks hollowed so fast, with my Bunny barely stifling a nervous chuckle.
“I uh… told you to go fuck yourself…” she explained before adding on a hesitant, sarcastic modifier. “In so many words.”
Any self control had long since vanished, and the bubbling laughter that filled the space between us. I stopped for just one blissful second to realize that I had let myself feel, and the world had not fallen to shambles in our wake. It had remained, with her soft skin still dripping with my regret.
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it,” I muttered more to the sight than to the girl.  
“I told you to say it again to my face,” she answered more honestly. “I wanted you to remember because… I think I really need to hear it.”
She deserved to hear it. I wanted to grant her the words she had earned long before then, but my lips were distracted by the sweet smell of her. I drifted closer, stopping just shy of her mouth and waiting to see if she would choose to close the gap again. She did, cautiously and carefully. She cradled my jaw with hands that had stopped shaking at some point. I leaned into her touch, greedily bringing her closer and trying to imprint her into something deeper than a memory.
When our lips broke apart, the words flowed from me without any reservation.
“I’m sorry, Bunny. I’m so, so sorry.” I paused to take in the way she pressed her forehead against mine and let her eyes flutter shut again. To rest in my presence, knowing that she would be safe.
“You deserve so much better than me,” I whispered, only to be silenced with her lips. She pushed into my teeth when my mouth broke open in a smile, and the two of us devolved into sloppy, careless laughter before we even thought to breathe.
“Thank you, but…” she said through the sound, “I don’t agree with your assessment about whom I do and do not deserve.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re a stubborn little thing,” I hummed back.  
But there was still something so licentious about the mixture of saline tears and the sweetness of her tongue. Each and every time that I kissed her, I found myself lost for words and breath in a way that I craved the second she was gone.
She did the impossible so effortlessly. She calmed a madman’s mind and made hardened skin soften until it was tender like lily petals; until my skin smelled of her perfume in a permanent sort of way. I sighed against supple, bitten lips and wondered if I would ever feel like I hadn’t tainted her with my touch.
“God, it’s not fair that you are so sweet and I have nothing to offer but bitterness.”
My Bunny just giggled from her spot on my lap.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Spencer Reid. You have always tasted like milk and honey to me.”
Goosebumps tickled every inch of me, save the parts where I felt her. Those pieces remained at ease. I pulled her closer, hoping that one day, I would find myself so enveloped by her that I might never so much as shiver again.
“Say it again.”
The girl blinked several times in rapid succession, tilting her head in an adorably puppy-like manner.
“Say what?”
“My name.”
That wistfulness returned, sweet star shaped blooms filling her eyes fuller with each second longer that she smiled.
“Spencer,” she said quietly, afraid to break the moment. Still, she was too excited to stop it, and I was delighted to hear it. So, she repeated just a little bit louder, “My Spencer.”
“Yes, Bunny,” I answered with all the sincerity I could muster with a half-broken heart. I poured every ounce of it into my throat and hoped that she might have enough faith in me not to question the truth of what I told her.
Because it was true.
“I am yours. I have always been yours.”
She kissed me once more, and I swore I heard her voice in my own thoughts.
You are safe here, Spencer.
You are safe now, with me.
When she started to leave, I let her go. I watched her as a few inches of distance stretched between us, and I lamented the fact that they had only grown more painful after I had her in my arms again.
“Please, don’t cry anymore,” I begged while I rubbed through the remnants of the tears, “It’s breaking my heart.”
“Are you going to kick me out again?” she asked, and while I wished it had been fully in jest, I felt the way she tensed.
I wasn’t going to kick her out, but it had been pretty subpar timing — which so happened to be the exact reason I’d asked her to come before class, rather than after.
Because she had to go, and I would miss her even more than before.
“No. I promise. But... You do need to go to class.”
“I want to stay with you,” she whined. The sound was like music to my ears; playful and pure like the first day I’d ever met her. The first time I met the woman I would fall in love with despite fighting it every step of the way.
“I know you do, but it’s important.”
After some huffing, she accepted the white flag with crossed arms and a pout that rivaled the most persuasive little pup.
“Can I come back after class? I didn’t drive today, so...”
“So, I could be a chivalrous gentleman and offer you a ride home?” I snickered. “Of course, Bunny. I’d be honored to be your Prince Charming.”
And just like that, the flustered, wide-eyed little flower flashed me a smile. Persephone was perched on her throne again and assured me that the world had not ended.
It had just begun to bloom again.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, the inside of Spencer’s car was only slightly less terrifying once I knew I’d earned my right to be there. The radio remained off this time — a smart, but disappointing product of fate’s meddling from before.
The silence wasn’t unwelcome. But it wasn’t preferable to other things. Things like the sound of his voice when he was excited. Or, even better, when he was tired. The gentle crackling like wet wood and the breathy laughter between hurried words.
It had been kind of difficult to get him to talk, and I’d assumed there was good reason for that. He hadn’t had the best track record lately when it came to talking to me. But I was ready to change that. By whatever means necessary.
Including guilt.
“I’m sad,” I announced to my audience of one.  
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not a long enough drive to my apartment. I want to spend more time with you,” I grumbled. When he just chuckled in response, I added insult to injury with an accusatory finger to go with the tone. “It’s really your fault, if you think about it.”
“Is that right?” Spencer replied, turning to catch sight of me with a better clarity than the sides of his eyes could offer. If it hadn’t of been paired with such a sarcastic tease, I might’ve even been flattered by it.
“It is your fault, because if you hadn’t been such a jerk, I could’ve spent part of my break with you.”
He seemed intrigued by the idea, even going so far as to readjust his position to spread his legs just enough for me to notice.
When he caught me staring at the familiar seat I’d taken on his lap, he became even more irritating with his giant ego and lack of mercy.
“What exactly would we have done together?”
“Idunno. Things.”
Once more, he laughed. He shook his head and probably pictured a plethora of innocent, childish activities I would have dragged him through. But I wasn’t thinking of making hand turkeys or Black Friday shopping.
I had… other activities in mind. Things I wouldn’t deign to share when he had such an arrogant little show going on in the driver’s seat.
“Like… going to one of those movies you always tell me about,” I offered instead, finding it to be an appropriate compromise.
He disagreed.
“Hmmm,” was all he said.
Spencer’s fingers drummed along the steering wheel at an odd rhythm. I got so caught up in it, that I failed to notice the dreamlike quality of his tone. I missed how quickly he’d slipped into his own daydreams, and I definitely did not see the way his pants grew tighter.
“Most of the time, boys only take pretty girls to the theater to ignore the movies in favor of one another.”
“Oh,” I dumbly replied. I granted him yet another point in this game where I was probably the only one keeping score.
Because I figured that, as far as he was considered, he had already won.
“So, which are you interested in?” he asked like it wasn’t a joke at all, “Watching a movie with me, or going to the movies?”
Memories of discussions about sleepovers immediately flooded my mind. I remembered the way it felt to be caged in by him; to be surrounded and drowned in the smell of his cologne and the feel of his breath.
I remembered him between my legs, and I clamped them together tightly, not realizing how obvious the motion had been to the keen eyes next to me.
“Don’t be shy,” he drawled just as we came to a stop sign.
He stopped the car completely, shifting it into park and turning to my trembling figure beside him. While I frantically looked around the empty expanse of road and forest, I found myself sinking further into the chair and missing his lap.
“I’m waiting,” he taunted.
As quietly and shyly as I could, I gave him the honest truth, knowing full well that he already knew the answer from my physical response alone.
“G-Going… to the movies…”
To my surprise, he didn’t say anything. Spencer’s reply took the form of the casual flick of a turn signal and a frankly terrifying U-turn on the mostly abandoned backroad.
“W-Where are you going?” I stammered.
He looked to me then, with a devilish smile that made dread and excitement brew in my veins.
“To somewhere like the movies.”
I was too scared to say anything at first, just swerving around in my seat like I’d be able to read his mind from the context clues alone. I hadn’t figured it out, though. Not until after about five minutes of driving. Spencer took one last familiar turn into a parking lot I knew just a little too well. Not from experience, but from legends alone.
“This is...” I started.
“Lover’s lane,” he finished.
As the car idled, I felt my heart running haywire in my chest. I stared forward at the line of trees that seemed to dance with the wind.
“Are you alright?” he asked, to which I had many thoughts. None of which answered his question.
“Oh! Okay!” I shouted, and the concern filled his features despite the dimples from his strained smile.
“Do you want to go home instead?”
“No!” I continued to shout, “No, I want to stay!”
Although he never stopped looking worried, the shared desire for some alone time won out for the both of us. It was obvious to anyone who saw us, much less each other, that the unresolved tension needed to be cured.
But, when Spencer leaned forward to kiss me, I ducked away at the last second with a question that would have gotten in the way otherwise.
“Hey, will you promise me something?”
“Anything,” he answered without pause. It made me feel even guiltier for denying him, although he seemed too smitten to have even noticed. He just hung a few inches away from me, rocking forward with each quick heartbeat like he might get to me faster that way.
He was so cute, so perfect, and so charming, that I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of things he’d said while drunk.
“Were you telling the truth when you said you didn’t kiss Professor Hawkin?” I blurted out.
There was a pause, a brief blinking silence, and then he broke out in even more raucous laughter than before.
“Yes, Bunny,” he cooed, “I did not kiss Professor Hawkin.”
“You promise?” I whined, grabbing hold of his collar and pulling him close.
I’d expected his eyes to become anxious, but if anything, they softened with the proximity. The gold was being drowned out by his pupils, and his voice wavered as he whispered, “I promise. The only girl in the school that I want to kiss is you.”
I didn’t shy away that time. Instead, I ran a hand through his hair and boldly pulled him over the gap between us. His laughter broke the kiss, but I remained steadfast in my determination to deepen it as quickly as possible.
I craved a feeling from my memories. I wanted to feel his ruthless desire. I wanted to feel that darkness creeping over my skin until it was marked with his name written in petechiae.
Gracelessly, I scrambled from my spot in the passenger seat with needy hands and tongue. I never once broke from our kiss, even as I started to laugh at how hard it was to climb into his lap. Spencer forced us apart just long enough for me to get settled on his thighs, and then a second longer for a taunt.
“You certainly have a favorite seat.”
“Shut up,” I said through heavy panting.
But all of the air was sucked from my lungs seconds later by his hand rooted in my hair. Spencer tugged my head back until his hand rested against the steering wheel.
“What was that, Bunny?”
I couldn’t breathe, much less speak. The only noises coming out, albeit plentiful, were whimpers and squeaks that coincided with the soft twitching I felt against my inner thigh. I still hadn’t grown used to his displays of pure lust, and I’d hoped I never would.
“Those doe eyes won’t get you out of everything, you know,” he cooed.
I didn’t believe him. My bottom lip slipped past my teeth and displayed itself to him with another dramatic whine. His eyes immediately fell to the pout, already plumped by his ministrations and still begging to be kissed some more.
His grip loosened and his eyes became gentle once again. He guided me back up to him like I was made of something like petals; precious and delicate. Starting at my forehead, he traced my cheeks with kisses until he finally made his way back to my lips.
I couldn’t help but giggle at how quickly he’d shifted back to our normal dynamic. He’d lost any resolve to punish me immediately, in stark contrast to his warning.
But, like he could read my thoughts, Spencer bit down on my bottom lip and dragged it between his teeth before he whispered, “Don’t think you’re out of the woods just yet.”
I didn’t want to be. I was quite happy to be stuck in the thorns of his lust. I thought to the tales of silly, naive girls who bit off more than they could chew. I thought about the way he called me his Bunny.
His nails were gentle as they drew over my sides, but they grew hungrier when they dropped to my hips. He clenched tightly enough that I could almost feel the sharpness through my pants.
His mouth was similar in its pursuit. His teeth sunk into my neck just long enough to feel me squirm. Just enough to feel the muscles relax while my pulse went wild.
I couldn’t stop myself from rocking against him. Each motion brought such exquisite torture, and I tried to chase it with longer movements. Soon enough, my hips were rolling so that my heat traced the length of his erection straining against tight slacks. I wondered if he could feel it; how badly I wanted there to be nothing between us.
“Fuck, Bunny,” he groaned, perfectly in tune with my thoughts, “Slow down.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. My hips kept moving until he grabbed them and forced them to be still. It wasn’t until then, when he pushed me back enough to look him in the eyes, that I realized the state he was in.
Golden irises were swallowed by blown pupils like the night following a sunset. Every visible inch of his skin had taken on a pinkish hue that couldn’t be blamed on the poor, distant lighting. Each labored breath was followed by a hard swallow as he tried, and failed, at stopping his own hips from bucking up against me.
Still, he desperately pleaded, “I promise, we have plenty of time. There is no rush to the finish line.”
As nice as the words sounded on his tongue, they made the swarm of butterflies in my stomach even more persistent. I listened closely to the way his breath hitched when I lowered my hands to the top of his pants.
“But... I-I want to feel it…”
Spencer honest to god whined in response, his hands on my hips shooting up to hold my face when my fingers dipped under the waistband and started to undo the buttons.
“I want to touch you… like you touched me.”
He was staring at me, but I couldn’t look. My cheeks held fire in the skin that I was prepared to let loose. I wanted to be consumed by it; to lose myself in the feeling and watch the way it never burned him.
But I was still so nervous. Scared that I would be too much, too little, too stupid, too happy. I wanted to please him so badly, I found myself paralyzed with my eyes stuck on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
“Look at me,” he called.
I listened. Spencer lifted my face to meet his before he granted me a painfully tender kiss. His eyes were still half-shut, but I knew that he saw the stars in my own, the way he always seemed to do. He waited until it was just the two of us suspended in the cosmos before he continued.
“Everything that I am… belongs to you.”
I felt the words at a visceral level. The vulnerability in his stare heightened the fire in my chest and fingertips that I could feel again. My heart was beating faster, trying to match his own rhythm. I sunk my fingers a couple inches further beneath his pants and smiled at the way it made him whimper.
“Really?” I whispered back, but I already knew the answer. Still, it was nice to hear it. I would never tire of the way it sounded.
“Yes,” he promised, “I am yours.”
I have always been yours.
Mine, I repeated to myself as I unbuttoned his slacks. The relief of pressure made him groan, but that was nothing compared to the noises he made when my fingertips brushed over the bulge beneath the briefs.
You’re mine, was the only thought I had when I kissed him again. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling long enough, but he didn’t seem to mind. His kisses and groans became even more insistent, guttural, and rough.
I wanted more. I wanted everything.
My fingers slid through the opening and felt soft curls and hot, silken skin. Spencer had given up kissing me because his mouth was already having a hard time breathing. He crushed my body against his and buried his face in my neck.
I wanted him.
I would have told him, too. I would have begged him again, although more carefully than before. I would have reassured him that I knew what I was doing, and that if fate hadn’t wanted me to lose my virginity on Lover’s Lane, then it shouldn’t have let him drive me home.
I would have made a compelling case, at the very least. But, unfortunately for me, the universe had a way of shutting me up.
Knock. Knock.
Two quick taps of knuckles on glass was all it took to completely obliterate any feelings of desire or bliss. That short, staccato sound was followed by a loud shriek from myself, and a blaring of the horn behind me as I jumped back from Spencer with just a little too much force.
And the bastard had the audacity to laugh.
“Security,” a tired voice droned from the other side of the door.
Spencer, now almost on the verge of tears from laughing, wrapped a protective arm around my waist and readjusted his clothes to hide any evidence of impropriety.
“Shhh. Don’t worry. Just stay quiet,” he instructed. As if I was even capable of speaking.
“Please roll down the window.”
Spencer did so, revealing a bright flashlight that shined a spotlight on my foolhardy enthusiasm. Everything about us was disheveled, but still decent enough to avoid any actual charges.
But I wasn’t afraid of illegality. I was afraid of being scolded.
“Good afternoon, Officer. How can I help you?”
Spencer wasn’t worried. Clearly. But how could he be, when the man was so obviously fixated on me? His eyes rose and fell over me several times over, no matter how hard Spencer tried to hide me behind his arms.
Of course, in hindsight, I don’t think he was being creepy. I think he was trying to offer me the chance to realize that there was something else off about me in the moment.
“... I’m going to have to ask you to pick a different seat, young lady.”
I was still straddling the driver.
“Okay!” I yelled, causing both of the men to jump back from the sound just before the car horn blared again. I hit it at least three times in my haste, and it only made the silence that followed even more deafening.
The man sighed, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the extent of his judgment. Clearly deciding that we weren’t worth any more of his time, he clicked the flashlight off and took a step away from the car.
“The park’s closed. Y’all can’t park here,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Absolutely. We can leave right away,” Spencer returned in kind.
But the man seemed unbothered by the answer he received; he was too busy looking me up and down once more, this time with suspicious, narrowed eyes.
“How old are you, miss?”
“I’m twenty five, sir,” I said as clearly as I could through the embarrassment.
He still looked unsatisfied.
“So I’m assuming you have somewhere to stay?”
“I-I have an apartment,” I mumbled.
I hadn’t thought about why he’d asked, but the little grin on Spencer’s face told me he knew what was about to happen.
“Right. How about you wait until you get home next time?”
Spencer’s snicker broke through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, and I knew that I would have to get him back for it eventually.
But at that very moment, the only thing I could think to say was a sad, stuttered, “Y-Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir.”
The boy who’d gotten us into the disaster, however, wasn’t yet done humiliating me. His hand reached over to pat my thigh gently, taking an excessive amount of pleasure out of the way it made me both jump and squeak.
“You’re absolutely right, Officer. I’m going to take this young lady home, and we will have a long discussion on appropriate behavior in public.”
“Yeah, right,” the security man sarcastically droned. “I’ll escort you back to the main road.”
The car was deathly silent. Even after the window was returned to its snug position in the door, and Spencer’s laughter had lessened to just a few bursts of air through his stupid, adorable little button nose, I remained with my lips zipped shut.
Every few moments, he would glance over at me with a shit-eating grin that made my tired heart race all over again.
“Are you alright, Bunny?” he asked in the most devastatingly sarcastic manner known to man.
Staring straight ahead, I muttered what I knew to be true:
“God is punishing me.”
“It wasn’t that bad. It adds to the experience,” he shrugged. I wondered how he could be so nonchalant, and yet again found myself questioning whether he was as inexperienced as he claimed. He was far too good at being chastised.
I guess that was why he was always the one in charge. I envied the skill, which had probably been mastered after years of making mistakes, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the opportunity to stroke his ego at the moment.
Of course, that unfortunate wording of my thoughts led me down another path that I’d been barreling through without a care in the world. I could still feel the velvety skin and thin curls against my fingertips, and a heat built in my face when I realized how close I’d come to so many firsts.
That led me to another conclusion.
“You can’t ever touch me in public again. It’s too dangerous. You make me stupid.”
Spencer didn’t answer with words, and instead waited until he stopped at the eerily well timed stoplight. Basked in the red light, he leaned over and nearly succeeded in catching my lips with his.
But I was too quick. I raised my fingers in front of him in a cross while I dramatically yelled, “Not today, Lucifer!”
I pushed the fingers against his lips when he pressed forward, anyway. Through laughter I continued, “Get back! Back, I say!”
Releasing one hand from the wheel, he pulled my hands down with very little effort before trying to plant one last kiss on my lips. I leaned forward until the last second — when I swiveled back into my seat.
He accepted his defeat with a heavy, playful sigh.
“Suit yourself,” he mumbled with a false grumpiness.
Then, as he’d known I would, I gave in to him.
I waited until the world started to pass by our car windows again. I watched him sneak glances of me from his peripherals, and I wondered how I was ever meant to say no to him.
With barely more grace than before, I leaned over to place a gentle, chaste kiss against his cheeks. And although he would blame it on the stoplight far behind in the distance, I saw how the innocence still made him blush. I thought back to how easily he opened to me, how ready he was to grant me free reign to use him for whatever I desired.
Silently, I wondered what the full weight of my lust would do to the poor old man’s heart.
I couldn’t wait to find out.
 | Part Fourteen |
433 notes · View notes
notanotherreidgirl · 27 days ago
Lesson Plans
Summary: Spencer’s TA helps him organize his class all while developing a crush on him, little do they know that he feels the same way
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Warnings: none? there’s some kissing
Word Count: 1434
A/N: I definitely need to go back and edit this one!! 
Dr. Spencer Reid was the most eccentric professor you ever had. 
He didn’t use any technology at all. Opting instead to handwrite his lesson plans on the blackboard in slanted chicken-scratch. He never got through his material anyway, easily getting caught up on tangents and explaining his own jokes. On the first day of class, he passed out an 8-page double-sided, single spaced syllabus. It was clear that he spent a lot of time on it but he had neglected to staple the pages together so no one walked out with more than 5 pages. Not that it really mattered, he barely followed the syllabus and half of it were recommendations for optional reading. 
The lecture hall was always full but for the people who weren’t auditing, the class was a bit of a mess. Despite the chaotic nature of the course, students kept signing up. How could they not? Dr. Reid was charming and effusive and he rounded everyone’s grades up to an A. When you took the class you were completely entranced by him but you couldn’t shake your frustration with the lack of organization. What was even worse was that most people just took his class for an easy A and hardly bothered learning most of the material. You couldn’t believe it - you had been dying to take Criminal Psychology and you poured your heart and soul into your assignments. When the end of the semester rolled around and TA applications opened, you applied without hesitation.
When Spencer saw that you had applied to be his TA, he very nearly hired you without reading any of the other applications. He refrained from referring to his obvious affection towards you as a crush - that epithet seemed too juvenile - but that’s exactly what it was. A giant schoolboy crush that had completely obliterated his ability to think. He had a tendency to ramble but it was exponentially worse this past semester with you sitting in the front row. 
It only took him one week to commit your routine to memory. Get to class 5 minutes early, sit in the front (5 seats from the left wall), drive him crazy for the whole lecture (chewing on pencil erasers and giving him small smiles when he made eye contact), have lunch at the cafe downstairs, then camp out at the library for a few hours. You were a fastidious creature, orderly and straightforward. It came through in your papers too. Well-constructed arguments that got to the point without unnecessary filler. He was embarrassed to admit that he made copies of your papers and reread them, taking note of your syntax and word choice. 
Your first order of business as his TA was to digitize his notes, taking pictures of the blackboard after class and making concise powerpoints that were sent out in friendly weekly emails. You also revamped his syllabus and held your own office hours since his were always well attended by adoring students who never seemed to ask questions about the course material. It was a lot of work but you could talk about the course material all day. You loved the class and you loved teaching your students which would’ve been just fine if you didn’t start to love something, or rather someone as well. 
The semester flew by and your feelings for Spencer only grew stronger with every day, with every evening you spent grading papers together, with every coffee wordlessly passed between you, with every lesson plan you outlined together. And now it was all coming to an end. You were standing in the doorway of his office making promises to stay in touch and thanking him for this experience while the voice in your head was practically begging you to say something. But you didn’t. What would you even say? How does one tell their boss that they are completely in love with them? What if he didn’t want anything to do with you afterwards. With these thoughts heavy on your mind, you finally turned to leave. 
“Wait, Y/N, I know what you did for me this semester.” Spencer realized that this was his last chance to say something, anything to let you know how he felt. His words came out in a rush, “I know that I’m not the best professor. I don’t follow the syllabus and my grading system is all over the place and I ramble. I’m even doing it now. I’m rambling. I know there are so many things I should change but -”
“No!” you immediately clamped a hand over your mouth but it was too late, your impassioned outburst had already escaped. To say you were mortified was the understatement of the century, you would have given anything to disappear right then. 
Spencer, on the other hand, was thoroughly amused. It was as if you stole all his anxious energy away. “What do you mean, no?”
“It’s nothing! I just - well, I just mean that you shouldn’t change anything. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Your eyes widened. How was it possible that every word out of your mouth made the situation exponentially worse? “Not perfect - no one’s perfect! I just mean that you're fine. Your class is fine!”
For a moment you recalled the transporters in Star Trek. Beam me up Scotty, you thought uselessly. 
Feeling exceptionally bold, Spencer pulled a chair up to his desk. “I think I know what you mean, darling. Why don’t you take a deep breath and have a seat?”
You had been considering making a run for it but your legs promptly turned to mush after he called you darling. He had pulled the chair to his side of the desk so you were sitting right in front of him less than 2 feet away. You were determined to get the situation under control so you took a deep breath before starting.
“Dr. Reid, I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about your teaching style. I became your TA because I wanted other students to enjoy this class as much as I did. Everything I did this semester was so that you could keep teaching in the irregular, fun and inspiring way that you do. I didn’t mean to overstep and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I think you’re not a good professor. Because you’re not. It’s the opposite.”
After finishing you nervously looked up at his face expecting admonishment only to be met with pure adoration in his honeyed brown eyes. He reached into your lap and took your hands in his. You had expected the hands of an FBI agent to be hard, weathered from chasing down killers but his were soft and he held you so carefully like he was afraid you’d pull away. 
“Thank you” he whispered. He brought your hands to his lips and you had to press your feet into the ground to keep from floating away. “I wanted to say thank you for typing up comprehensible notes and replying to every email and making sure there’s always sugar by the coffee machine and listening to what I have to say and for letting me be myself”
Your breath hitched, you hadn’t realized that he’d noticed everything you’d been doing in the background. You squirmed in your seat, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. Could he see right through you? 
“It’s really nothing, Dr. Reid” you murmured. 
“No, it's not,” he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his hot breath on your neck and you were sure he could hear the drumbeat of your heart. “Not everyone is willing to be patient with me and even fewer go out of their way to make things easier or better without trying to change who I am. I know I’m a difficult person but you don’t make me feel that way. I’m beyond lucky to have you.”
He paused before adding, “That is, if you’d have me?”
Whatever was left of your self-restraint disintegrated when you pressed your lips to his. You laughed into his mouth, joy bubbling from your lips and filling Spencer with an incredible warmth. He smiled and pulled you into his lap, “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes” you punctuated each affirmation with a kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his temples. You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t difficult at all. That he was charming and capable and lovely but there would be plenty of time for that. For now, you held him tight and you didn’t have any intention of letting go.
123 notes · View notes
subspencer · a month ago
perverse temptations
Tumblr media
professor!spencer x fem!reader
a/n: this is based on this concept of pervy professor spencer, who has been lusting after a student. cw: unprotected sex (wrap it!), cream pie, fingering, brief oral (fem receiving), hair pulling, no dom/sub relationship. i mean spencer is kinda a sub no matter what tho. lmk if i missed anything!
wc: 4.9k
He’s aware that what he’s doing isn’t right, or ethical. It doesn’t stop him, though.
He shouldn’t be looking at a student the way that he does. Much less be thinking about her in such sinful contexts; when he’s alone at night with his own hands around his cock, picturing her laying under him. Or maybe she’s sitting in his lap, bouncing on his dick while her skirt flounces around her waist. Sometimes she’s on her knees in front of him, using her mouth to get him off in his own office. And sometimes just the thought of tasting her, having her fall apart on his tongue while his fingers are deep inside her, is enough to do the job.
There are about a thousand and one ways he shouldn’t be thinking about her, and unfortunately, he’s thought about them all.
He’s completely guilty.
Of making her come up to the chalkboard in the front of the class, under the guise of demonstrating how to solve some equation, just so he can see her bare legs carry her across the room, his eyes following where her short skirts barely covered her.
Of lingering at her seat when he comes over to answer her questions, resting his arm on the table and leaning in close enough to smell her, peeking down her blouse when she’s unaware he’s looking.
Of keeping his eyes on her the entire duration of his lectures, unashamed to get caught staring. Feeling smug with the way she shrinks a little when she gets flustered under his gaze, prideful that his affection was noticed.
His shame doesn’t live only in his mind –– he’s done more than enough to know she may never look him in the eye if she found out.
There was one time that she forgot her sweater behind in the lecture hall. Spencer took it home with him, telling himself it was just so he could keep it safe and bring it back to her during the next class. He knew it was one of her favorites, after all, for how frequently he watched her wear it.
But that sweater never got returned.
His mistake was bringing it inside, whereas he really should’ve just left it in his car. He flung it over the back of his couch, dropping it there so he’d remember to pick it up again in the morning on his way out. But when he sat down, with the fucking sweater dangling next to his face, he could smell her sweet perfume lingering on it. And it was so incredibly soft, just like he imagined her skin to be.
It wasn’t exactly a proud moment, but he buried his cheek against the sweater as he put a hand down his slacks, letting the sweater add a new layer to his fantasies. They just felt even more real with the fabric rubbing against his face, allowing him to picture her –– her touch, her smell –– so vividly.
And now he’s had it for so long that it almost feels weird to give it back. So he doesn’t, and he doesn’t feel bad about it. After all, if the closest he could ever get to her was by stealing a piece of fucking fabric, he deserved to have it. It was the least he should have if he couldn’t have her.
Sometimes he deludes himself into thinking she wants him too. When she comes to office hours after class, wanting to discuss her assignments despite being his top student. Acting as if she needs the help. Or in the way she looks up at him from her chair as she asks questions in class, making eyes that look like she’s just begging to be fucked. Wearing cherry colored lip gloss that calls to him like a signal.
But maybe he’s just a big joke to her. Maybe she tells all her friends about the weird professor that leaves flirty little comments on the corners of her papers. How he always says good morning to her, but not to any of the other students. They probably laugh about it in private, making comments about how her professor probably wants to sleep with her. Why else would they be alone in his office so often?
They’d be right. And he’d be grateful if they said that, to be honest, because at this point he’s desperate for her to finally realize it. His infatuation with her is growing quickly out of control and soon it might kill him.
It feels like her hemlines keep getting shorter, her sweaters tighter. At one point he discovered that she stopped wearing bras under her tops because he can see her nipples right through the fabric when they get hard. It leaves him wondering what else she might not be wearing.
And he knows it’s probably a figment of his imagination, but he wants to believe that she does it for him.
The idea that she knew his secrets added a twisted little element to it. Like she dresses this slutty on purpose because she knows what it does to him. Because he figures that even if she doesn’t want him, she wants to play this silent game just to see what he’ll do next.
The only thing is that there’s nothing more he can do without losing the last ounce of dignity he has. He’s already getting himself off on thoughts of her when he’s at home, and now he’s doing it in his office, right after she leaves. Barely able to wait until she walks out the door.
In an ideal world, she’d catch him in the act. Realize she forgot her pen or that she had one more question to ask and walk back in at just the right moment, while he’s hard and moaning out her name.
Either she’d look at him in disgust or in some weird way she’d find it flattering, and he doesn’t even care at this point because he just wants her to know.
That was the problem, that she honestly didn’t know.
She had no idea the effect she had on him, never expecting that such a shy girl as herself could grasp the attention of the university’s most attractive professor. Everything she did, everything she wore was borne from innocent intentions, and Spencer was the one turning them into perverse fantasies.
He knows he’s not the type of man to corrupt someone; he wouldn’t say he’s looking to break her or to destroy her gentle innocence in any way. It might be another thing he cherishes about her –– her unassuming, shy exterior that reminded him so much of himself. But, fuck, did she make it easy to think that way when everything she did just felt so sexual to him.
How could it not, when she bites down so gently on the cap of her pen between two perfectly parted lips? When he can see her tongue flickering behind it, pressing against the cap as she loses herself in thought. She could be doing anything and Spencer would find a way to fuel his sinful imagination with it.
He prepared himself for the possibility that their tension would never come to a breaking point. She’d finish the semester, move on to graduate, and forget all about him when he knew he’d never be able to forget about her. For all that the world’s given Spencer, he’d come to accept that to be his fate. To be forgotten about, to go unnoticed in his affections.
However, even fate has its surprises.
He always sat on top of his desk right next to her seat, rather than in his own chair, just so he’d be able to occasionally graze his thigh against her shoulder as they spoke. And so he could visualize her head so, so close to his lap — an image saved for later use.
But for the first time, she seemed to be the one initiating the stolen touches.
The hand that clutched her essay now rested so carefully on his knee, in a closed fist but nonetheless on top of him, as she read it aloud. Voice as sweet as ever. She didn’t even notice she was doing it. It was the passive kind of contact that people who are comfortable with each other have. He took that as a good sign.
And when she looked up from the page, she looked right into his eyes as she adjusted her hand a little higher on his leg than it was before. He’s convinced he saw her tongue dart out, sweeping over her bottom lip. It’s a small act but intentional.
He didn’t want to be too presumptuous, so he tested the waters first. Subtly shuffling his leg so that his thigh slides down on her further, legs falling open just a little as he bites his lip.
The first thing a former profiler understands about body language is that mirroring someone’s movements can reveal subconscious trust, desire to build personal connection, and most importantly, romantic interest.
So when she bit down on her own lip, Spencer had all the answers he needed.
His eyes narrowed on her, feeling like he’s finally made a breakthrough. “Why did you come to office hours when your essay is already perfect?”
She didn’t expect that question. She comes to his office hours all the time. Never because she needs the help, but that’s never been a concern to him before. Before her stammering could form an excuse, he covered her hand with his own to let her know he’s noticed her placement on him.
She swallowed the air in her dry throat, averting his eyes when she whispers, “For the same reason you kept my sweater?”
And he didn’t expect that answer. He took that sweater a month ago — how, for weeks, had she known about that?
“I saw you walking to your car with it. I went back to find it, and… I saw.” Her voice was small, so afraid to be wrong about him.
She was right, and now she knew. More importantly, it didn’t seem to scare her, not even when he intertwined their fingers together as she rose to stand in front of him. Spencer exhaled deeply, feeling relief wash over his whole body as she willingly came closer to him.
Neither of them had anything to say; there are no words to use when you know what’s coming, when you can instead let your actions speak for you.
Spencer scooted closer to the edge of his desk, narrowing the gap between them. His knee slot between her legs as he beckoned her closer by her hips, guiding her above his thigh. He wanted her to take the first initiative, leaning back on his arms to admire her figure over him as he let her figure out where she wanted to go from there.
She watched his face for approval as she let her hips shift down until she was straddling his thigh. With a hand on each of his shoulders, she braced herself as she slowly pressed against him, using her soft thigh to place pressure against his dick.
She bit her lip, cowering under his eyes that wanted to memorize her face, the way she looks and feels when she’s with him like this. The exchange is a silent challenge of who will break first.
It’s Spencer. Of course it’s Spencer, who breaks the stillness of the moment with rushed, desperate actions. He waited too long to not fall apart as soon as he got to have her.
He surged forward to connect his lips to her neck, sucking the skin harshly like a man deprived. Her fingers came to knot in his hair, twisting and tugging the strands as his hot mouth trailed across the expanse of her bare neck. One hand came down to her ass, holding her as she rode his thigh. He used it to force her hips to grind on him as he pushed his thigh firmly against her, soft whimpers escaping her lips as he put pressure on her core. He groaned, feeling her panties dampen through his trousers.
The other hand worked its way to the back of her scalp, tangling the hair in his fingers and giving it a sharp pull to make her cry out.
“Ah! Doctor Reid!” Fucking finally. At last he got to hear her say his name in that foul, desperate way he always fantasized about.
“Say it again, sweetheart?” he asked, moaning into her neck as he slid his hands under her skirt, hooking his fingers into the sides of her thong and tugging roughly, letting the fabric create harsh friction against her clit.
Her sharp cry turned into a rolling moan as he pulled her underwear again, more carefully this time, twisting it against her clit in slow, aching circles. Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear as she repeated his name lowly before they wrapped around his lobe, using her teeth to tug gently.
He groaned and released the fabric, letting it snap sharply against her skin.“Take these off.”
Telling her to do it was pointless because he was already ripping them down her legs himself. He let them drop to the floor once they made it past her knees and she kicked them away as she stepped out of them. He made quick work of the buttons on her sweater, placing wet kisses on each new inch of skin he exposed. Across her collarbones, in the dip between them where they met her throat, down her sternum and over the top of her breasts.
At the same time, she reached around for the zipper on the back of the skirt in a rush to take everything off for him. It only earned her a light slap to the side of her thigh. Not enough to really hurt. Not even to sting. It was just his way to command attention back to him.
“Keep it on.”
She nodded, “Okay,” and pushed him further back on top of his desk, practically jumping into his lap and hooking her legs onto either side of his to straddle him. Bruising knees against the wood be damned.
The moment she was in his lap, looking down at him with these eyes that held a warmth beyond simple lust, he paused. Everything slowed down. If Spencer never got to have this twice, then he was prepared to make the first time mean everything with the woman he’d desired for so long. Gone was the desperation as he finally brought their lips together, allowing their first kiss to be tender as their mouths glided together. It was sweet, savoring the taste and feeling of each other’s lips.
His lips wrapped perfectly around her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before giving the same treatment to the other. She placed two hands on either side of his face to hold him to her as she rolled her hips against his at a painfully slow pace. Without her panties between them, Spencer could feel her wetness seeping into the fabric over his crotch. As her mouth opened to let him in, his hands traveled up her sides until they stopped at her chest. She moaned into the kiss as his hands kneaded the soft flesh, gently tugging on his swollen bottom lip to pull his own sounds free.
His hands travelled under the skirt again, lifting up the hem to get a full view of her bare under it. He ran two fingers through her slit, coming back up covered in her arousal. He greedily popped them into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around them as he licked them clean. The digits disappeared into his mouth and slowly retracted back, sliding in and out of his plush, pouty lips so temptingly.
She leaned down and captured his lips again, gently sucking on his tongue with a soft moan as she tasted herself on it. She wrapped one hand around his, bringing it to her mouth and pressing a long kiss to the tips of his two middle fingers, begging for him to use them on her again.
To punctuate her want, she guided his hand down her body, lifting her hips a little to give him access to slide between her legs. He ran his fingers through her folds again, groaning before stopping to pay attention to the bundle of nerves at her crest. A series of soft sighs came out of her as he rubbed in slow circles, alternating directions before switching to side-to-side motions.
She rested her forehead against his, her shallow breath fanning across Spencer’s face as he continued, taking in as much of the view as he could. His fingers moved away to dip over her entrance, teasing with just one fingertip pressed inside. She whined and squirmed against him, pushing her hips closer to his hand with soft begs, “Please.”
Slowly, he pushed his middle finger inside with a groan, “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” his lips attached themselves to her throat, trailing hot kisses down the column of her neck and onto her chest, mumbling against the skin, “and wet.” When he reached her sternum he could feel her heart beating rapidly. And he stopped to circle around it with loving kisses.
Both her arms wrapped around his shoulders, cradling his head nearer to his body, encouraging him to continue worshipping her with his mouth. “That feels so good,” she gasped as his finger curled upward deep inside of her. He added extra pressure against her anterior wall as he dragged it out, then pumped it slowly in again.
She took fistfuls of his hair and twisted them as he fucked his finger into her repeatedly, tugging harder when she wanted him to add a second one, unable to form words beyond a desperate “More.” He slipped his ring finger in too, repeating the same motions as she adjusted to the stretch.
His spare hand held her by the waist as she started shaking around him, thighs fighting the urge to clamp shut with his hand in between. As he curled his fingers again, pushing them in so deeply, she moaned loudly in his ear with hot, wet breath that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
She breathed out incoherent words to tell him she’s so, so close, and he brought his thumb up to her clit, applying pressure to bring her over the edge. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her moans as she clenched tight around him, so nearly there. He thrusted his fingers faster, repeatedly coaxing that spot inside that made her stomach flutter. Her grip tightened on his strands as she hit her high, drawing his moans into her mouth as she did the same into his.
Her breath came short and uneven as she recovered, slumping her tired body against his chest while he held her. His free hand came up to brush her sweat-dampened hair away from her face. He gave her a moment before withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his tongue to clean them. Instead, he was stopped by her catching his wrist, dragging it towards herself instead. He looked up at her, jaw slacked in awe as she flattened her tongue on the underside of his long digits, running up their length before wrapping her hot, wet mouth around them.
She held his eye contact as she bobbed her head down, swirling her tongue around him as his fingertips hit the back of her throat. Her cheeks hollowed and lips glistened with her own arousal as she let go of his wrist and allowed him to push them on his own volition. As he watches his fingers disappear behind her lips, taking them so well, it just leaves him wondering how talented she’d be sucking other things, as well. His dick twitches against his zipper at the thought of it.
She must be able to read his mind, because she immediately went for the button on his trousers, resting the heel of her palm over his hard dick as she worked the fly open. His hips bucked into her touch and he moved to grip the underside of her thighs, lifting her carefully as he stood up.
He switched their places and set her back on the desk, guiding her with a hand on her back to lay down along the length of it, knees dangling over the edge. He quickly knelt on the floor and pulled her ass closer to the edge as he licked a broad stripe across her cunt. She whimpered as he began using his mouth to carefully clean her up, running his tongue along her folds to gather all of her release. With a sly smile to himself, his tongue formed a dart and flicked harshly over her clit just to tease. He adored her dearly, but he couldn’t resist hearing her soft sob at the overstimulation. He chuckled and soothed it with a sweet kiss before rising to stand over her.
She leaned back on her elbows to watch him as his eyes scanned over her body, pupils blown wide. She quickly scrambled up to work the buttons on his shirt, yanking his tie off in the process. If she was already naked, it’s only fair she should get to look at him too.
She pulled off his boxers last, dropping them to the floor so he’s finally exposed to her. A small, Fuck, escaped as she takes him in, sight fixed on his pretty cock. Of course the most attractive professor would also have a pretty dick.
She left a sloppy kiss on the center of his chest, nibbling on the skin with her teeth until a purple mark forms. It’s almost poetic, he thought, that she should mark his heart like that. A physical manifestation of what’s already been done.
She continued sucking little bruises into his skin, working across the bare canvas of his chest as she wrapped her hand around his cock, spreading the precome leaking from his tip over his shaft to slick him up as she pumps up and down.
When he couldn't wait any longer, he put his hips flush to hers, grinding his dick against the outside of her pussy. His eyes rolled back at even the slightest friction she provided. She leaned back again to give him a better angle to enter her. He braced himself with a palm against the table as he lined himself up and began to push in.
“You feel so good,” he gasped as he felt her warm and wet around his dick. He lifted the hem of her skirt, pooling it over her belly so he can get a better view of where their bodies met as he thrust into her. He leaned down to give her a quick peck, only managing to use half his words, “so pretty.”
She whimpered as he stretched her out, pushing incrementally to let her adjust before he finally fit fully inside her. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he concentrated on her face, watching for signs of pleasure to encourage him. Her eyes screwed shut and brows were knitted as she focused on the way he felt, her jaw twitching as she let out silent moans.
When she nodded, he began to move. Not before bending down to place a kiss on her flushed cheek, right below the contours of her eye. She hadn’t noticed the tear forming there. As he worked up a rhythm, his thumb fell back to her clit, tracing small patterns into the bundle of nerves. He drew out a few gasps before easing off the pressure for a few seconds, and repeated. Each time she caught her breath, he brought his thumb back, working out more pants and moans from her before removing the friction altogether, and starting again.
She felt the knot in her stomach grow too quickly with his ministrations, only to have it paralyzed each time he pulls away. He only gave her reprieve when she braced her hand around the forearm that he uses to support himself on the desk, digging her nails gently into his skin to beg for release as tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. “Please.”
He repositioned to wrap both arms around her hips and pull them up higher, lifting them slightly off the desk as he started to move faster. From this angle he got deeper, brushing against her spot with the head of his dick nearly each time he thrust in. Her thighs wrapped around his waist and drew him nearer, gasping breathlessly at the speed and force of his motions.
With her legs hooked around his sides to support herself, Spencer let go of her hips and bent down on the table, pressed flush against her body as he continued his relentless pace. His hazy brown eyes fluttered shut as he let his touch guide him across her body, starting at her chest and dotting sloppy kisses between the valley before slowly making way to one side, dragging his bottom lip across her skin until it found the bud. He wrapped his mouth around it, swirling over with his tongue and teasing it between his teeth as his large, rough hand paid attention to the neglected one, pinching and rolling her nipple between the pads of his fingers.
His free hand came to replace his mouth and continued the teasing as he was trailing his path upward, stopping to bury his head into the junction of her neck and shoulder. He nipped at the soft flesh, laving his tongue over each mark he chose to form. He could feel her throat reverberate under his lips as his name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, over and over as he gave himself to her.
Just as he bit down harder, her hips canted forward, and he stroked in just the right spot inside her. Both her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle as she cried out, head thrown back.
He dove down to capture her mouth as his hips buck forward on their own volition, determined to have her whine like that again as her release builds inside her. In mere seconds, she had to break it off to let her moans fall freely as the knot broke. His hands flew down to her thighs, gripping them with bruising force as he tried to keep her as close to him as possible as she trembled and tightened around him. He watched himself thrust against where their bodies meet, right under that little skirt still pushed up to her waist, to bring himself closer to the edge. Not long after, he followed, hips staggering as he continued to fuck her through his own orgasm.
His fingers relaxed around her thighs and he pressed their foreheads together as he came down, unwilling to move away. At the same time, she wrapped her arms around him with similar intention. She opened her eyes, only to be met with large, adoring eyes already watching her. He was taking in everything so carefully, as if he’d miss it all if he blinked, and she would disappear if he looked away.
Spencer studded kisses along her jawline, praising her for letting his fantasies finally come true. The two stayed like that for a while, basking in the glow of each other and the culmination of Spencer’s desire.
When he finally pulled away, he immediately rifled through his drawers for a tissue to run carefully over her body as he broke the seal around her. When he was happy with his work, he tucked himself back into his clothes and let her sit up on the edge of the desk as he began helping her find her own.
He found her sweater on the back of his chair and brushed it carefully before pulling it over both her shoulders, tugging to make sure it was on straight. She watched as he worked each of the buttons, his bottom lip between his teeth as he concentrated on putting her back together with utmost care.
His eyes scanned the floor for her panties, finding them flung over his satchel on the ground next to his desk. He picked them up quickly, admiring them for a brief moment before kneeling in front of her. He held them out, signaling her to lace her legs through them, and she shook her head.
“Keep those,” she smiled, mirroring his request that she keep her skirt on. His brows shot up, checking if she was being really serious about it. She leaned forward to cup his cheek, bringing his face to her own as she spoke through another long kiss, “Just give me back my favorite sweater.”
He chuckled as she took the pair from his fingers and tucked them into his shirt pocket, patting them twice over his chest.
“You can pick it up from my place?” He offered, hoping she’d understand his ulterior motives and take him up on it. She laughed and laced her hand into the back of his scalp, scratching gentle patterns as he melted into her. Even without his proposition, she knew she would end up back with him just like this.
“It’s a date.”
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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 12)
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| Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen |
Summary: Spencer and Tara discuss regrets over drinks. Spencer and Bunny discuss them, too. A/N: The fun stuff returns next Chapter! Enjoy! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Alcohol, binge drinking, counseling/therapy mention, discussions of sex/sexual regret, unwanted advances, SA (forced kissing), cringe/embarrassment Word Count: 5.8k
Alcohol is poison. People don’t often consider it as such, even though we all know that depending on the dosage, it could prove fatal. That wasn’t my particular goal at the moment, although I wouldn’t lie if I said the thought of it hadn’t crossed my mind a number of times after the fourth shot. Or maybe it had been the third. Possibly the fifth.
Regardless of the number, the idea remained the same:
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
The woman who’d just arrived actually chuckled, rolling her eyes at me like she’d reached the conclusion long before I had. Tara rested her head against her hand as she tried to meet my eyes.
“Taking six shots of tequila? Yeah, I’d say.”
“Not that,” I sighed as I downed the acrid liquid in question. It hadn’t even stung anymore, and something in my brain told me that was meant to be a hard limit. But I’d been breaking self-imposed rules more and more often lately. What would one more be?
“Believe it or not, this meltdown…” I explained, gesturing to the blurry mess in front of me, “It seems brilliant in comparison.”
“I do not believe it,” she replied with a pained smile.
It stirred yet another negative memory in a glass already overflowing, and my hand only made it halfway in a wave to the bartender before it was caught in a gentle fist.
“Okay, talk,” Tara ordered.
I turned to her in my drunken haze. I opened my mouth and willed the words to come out, but then all that happened was a poorly timed hiccup followed by a very loud whine.
“It can’t be that bad,” she tried to assure me.
But it was. Even if it wasn’t, it felt like it was. Still, she was right that I’d called her for her help. I knew she was capable of helping me, and she was the most impartial voice of reason I could get. Heaven forbid I’d called Derek. Or Emily. I could hear their lecture from miles away. I could hear the ‘I told you so’s’ and the ‘it could be worse’s.’ I didn’t need to hear them from their mouths.
Then I looked at Tara while my mouth floundered like a fish and realized that I’d been a fool for thinking she wouldn’t say the same thing.
“I can’t do this,” I groaned with both hands covering my face like it was actually possible to hide, “it’s so awkward.”
“Why? Because it’s about sex?” she scoffed. “Reid, I’m a licensed couple’s counselor.”
She’d clearly taken my discomfort as an insult, and I supposed that made sense, all things considered.
“God, I hate therapists.”
I probably could’ve been nicer about it, but my filter had faded with the fifth shot. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind. It almost felt like she’d taken that comment as a compliment.
“I know you do, bud. Now talk.”
With one last deep breath in, I let the words come out however they wanted to.  As expected, they were a jumbled, slurred mess. Just like the man who’d said them.
“I almost fucked my student.”
I finally met Tara’s eyes, and she kept the eye contact a second longer saying as clearly and concisely as possible:
“Aren’t therapists supposed to be nonjudgmental?”
“I’m not your therapist,” she very quickly — a little too quickly — corrected. Then, to add insult to injury she laughed as she muttered a playful, “Thank god.”
I thought the joke had hurt my feelings, but I was surprised to hear my own laughter follow. It was a self-pitying sound, but better than the alternative of crying.
Tara flashed me a look that told me it’d been her intention. I returned my own that was meant to be an attempt to say thank you, but I don’t think it worked as well.
Nonetheless, she gave me a courteous nod and a humble wave of the hand before she said, “You may continue.”
“She’s 25.”
Tara tried not to wince, but when the next words came, she couldn’t stop herself.
“And she’s a virgin.”
She physically recoiled off the bar, her eyes closing and her hand growing closer to calling for the bartender she’d waved away from me earlier.
I waited, calmly and patiently as possible under the circumstances, for her to get her grips before I continued.
“… and she works for me.”
“Good lord,” she started, only to be cut off with the final pièce de résistance of my suffering.
“Also, I think I might be in love with her.”
The chattering from the bar seemed oddly silent for the first time since I’d arrived. Of course, it probably had something to do with the fact it was the middle of a weeknight at a shitty bar that was specifically known for over serving its customers.
I finally met Tara’s eyes, and I was a little surprised to see a little bit of laughter in each of her features.
“You think?” she asked, forcing me to replay everything I’d said to ensure I hadn’t gotten the words mixed up.
“Pretty sure.”
But then she actually laughed, shaking her head and letting out a deep sigh before losing her concentration in the reflection of half emptied bottles on the shitty liquor shelf.
“Well… I’d certainly hope so,” she muttered.
And I felt it. I felt her pain as she stared at a familiar vice, kept in colored glasses with beautiful artwork etched into its skin. Together, we stared at the temptation, and I tried not to see Bunny staring back.
I only saw myself, and I wanted to know if Tara saw me, too. I didn’t necessarily want her to; I just didn’t want to be alone among the reflections.  
“Anything else?” she asked.
“I gave her an orgasm and then kicked her out of my office,” I answered.
To my surprise, the shock had already worn off. She was no longer raising her eyebrow with each added word. Instead, she looked at me carefully. But still, the best thing she could come up with was a heavy sigh.
“I see your problem.”
“She won’t talk to me,” I expanded, all the while leaning over to her and waiting for a reassuring hand that I thought would never come.
But then it did, firmly dropping onto my shoulder while paired with words that stung more than nails ever could. More than the alcohol and more than my own venom that seeped from my fingertips.
“Can you blame her?”
No, I thought to myself. That’s the problem.
But I don’t want to be alone, and it can’t be anyone else.
It has to be her.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Pulling me back up, Tara attempted to make full eye contact with me. But the world wouldn’t stop spinning, and I couldn’t look her in the eyes when they made me realize how right she was.
Her first piece of advice was expected… and reasonable.
“Stop drinking.”
But it wasn’t the part she needed me to focus on. For that, she took my chin in her hand and waited for me to blink away any childish tears that accompanied the scolding.  
“And apologize,” she enunciated as clearly as she could. Then, to be certain I understood the weight of the words, she repeated with emphasis, “A damn good apology.”
“But I don’t know what I’m sorry for,” I slurred.
She looked at me with a sympathy I didn’t deserve, and she knew I had been telling the truth. There was not one single thing to explain the depth of my regret. I couldn’t find just one thing to apologize for. Even the simplest of ideas were too complex for the words I could come up with.
‘I’m sorry I kicked you out,’ wasn’t enough to capture the true feelings behind the words.
I’m sorry that you were unfortunate enough to know me.
I’m sorry I don’t know anything different than the hurt.
I’m sorry that I hurt you.
I’m sorry that I’m here.
Tara heard the thoughts, but we both knew I wasn’t going to share them with her. I didn’t need to, anyway. She’d heard from all before from her own (ex)husband’s mouth.
That was the reason I had called Tara. It was that sympathy she held for Bunny, a girl she’d never even met. They were both better than the men they’d chosen to love. Us fortunate, but downright idiotic men.
“You’re a genius,” Tara sighed, “You can figure it out.”
I knew it was meant to be uplifting, but the mere idea of trying to tackle that question at the present moment led me back to where I’d started. Her hand fell away, and I took my freedom and used it to immediately raise a hand to a bartender that had already recognized the seriousness of Tara’s glare.
That time, she took my hand in hers and used the momentum to pull me straight off the stool. She caught me, too, with only a reasonable amount of mockery at my even more exaggerated gracelessness.
“Come on, bud. Let me take you home.”
Getting there felt like a blur. I watched city lights mix with Christmas decorations and tried to remember the days they brought me joy. I pictured finding it again, with a new company.
I wondered if Bunny liked Christmas lights like I used to. I wondered if she could help me love them again.
Once we finally arrived at the building, I insisted Tara not to come in. She fought me but recognized my desire to be alone. I’d been vulnerable enough for one night.
I stumbled into my apartment and wondered if it would be any less dreadful if I hadn’t ruined everything with my Bunny. It made no sense — there was no correlation between her and my bed other than the fact that I’d spent many days and nights haunted by dreams of her.
The memories made me feel sick. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Either way, I felt the bile rise with the insistent habit of her. I collapsed on the bed, and I tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t make me a disgusting mess if I just let myself pretend for a little while.
Pretend like I hadn’t hurt her. That she was in my bed with me, just as innocent as the day I’d met her. But then those lustful thoughts resurfaced, and the guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave of loathing that eventually burned its way back up through my esophagus.
I tried to purge the thoughts of her, but they never went away. That sort of made me happy, too. As I finally picked my head up and tried to dredge up any semblance of dignity, I reached the conclusion I’d been avoiding for too long.
I wasn’t willing to let her go.
I wanted her back. I wanted her to stay.
Even if that made me evil. Even if it meant that she’d hate me forever.  
It had taken me a while, but I was finally starting to understand why everyone always spoke poorly of the earliest stages of dating. Even the honeymoon phase couldn’t have masked the horrendous discomfort that I felt sitting on Kyle’s couch.
Granted, I couldn’t really think of any positive emotion I would consider close to a ‘honeymoon phase’ with him. The interest he clearly showed in me was nice, but it never felt as genuine or overwhelming as the feelings Spencer tried to hide.
It was impossible for me to have been more rigid or closed off than I was at that moment. My legs were crossed tightly enough that even my hands couldn’t fit between them. They tried, too. I fidgeted with them to try to find anywhere they felt comfortable resting.
Kyle clearly offered his thigh, which I was very certain that I did not want.
A lot of me felt guilty for even coming. I’d heard about how people feel about girls leading men on, and how it never really ended well for the woman. But still, he insisted he didn’t mind that I was in a terrible mood.
He wanted to see me, and I didn’t want to be alone.
I was regretting that conclusion, though. Alone sounded like a better fate than his arm around my shoulder.
“You wanna know something?” he asked.
I turned away from the movie that I wasn’t watching to look over at the boy who’d captured an equal amount of my attention.
“Even when you’re sad, you are still so pretty.”
I cringed at the juvenile compliment and tried to bite my tongue to stop the sarcasm from pouring out. It didn’t work, but at least the words made it sound more like self-loathing than an indication that he’d only driven me further away.  
“Thanks,” I muttered, “The red really brings out the color in my eyes.”
His hand reached out to brush my hair from my face, and I found myself flinching before he made contact. It didn’t stop him. I tried not to compare the rough calluses of his fingers to the softness of Spencer’s hands.
“You’re funny, too. Interesting.”
Gee, thanks, I thought to myself. Something about the simplicity of the praise made it feel… insulting. Like the only things he could come up with to describe me were words that I might use to describe the horribly dull action movie blasting in the background.
I immediately thought of Spencer, no matter how hard I tried not to. I thought of how he’d always compare me to hummingbirds and honey, to flora and fauna and everything good and wonderful.
Kyle was still watching me, though, and I knew I had to say something. Or at least, I had to pretend like I cared that he thought I was ‘interesting.’
“Thanks. Sorry, I’m not used to compliments.”
It was a lie. I had grown very accustomed to Spencer’s poetic comments of adoration. I just wasn’t used to hearing them from someone who hadn’t tried to see something deeper than ‘pretty’ and ‘funny.’
Spencer once told me I was too grand to compare to anything terrestrial. I bet Kyle would think it was meant to be a joke about aliens.
The guilt came rushing back to me. There wasn’t anything wrong with the boy beside me. Or at least, he hadn’t shown me any reason to be worried just yet. Still, there was something to be gathered from the fact Spencer seemed to carry an unnatural amount of loathing for the boy.
I’d figured it was just jealousy. Maybe he saw something like himself in the younger man. Maybe he saw something unlike himself. I wasn’t sure which would bother him more.
Kyle was still staring at me, and I tried to smile. He interrupted the formation with a poke of my nose and a proud exclamation, “Hang around here more and I’ll give you as many compliments as you want.”
“U-Uhm…” I started, a visceral feeling like a punch to the gut at the prospect of spending more time being uncomfortable on his couch. I was looking away, trying to drum up the courage to tell him what I’d been thinking all along.
Maybe we should take a break from seeing one another. I don’t think I’m ready for this.
I could say it. I just had to say it.
“A-Actually, I don’—mmph!”
I tried. I failed. The words were cut off before they ever came to fruition, silenced with the hard, rough lips of a man who was decidedly not Spencer.
Aside from my hands shooting up in the air between us, only to be crushed moments later against his chest, I froze. I felt absolutely paralyzed in my place smushed against the armrest.
My heart was pounding, but not at all like any time I’d been kissed before. It wasn’t trying to get closer to him. It was trying to run away. The adrenaline made me dizzy, but I couldn’t seem to make myself breathe.
For a moment, I thought it might be over, but then his tongue brushed against my lips at the same time his hand slid up my waist, and I’d had enough.
“Wait!” I yelled, shoving him as far back as my arms would take him and turning my head as far as I could to get away. I was finally able to breathe, but it didn’t make the shaking stop.
He was looking at me like he was annoyed I’d stopped him. My mouth was still tingling from the roughness of stubble and the sheer force that had been applied to it, but I still managed to say a few, pitiful words.
“S-Sorry, I, uh, I... I wasn’t expecting that.”
“We can do it again now that you know,” he offered.
I had quite literally never been less interested in kissing someone, though. Not after that.
“Sorry, I... I don’t think I want to do... that. Tonight,” I explained. Then, because I felt compelled in a way I’d never felt with Spencer, I repeated, “Sorry.”
Like it had been my fault that he kissed me without asking. Judging by the way he scoffed and ran an angry hand through his hair, I think he honestly felt that it was my fault somehow.
At least he managed a somewhat genuine laugh when he looked at me trembling on his couch. Although, in hindsight, I think that might’ve been worse.
“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said you take things slow.”
Not really so much, considering I had our professor’s fingers inside of me last week, I thought to myself. I almost felt proud of it, too, until I remembered how well that’d turned out.
“Nothing wrong with it,” he halfheartedly assured me, “I’m just surprised.”
I didn’t know why.
“Is it okay if we just... watch the rest of the movie?” I asked, sheepish and somehow sadder than I’d arrived.
He said, “Sure,” like he understood my apprehension, but he didn’t. He put his arm around me again and proved to me that he either didn’t notice or he didn’t care that it bothered me.
But I didn’t say anything. I just let myself feel like I’d deserved it.
By the time I got home, I was both exhausted and angry. There was no pinpointing the exact reason. It was just everything, all at once. It was the way I felt like I had to burn my skin to get rid of the way Kyle’s hands felt against my body. It was the inability to even chew on my lip because the pain reminded me of how it felt when he tried to kiss me.
I collapsed on my bed and broke into tears that I hadn’t even seen coming.
I missed Spencer. I missed him more than I thought was possible. Everything I could think of inexplicably tied back to him.
The more I recounted what had just happened, the more bitter and resentful I found myself becoming towards him. It was so unproductive, to try to hate a man I was clearly falling in love with. Assuming, that is, that I knew what love was.
Maybe I had been wrong about everything, after all. Maybe I was nothing but a conquest for a great actor. Maybe he was already done with me.
But I couldn’t make myself believe it, no matter how hard I tried. For every mean lie that I could tell about him, I had a memory that disproved it.
I could pretend like my experiences hadn’t been that different, with both him and Kyle being more interested in what I had to offer them than the soul behind the flesh.
But it would be a lie. Because Spencer never kissed me like Kyle had. Spencer never took without asking. He asked in excess, between every inch of newfound skin and every breath shared between us.
Spencer didn’t want to take me. He wanted to be with me, present in the moment together. He would never ridicule me for wanting to stop — he had always been the one to run first.
Maybe that was why. For the first time, I looked down at my own hands and realized that they had been dirtied; the exact same kind of desecration that Spencer had been worried he might cause to happen. I’d gone and gotten angry at him for the very same thing that Kyle had just done to me.
It wasn’t only Spencer’s fault that he’d gone further than he felt he was capable of. He’d tried to warn me over and over and over again. He’d pleaded to me, warned me every time he came close that he wasn’t capable of intimacy.
I’d become the foolish, naive little girl I tried to convince him that I wasn’t. I’d thrust him into a nightmare, and then blamed him when he wanted to wake up.
Spencer wasn’t evil, and neither was I. Truth be told, the only accurate conclusion I could settle on was that we were both incredibly stupid.
I finally understood why people always say love made you that way.
Just then, like the thunder perfectly timed for a few seconds after the lightning had flashed, my phone began to buzz. I saw it, but my body was frozen. It wasn’t until the thing had started to teeter off the edge of the nightstand before I grabbed it.
Then, it all happened so quickly. Without even looking at who it was, I answered. I closed my eyes tightly enough to see the kaleidoscope of colors that my romantic mind would try to convince me were rainbows.
I didn’t speak, but Spencer did.
“Bunny?” he called, and I hated the way it made my body relax for the first time in weeks. After a few seconds of thready breath, he repeated with even more desperation, “Bunny, please…”
It was enough to get my voice to work, although only barely.
“What do you want, Professor?”
I heard a weak chuckle that turned into a cough that I also felt in my chest. I felt like I was choking with him, trying to find the words I’d regret in the morning. I never did, though.
But while I was exhausted and depressed, Spencer was barely comprehensible in an entirely different way.
“Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice,” he slurred, only to repeat himself seconds later while stumbling over every single word. “It’s so good to— fuck.”
After I heard the distinct sound of crashing on the other end of the line, my heart sunk further than I thought possible.
“Are you drunk?”
I didn’t want to think about the other alternative. I could feel the memory of a token weighing down my pocket, and I prayed that he’d give me a straight answer.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. I almost got mad at him for it, too. I bit down on my fingernail and tried to talk myself down from crying more tears over him. I reminded myself that yelling at him now would only make it hurt more when the silence returned.
I think he knew that, too. I think that’s why he started to talk, but then stopped.
“I called to say that... that I’m...”
When he stalled, even just for a few seconds, my patience snapped and broke through my throat with all of the force I had left.
“What? You called to say that you’re what?”
“I’m sorry.”
And I stopped breathing. The words hit me harder than they healed, but I clung to the phone in a desperate attempt to have them longer. I knew I was growing lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, but it seemed like such a low priority at the time. I didn’t want to breathe and risk losing anything that followed.
“I never should’ve done that. Especially not to you, and I hate myself for... for not regretting what we did.”
Just those last six words brought life back into still lungs. That alone would have been enough for me, but he didn’t stop. The words flowed from him like a river breaking through a dam, and I wondered just how cataclysmic the damage would prove.
“Because I don’t. I don’t regret it at all, Bunny. I don’t regret hugging you, or touching you, or kissing you, or… I wanted you so fucking bad, and I just... I know it’s unfair for me to throw this all at you. You never asked to be a part of this mess. But… I don’t think you understand what you are to me.”
Tell me. I need to hear it; you need to say it.
“You are… terrifying. The way that you make me feel, it scares the absolute shit out of me,” he laughed. I could hear him covering his mouth to hide the sound, but his voice persisted past petty fingers. “You make me believe in things. Good things. Beautiful, wonderful things. You make me think that… that they’re possible for someone like me.”
The end of his ranting was punctuated by the warm, rhythmic dripping of saline onto skin. I glanced down at my hand as it shook against my chest. I watched the tears struggle to stay but fall away all the same.
“I’m so stupid, Bunny,” Spencer pleaded to what he’d probably figured was an empty line by now, “Please, forgive me.”
I thought about it. I considered forgiving him now, fully and freely and for the last time.
I thought about it, and then I answered:
“Okay,” he conceded immediately. He didn’t put up a single fight, even though I heard the heavy breathing associated with weeping. He tried to manage some clarity as he whispered, “I understand.”
But he didn’t understand what part I was objecting to. I wanted an apology — I wanted it more than anything — but I didn’t want it to be tainted with liquor and tears. I wanted him to mean it, and I wanted him to remember it so that next time, we could avoid the pain altogether.
“Tell me to my face,” I ordered, “If you’re really sorry, say it to me when you’re sober, and say it to my face.”
Spencer didn’t answer, but I heard his contemplation clearly. His breathing was becoming more regular, and I pictured all of the different places he could be. I wished I had more knowledge about his life so that I could picture myself there with him.
I wanted to be with him. I wanted to get in my car and find him, wherever he was, and ask him to tell me then. But it wouldn’t have worked. He would still be drunk, and I would never be able to believe him fully when he told me that he was sorry.
After a long silence, Spencer started to laugh that same bittersweet sound from before.
“I’ve never wanted to take care of something the way I want to do for you,” he muttered like I hadn’t meant to be able to hear. “My whole life, I thought I needed someone to fix me, but… I look at you and I just…”
What a strange concept, to think that he would want to be a protector. But then again, on second thought, it wasn’t that strange at all. He saw himself as the worst kind of villain, so it only makes sense that his idea of heroism would be to stay as far away from me as possible.
But, like me, he wasn’t able to stop himself. He fed off of the bliss I offered the same way I greedily took from him. I was so desperate for his affection that I stormed past his defenses, knowing that it was never his intention to hurt me. I trusted that he wanted to protect me, but I underestimated how far he was willing to go to do just that.
Spencer saw himself as a fallen angel, forever looking for redemption through the plucking of feathers and scales.
“Spencer…” I started, not thinking twice about the last time I’d used his name. Unable to stop myself from speaking with the adoration for the man that seeped from the cracks of a shattered heart that had been haphazardly forced back together.
“I don’t deserve you, Bunny, I hope you know that,” was his reply, quick and seemingly pulled from thin air, much like the rest of his ranting. But I suppose it hadn’t been random.
He’d looked into his heart and at empty hands and gave me the only thing he could. The truth of how he felt, unfiltered and likely regrettable.
It felt wrong, to hear him pour his heart out to me knowing that he wasn’t in his right mind. I didn’t want to take advantage of that. I’d already taken enough from him.
“Are you okay? Are you safe?” I asked, biting my tongue between questions to try and stave off some of the tears.
“Yeah, I’m home.”
Relief flooded me for approximately five seconds before he spoke again.
“Candy’s probably pissed. I left our date early, but...”
If his apology from before had been a punch, that revelation was like a freight train. The wind was knocked out of me so fast, I felt like the world had entirely stopped spinning. I waited for some explanation, some second apology that I realized wasn’t coming.
“Y-You went on a date with Professor Hawkin?”
Was I not enough?
“Yeah,” he answered with a solemn drone, “Yeah, I did.”
Any tears I might’ve prevented returned in full force, with no attempts at stopping them anymore. I pulled my knees up to my chest like they might make the sickness stop. Like they would ever be able to provide the comfort I sought.
I started to question myself again, to try to theorize all the possibilities of varying levels of pain, but then I stopped. I shoved my ego to the side and risked the chance of getting hurt again so that I would know the truth.
“Why would you do that?”
Why would you do that to me?
I’d expected hesitancy or stuttering, but there was none. Spencer answered honestly, and without any need to think over his answer. I suspect he’d spent much of the night thinking it over before he’d called me in the first place.
“I wanted to forget you, but... I couldn’t.”
Maybe it was all a lie. A well-crafted feigned humility. But it was enough to dull the aching in my chest, and for that, I was grateful. Although his mercy was short lived, worsened quickly by his inability to just shut himself up before he dealt the final blow to an already broken heart.
“When I tried to kiss her, I just wanted her to be you.”
Images of the two of them together filled my mind before I could stop them. I pictured the way she must have felt to be even granted the opportunity to take any part of him away from me, the stupid little girl she seemed to despise for merely existing. Then, some darker, resentful part of me resurfaced, taking a sick, twisted joy out of the fact she’d been rejected.
That she’d had the thing she wanted most dangled in front of her, and he still chose me. That I stood in her way, no matter how far or how frustrated I remained. Even as I sat alone, I was joined by the miserable company of at least two others.
I wanted to be happy that Spencer was hurting alongside me. I wanted to be able to be angry and ruthless as he’d seemed so capable of being.
But when I heard the sniffles come through the line, I knew I could never find it in my heart to want him to be hurt again. No matter how badly he’d hurt me, I wanted him to be okay.
He’d suffered enough for one lifetime.
With a delirious, almost dreamlike quality, Spencer’s voice filled my ears with a sickening hope and self-hatred that almost drowned out the sentiment behind the words, “Will I ever get to kiss you again?”
I let out a deep breath instead of an answer. I forced myself to stop, to let him go now, before I said something to ruin the progress we’d already made.
“Go to sleep, Professor,” I said instead. “Drink lots of water first. And no Tylenol, okay? I want you to be safe and sound for my apology. You got that?”
I thought that would be the end. I thought he’d exhausted any confessions and tore out my heart enough for the night.
But Spencer wasn’t done yet, it seemed. He let out a deep breath just as I had, and with it came a statement so oddly melancholic and euphoric at the same time. I could picture his smile as he said it, saturnine, satisfied, and sure.  
“I’m falling in love with you so quickly,” he said, “I don’t know what I’m meant to do without my heart.”
Unable to think of anything else to say, I told him my version of the same truth.
“I’m familiar with the feeling.”
Just like that, I felt one heartbeat less in my chest. But I’d lost nothing. I’d simply redistributed the suffering and the joy back to equilibrium. I hadn’t given Spencer back his heart; I’d simply returned mine to him in exchange.
“Goodnight, Professor,” I said with as much finality as I could muster.
He accepted both offers, both the embrace and escape, with grace.
“Goodnight, Bunny.”
He waited. He made me be the one to end the call, which I did after holding onto hope for a few more seconds. I listened to his steady, shallow breathing and contemplated waiting until I could be certain that he was asleep. But I decided that I was in no shape to be looking after him in that moment, and that he was better off with the both of us getting some much needed rest.
As soon as the static ended, I curled up into a ball on my bed and wept along with him, wherever he had been. I held myself the way I wished he could hold me, and I wondered if he’d ever find the courage to repeat those words again. I thought to myself how it hurt so much worse to know that he was falling in love with me but couldn’t find it in himself to grant me that love.
I felt an unending rage against every person who’d ever made him feel like he didn’t deserve someone who wanted him as badly as I did, and I prayed so fucking hard that he wouldn’t do the same to me.
| Part Thirteen |
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writing-my-mind-off · a month ago
The Dove and the Agent (Chapter 9)
Summary: As one of the girls in Dove´s dorm commits suicide, she feels like something´s not quite right about it. As she tells her professor, Dr. Spencer Reid, he has a hard time believing her.
Pairing: professor!Reid x Original fem!Character
Also to read on AO3 and Wattpad
TW: SLOWBURN, sugar daddy/sugar baby, CANONTYPICAL VIOLENCE,
✨Click here for chapter eight✨
🦋click here for the Masterlist🦋
✨click here for the soundtrack✨
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“I can't give you a sure-fire formula for success, but I can give you a formula for failure: try to please everybody all the time.”
― Herbert Bayard Swope
When they landed in Miami, the first thing Dove could think of was how hot it was compared with Quantico. On the way to their hotel she had already regretted her choice of a dark blue jean and a dark green tightfitting turtleneck. Back home she thought she looked cute, but now she just felt like she was going to melt like the wicked witch of the east.
 In her hotel room, which she shared with Tara, Dove quickly got rid of her clothes and changed into some light blue, distressed mom jeans, held at her waist with a dark brown belt and a tucked in, grey camisole tank top. Her boots she exchanged for black converse. When she came down into the lobby Spencer already waited for her. She smiled a little as she saw him standing there in his black shirt, sleeves rolled up and matching black pants, professional as always, but it was the first time she saw him without a tie.
 „Hi.“, she greeted him.
„Hi. Do you have something to take notes with?“, she quickly nodded, patting her brown faux-leather messenger bag. „Good.“, he eyed her up and down.
„Warm, huh? Do you want to drive to the Club with me or go to the last crime scene with Luke?“, Dove shrugged.
“I- I don´t know.”, he nodded and signaled her to follow him.
 The drive to the club was silent. Spencer tried to focus on the streets, not having driven for a while now. When they parked and took the elevator up to the Club he finally found words to say.
„Stay by my side, okay? No running off and playing agent. Try to keep a low profile.“
 Dove nodded and Spencer couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t able to talk normally to her again. The Club had an amazing view over the city, a lot of young women were skinny dipping in the pool, while older men were watching them, smoking cigars. Spencer walked up to the bar, Dove behind him. He told one of the barkeepers he needed to talk to the owner, while showing them his badge. The barkeeper nodded and told them to wait a few minutes.
 Dove sighed and sat on a barstool. A second bartender showed up, handing her a drink, pointing at a man on the other side of the big bar. The man grinned and winked at her, making Dove politely smile at him.
 „This is uncomfortable.“, she stated while taking a sip of the drink. Spencer took it from her and put it away.
„No alcohol on the job.“, Dove threw her hands in the air.
„Sorry! I was just trying to keep a low profile.“, she put her hands on the table and started to move her fingertips pretending to play piano. Spencer recognized the movement of her fingers and grinned.
„Beethoven? Here? Isn’t that a little too formal for this place?“, she giggled, making his heart skip a beat.
„I think it balances out the naked girls over at the pool.“, Spencer looked over to the pool and back to Dove.
„They’re all around your age. Care making friends?“, he handed her the drink, the white-blonde girl wheezed.
„No thanks. They wouldn’t like me, I am wearing too much. I rather stay here and play bar-piano.“, he leaned closer to her, a little startled when she looked at him and he realized how close he was to her.
„It would be useful though. Getting insider information. I promise I’ll be there if you need me.“, she nodded a little insecure.
 Dove took a deep breath and emptied her drink in one go.  „Here goes nothing.“
 Spencer watched her walking over to the girls, sitting on the couch with them starting to talk. Compared to them she looked like a petit porcelain doll, her white curls reflecting in the sunlight. Then somebody touched his shoulder and Spencer turned around.
 His relaxed mood was replaced with anger when he looked at his father’s face.
„You’ve got to be kidding me.“, he said to himself and William looked at him with a smile.
„I thought it was you! What a coincidence.“, Spencer sighed.
„Do I even wanna know what you’re doing here?“, his father ordered two whisky handing one to him.
„Probably the same as you, son. Tell me, what’s new in your life?“ Spencer shook his curly head.
„Not that you would even care, but I was in prison. What’s weird however is that the fact that you thinking we have something in common is stressing me out more than that.“, William looked at him shocked.
„Why didn’t you call me? You know I’m a lawyer I..“
„I don’t need you or your help.“, Spencer interrupted him.
“Excuse me?”, Spencer turned around. Dove came back and was held by the shoulder by a large man, wearing a security shirt.
 „Is that yours?“, Spencer nodded confused and Dove looked at him pouting. „Better keep her on a leash.“, the Security guard shook his head and walked away.
„What happened?“, Spencer looked at her worried.
„I punched a guy.“, Dove was still pouting.
„What? Why? I looked away for five seconds. I should really keep you on a leash.“, he said in a mixture of sarcasm and annoyance, she shrugged.
„He touched my butt, so I broke his nose.“, Spencer looked over to the pool, where she had sat before, trying to find the man and giving him a piece of his mind.
„Where is that guy?“, she shook her head.
„I don’t know.”
 He turned to her, lifted her up to sit her on a barstool and pushed a curl behind her ear.
“You´re okay though, right?”, she shrugged.
“I thinks so and his nose was bleeding…so…I think we’re even.“
 Spencer noticed his father looking at Dove and hated it.
 „Dove that’s…William Reid.“, she shook his hand, looking between the men.
„Reid?“, William grinned.
„I’m Spencer’s father. You must be his Sugar Baby then?“, Dove shock her head and watched Spencer’s jaw to tense.
„N-No he´s- we´re co-workers.“, she tried explaining and William nodded. „A strange place to go with a…co-worker, Spencer.“, Spencer wheezed sarcastically.
„Says the guy looking for a girl not even half his sons age. Your morals are questionable.“
 The Barkeeper from earlier came back with a large dark haired man next to him. The man reached his hand out to Spencer.
 „Dima Romanova. You wanted to talk? As you can see, we are a legal business. The only crime is that our women are too beautiful.“, he spoke with a thick Russian accent and winked at Dove who tried not to grimace her face.
“That´s my colleague Agent Wallace. I advise you to show some respect.”, Spencer continued to talk to the owner in perfect russian, making Doves eyes open wide in surprise. He then looked at her.
“I´m going to his office, I´ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”, Dove nodded and Spencer pointed at his father. “If you touch her, I´ll break your fingers.”
He left them, looking back at her a few times, to check if she´s okay.
 “May I?”, William pointed at the bar, wanting to buy Dove a drink.
“No thanks. I´m not allowed to drink on the job.”, he nodded emptying his glass.
“So, how long are you both been working together?”, he sat on the barstool next to her.
“Not that long, that´s my first case, technically Spencer is my college Professor.”, William nodded.
“I seem to have missed a lot. Like him being imprisoned. I can´t even imagine what he went through…I´m a terrible father. He thinks I don´t know that, but trust me…I do.”, Dove swallowed hard.
 She had no idea Spencer had been in prison. Why? It had to have been a mistake, there was no chance he was a criminal. He wasn´t like that, the FBI wouldn´t have kept him. However, he also was a professor. Was that because of him being in prison?
She shook her head a little, till now she didn’t realize how little she knew about this man.
When she felt Williams sad look on her, she smiled at him.
 “My dad left for Europe when I was a few months old and we still don’t know where he is. So you´re not the worst.”, he chuckled at her comment.
“That´s a relief. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking? You seems a little young for the FBI.”
“I´m twenty-one.”, he nodded ordering another glass of whiskey.
“So you´re a genius, like Spencer.” , she shook her head.
“I´m not that smart. But above average.”, William pulled his leather wallet out and paid for his drink.
“Is he always that serious?”, Dove nodded.
“He used to be a very special kid. Even as an adult he was special.”, he opened his wallet taking out a little photo of an eight-year-old Spencer and his Mother, handing it to Dove. “He always wore mismatched socks. I think my mother-in-law or someone from Diana´s family told him that it brings you good luck to do so. The one day he wore matching once, he fell down the stairs. He never made that mistake again. Even as an adult he wears mismatched once.”, he laughed a little and pulled out a folded paper, it was a newspaper article having Spencer on it. Dove couldn’t help herself but laugh.
 “Oh my god, how old was he there?”, William looked at it.
“About twenty-six, I think.”, she took the piece of paper looking at it closer.
“A Baby! He looks like he knew what sleep was back then. So cute!”, she handed William his photos back. “So you´re keeping them by you all the time?”, he sighed as he put them away.
“It makes me feel like I´m not a total loser. He is probably the best thing that ever came from me.”
 Dove thought a little to herself. William clearly loved Spencer. She didn´t know what happened between them, but Spencer wouldn´t want his father to get hurt. Even if his pride forbit him from ever admitting it.
 “William?”, he looked at her. “You´re looking for a Sugar Baby, right?”, he quickly shook his head.
“I- I am flustered but Spencer would probably kill me, he seems to like you ver-“
“That´s not what I meant!”, she quickly interrupted him, making him sigh in relief. “I´m probably getting in trouble for that, but don´t take anybody home. We have a case here and we suspect one of the women here to be hunting down Sugar Daddies.”, he looked at her shocked.
“Wow. Okay? Thank you.”, Dove quickly wrote on Williams bill.
“That´s my number. If you´re here and something goes wrong or you feel like the woman you´re with could be dangerous, please call me. Okay?”,  William nodded.
“I guess that stays our secret, right?”, he asked, looking at Spencer who was walking up to them. “Spencer would kill me if he knew.”, she grinned at him.
“Then my lips are sealed.”, William answered winking at her in a joking manner.
 When Spencer reached the bar he scanned them both.
 “Everything alright?”, he asked Dove and she nodded.
“Yup. Something new?”, he sighed.
“I´ve got half of the security footage from the last five weeks for Penelope, but that’s it.”, she raised her eyebrows.
“They didn’t record everything, since…let’s just say the skinny dipping is the most innocent thing here.”, she nodded and then made big eyes, having registered what he meant.
“Oh! Okay. Uhmm…and now?”
“Now we come back tonight and play along.”, the white-blonde grimaced her face.
“Ew.”, he chuckled.
“Not like that. We sit at the bar and watch for anything suspicious. We know from the time of the victims deaths that the UnSub hunts at night. So me, Luke and Rossi gonna play bait.”, Dove nodded.
“Am I allowed to come too?”
“I- I don’t know…You’re a little too young and…”, William leaned over, having listened to their conversation the whole time.
“I think he´s scared you might not be able to work, by the amount of admirers you´d get.”, Spencer looked annoyed at his father. “Me? That´s radicicolous.” “You look like a porcelain doll. I don’t even wanna know how these men would fetishize you. It´s enough that one of this creeps already tried touching you.”, Spencer blurted out, looking a little disgusted by the thoughts that came up.
“Ew. Good point. I´m gonna stay in the hotel.”
“You can read your book.”, the tall one gave her a pretty smile and she started to frown.
“Oh…yeah.”, she answered not really excited.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”, Spencer said in a playfully hurt manner.
“I- It´s…okay. I- no…not really. I´d rather read something else from the list.”
“You know you still have to read it though, right?”, she nodded, curling her lips.
“Yeah.”, Spencer looked at his buzzing phone.
“Okay, little bird. Time to leave. Emily is waiting for us at the police station.”
 Dove nodded and got up. She said goodbye to William and then walked to the elevator.
 “Maybe we see each other again, Spencer.”, William told him almost hopeful.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t bet on that.”, he gave back cold, making his father chuckle. “What?”
“At least I now know that we both have a thing for blondes.”
 Spencer shook his head and made his way to Dove, his hand on her back as if it would shield her from any type of looks from men.
 At the police station they had already started writing everything they knew about the case on one of their whiteboard, while Spencer had allowed Dove to create a folder the way she did with Miller. So she sat there cross-legged on a chair by the table and played with a bunch of sticky notes.
 “Do you know what I just realized?”
“Hmm?”, he turned around to her. “Those murders needed to have happened really quickly.”
“What do you mean?”, Spencer walked up to her, leaning down, over her shoulder, to look at her notes.
“From Penelope we know, that the men always left around four in the morning. At seven the cleaning ladies always found the victims. That´s only three hours.”
“Well it´s manageable.”, she began pointing on her written timeline.
“Yeah, but from Luke we know that most of the valuables were taken, like watches and stuff and they drank the bottle of alcohol that was on the table. So that takes a lot of time. Plus they needed to get there first and erased all of the evidence of them being there.”
“You have a point.” “Of course I do. I´m smart.”, she grinned up to him, making Spencer look down at her. “And a little cocky.”, he hissed and sat on a chair next to Dove holding his right shoulder.
“You okay?”, Spencer quickly nodded.
“I think I just pulled a muscle.”
“Just now?”, he nodded.
“C-Can I?”
 Dove didn’t wait for an answer and just got up, walking behind Spencer’s chair and touching his shoulder area, massaging it. At first he tensed up even more because…touching…by another human. But he began to relax, realizing her touches helped with the pain.
 “I think that´s because of stress. Maybe because we met you dad?”
“Did you just profile me?”, he chuckled.
“Accidentally.”, she pushed a little harder into one point of his shoulder, he shortly winced in paint but quickly became calmer. “Is that better?”, she asked letting go of him, sitting back on her chair.
“Yeah, what did you do?”, he moved his neck and shoulder a bit in surprise, somehow feeling himself missing her touches.
“Pressure point by your shoulder. I get those tensons when I spend too much time with my family, due to my anxiety. You have anxiety too or are you just easily stressed?”
“I- PTSD. But thank you.”
 She waved him off and wrote on her sticky notes again. He stayed next to her, wanting to talk a little more to her, but not knowing what to say. When he heard her stomach growl he looked at her.
 “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t remember…Oh, no wait! I had breakfast with Penelope. Leftovers from yesterday.”
“You seem to be spending a lot of time together.”, Dove smiled. “Well, it´s not like you were talking to me a lot lately. Plus, I…kinda live with her right now.”, her voice got a little hesitant to the end, as if she didn’t know if she should tell him this.
“I know I wanted to- Wait. What do you mean with, you live with her?”, Spencer looked at her confused.
“I got kicked out of the dorm two weeks ago, because of the distance learning thing. They said I have no reason to be on campus anymore…”
“And your parents?”, Spencer started to frown.
“Told me I have a job, I should just get an apartment. So now I am waiting for my next paychecks so I can afford the deposit, hopefully in a part of DC where I don’t get stabbed at night.”, she smiled her perfect fake smile, only her voice showing signs of worry.
“I don’t really know what to say…”, at least nothing nice about her family, he thought. Dove shrugged. “Same. I know, they didn’t really think this through and now I´m kinda homeless for a while…But I like Penelope´s couch. And I like Penelope.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me-“, she looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Because you decided to hate me a few weeks ago, remember?”
“I don’t hate you.”, he whispered with a guilty tone. “Well you obviously don’t like me either so….”
“Sorry.”, he blurted out.
“I´m sorry.”, he said a little louder.
“What? Your talking really quietly.”, she leaned closer.
“I said I am sorry!”
 He almost yelled, making Emily look at them through the glass wall of the conference room. Dove giggled.
 “I know, I got it the first time around. Just thought I deserve to hear it a couple times more.”, he chuckled. “What did I do to upset you like that? JJ said you´re just really stubborn, but I think there´s more.”, Oh, what should he tell her? He couldn’t just let her in on his thoughts.
“I- It was a lot of unnecessary pressure your family decided to put me under, without even asking.”, she nodded understanding. “Yeah, they kinda like to do that. Sorry.”, she smiled apologetic.
“Not your fault.”, she shrugged. “We should get something to eat.”
“But my-“, she looked at her folder but Spencer already walked to the door.
“We´ll come back and you finish it later. Common.”
They sat down at a little diner near the police station. Spencer had ordered himself coffee and a burger, Dove had soda and salad. The waitress brought their orders and they began eating. After a while they started to conduct in small talk, with Dove telling him she didn’t like coffee.
 “Blasphemy.”, he answered her, making her giggle. “What else do you hate, infidel?”
“I also don’t like paperback books. They really annoy me. I always go for the hardcover option when I have the choice.”
“That is a choice I completely understand.”, she thought a little.
“Professor?” “Mhm?”, he took a sip of his coffee.
“How is this undercover thing going to go tonight?”
“Well, it´s basically going just us going there and waiting for the UnSub to approach us or doing something that draws attention to them.”, she frowned.
“And what if the UnSub gets interested in you and tries to lure you away?”
“Then I´m gonna play along. We´ll all be in contact with each other, in case the situation gets heated.”
“And if they try to kill you?”
“They won´t get that far.”, he shrugged.
“How do you know?”
“I trust myself and our team enough to know.”
 Dove´s eyes scanned Spencer making chuckle.
 “Stop profiling me, Dove. It´s gonna be okay. Not my first rodeo.”
“Do you think they gonna show up today?”, she took a fork full of her salad. “Hard to say.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”, Spencer looked at her while eating a fry. “I- I guess.”, he answered nervously. “You said you have PTSD and-“, he quickly shook his head and interrupted her. “I am not going to tell you about-“, her eyes widened and she quickly looked away, poking her salad with her fork. “N-No…I- I just wanted to ask…how it shows.” “How it shows?” “The symptoms.”, she still didn’t look up.
“Technically they are different for everyone. They´re generally grouped into four types: intrusive memories, avoidance, negative changes in thinking and mood, and changes in physical and emotional reactions.”
 Why did she want to know?
 “I- I know that, I read about it. I- I just- Never mind.”; she put on her fake smile, Spencer hated so much, as she looked at him again. “How´s your burger?”, she seemed uncomfortable so he let her change the subject.
“Good. How´s your salad?”, she shrugged. “Healthy…So…the next book on my reading list is ‘Lolita’?”, Spencer nodded. “Yes. Very interesting. A book from the view of the villain. Vladimir Nabokov called it his declaration of love for the English language. So it´s gonna be good for your development and understanding of psychology, sociology and literature.” “Isn´t there a movie too?”, he gave her a stern look. “Don’t you dare watching the movie before you read the book.”, she threw her hands in the air in defeat. “Okay! Sorry. Movies are most of the time worse than the books anyways.”
“Maybe, once you read it, we can watch the movie. Seeking for differences and mistakes.”, he offered, happy that he had become confident enough to talk to her again, the way he used to.
 “Sure. Hey…did you speak Russian with the owner of the club?, Spencer nodded. “Cool.”
“Your pronunciation of ‘Sakhar’ back in Quantico was horrific by the way.” “I guessed so.”, she giggled. “It´s ‘Sakhar’.”, Dove tried mimicking it but ended up making noises that sounded like a growling cat. Spencer laughed and she shrugged.
“At least I speak German.” “German? Me too. I mean not as perfect as Russian but still fluent at understanding and reading.” “Nerd. My grandma on my mother’s side is German. Not so nice that lady, but that runs in the family and isn’t really related to heritage so…”
“Family is hard, huh?”, she nodded. “I think it´s supposed to be hard so you learn to appreciate it ones you have your own.” “Maybe…”, he answered, feeling bad for her. “Do you have somebody? I- I´m sorry if that’s to personal. I- I just thought because you live alone and I never heard you talking about anybody…”, he waved her off. “Working for the BAU makes dating a little hard. And I´ve learned that women don’t like it when they are constantly profiled.” “Which is a shame, since its way easier understanding the other, when you know how to read them.”, he agreed. “Exactly. And our job makes it natural for us to do so. Taking you as example, you´re in this job for a month now and you already profile me.” “It´s easier then talking to you…Not like I don’t like talking to you, but it´s hard knowing what´s going inside your head.”, she started to become nervous and he understood. Spencer sometimes looked rather…intimidating. “I am really sorry. I- I am difficult.”, he answered honestly.
“At least you´re a good teacher.”, she gave him a happy smile.
“I think you´re a good student. Honestly. Also, you´re gonna make a good agent.”
 Spencer felt like he needed to tell her that, since the last time they really talked he had had outburst of emotions. Telling her she didn’t deserve to be here, which was false of him. She was smart and really seemed to put a lot of effort into her job and school.
“Thank you…”, she giggled. “Given that I am your only student you teach like that, does that make me your teacher´s pet?” “Teacher´s bird.”, he snickered, taking a bite from his burger. “It´s also not that hard to be my favorite student when you´re already a month ahead of your school work.”, she nodded. “I didn’t know that you have an IQ of 126.”
“You sound surprised.” “Well, don’t get me wrong, I thought you are smart, but didn’t think you would be that smart.”, he watched her finish her salad. “Lots of expectations on you, huh?”
 She grinned at him and quietly began to sing, making him laugh, although he didn’t know the song.
 “High achiever, don't you see?
Baby, nothing comes for free
They say I'm a control freak
Driven by a greed to succeed…sorry, couldn’t help it.”
“High achiever through free will or your parents?”, she raised her eyebrows. “What was that again, with women not liking when you profile them, professor?”
“You just gave me all the answers I needed.”, she chuckled sarcastically.
“Given that you´ve seen me around my family, you probably already know a lot about me, right?”, he nodded. “Sounds like we need to order some desserts to cope.”, Spencer pushed his plate with fries in the middle of the table.
“Help me finish my fries first. Else I´m gonna sit here for another hour.”, he joked and she took one.
“Sure. It´s faster with two peop- Oh my god!”, she looked at him with big eyes. He kinds liked that look on her face, as if the cogs in her head were turning really fast processing some information.
“Two people, being quicker?”, he frowned. “You don’t think-“ “We´re looking for a duo. That´s the only way they were fast enough.”, he quickly put some money on the table. “One to lure the men in and keep them busy, the other checks out the location and were the valuables are! After the kill they clean up together.”
 They jumped up, grabbed their things and walked to the police station.
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subspencer · a month ago
preview of perv!professor Reid fic
a/n: i still haven't titled it lol so any suggestions are welcome! this will be fem!reader and there is no dom/sub dynamic involved. i got overexcited so here's 250 words of the story.
It feels like her hemlines keep getting shorter, her sweaters tighter. At one point he discovered that she stopped wearing bras under her tops because he can see her nipples right through the fabric when they get hard. It leaves him wondering what else she might not be wearing.
And he knows it’s probably a figment of his imagination, but he wants to believe that she does it for him.
The idea that she knows his secrets added a twisted little element to it. Like she dresses this slutty on purpose because she knows what it does to him. Because he figures that even if she doesn’t want him, she wants to play this silent game just to see what he’ll do next.
The only thing is that there’s nothing more he can do without losing the last ounce of dignity he has. He’s already getting himself off on thoughts of her when he’s at home, and now he’s doing it in his office, right after she leaves. Barely able to wait until she walks out the door.
In an ideal world, she’d catch him in the act. Realize she forgot her pen or that she had one more question to ask and walk back in at just the right moment, while he’s hard and moaning out her name.
Either she’d look at him in disgust or in some weird way she’d find it flattering, and he doesn’t even care at this point because he just wants her to know.
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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 11)
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| Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen |
Summary: Bunny gets paired with a familiar face at volunteering, and Spencer meets a colleague on a date. A/N: You just have to get through this one last one, I promise. I promise things will get better soon 😅 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Embarrassment, arguments, yelling, death penalty mention/semi-canon consistent character death (Cat)   Word Count: 7.4k
Our minds remember things in very mysterious ways. Although there is surely a science to the transmission of signals through synapses, I am forever amazed at the human mind’s ability to connect the most inane, commonplace objects to memories that had no business being recalled on an early Thursday afternoon.
This is all to say that, while I tried to comfort myself in the absence of my normal muse, I had come to an odd, but understandable conclusion.
I needed to buy a new chair.
I hadn’t seen her in a week, and I knew I probably wouldn’t be seeing her again anytime soon. But each incessant creaking of plastic and scraping of metal was driving me insane. I couldn’t replace the desk where she’d sat, but I could at least buy myself something new to hopefully dull the vibrant memories of her.
But, as I recalled the other memories, those that were purely beautiful and good and not at all tainted, I found myself hating that I’d ever thought to try to rid myself of her. I could see her struggling with plastic utensils as she rocked in my seat, speaking passionately about one of her many talents.
Her laughter still covered the walls. Sometimes, I swore I could still smell her perfume when I watched her seat carefully enough. It reminded me of the way it felt for her to bounce in my arms, pressing her cheek against me and hoping to leave an impression that would be remembered.
She had. She was a little too good at it, really.
The curtains and the blinds hadn’t been opened again since that morning, but the lights still felt bright to bleary eyes. My mind hadn’t let me sleep, and I thought that it had been quite right to spare me the suffering of reliving those moments.
It wasn’t even because I thought the downfall would be painful — I relived that perfectly fine while awake. It was everything before. It was the softness and vulnerability when I was between her legs. It was the way she called my name without any hesitation, clinging to me and kissing me with unpracticed lips.
I could handle the hatred that came with hurting her, but I couldn’t suffer through the memory of loving her.
Yet there her ghost sat in front of me, with her hands holding down her skirt as she kicked her feet and waited for me to come hold her again. She lingered, lustful and lovely, as if I’d never hurt her at all.
Maybe I did need a new desk, after all.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Come in,” I called, never once looking away from the mirage created by an exhausted mind. I knew she wasn’t the one at the door, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the memory just yet.
But then I was torn out of my reverie by a voice that I hadn’t heard in some time.
“Hi, Professor Reid!” she called, but it wasn’t what I heard; the words had been overshadowed by a different memory.
‘Yeah, right. He would never be interested in someone like her.’
With hands immediately balled in fists but hidden beneath the desk, I answered as happily as I could, “Hello Miss Fletcher, I’m surprised to see you here. I figured your first office hours experience had scared you away for good.”
I might have been a little harsh on her then, but I had felt it was necessary. Considering she insisted on meeting with me one-on-one, and I was not at all interested in the childlike flaunting she attempted. To be fair, my comments on her work weren’t anything that I wouldn’t have said if she hadn’t been subtly dropping clues that she wanted something else. I just would have been more… gentle about it had she not insulted my Bunny.
I really needed to stop calling her that.
A nervous laugh and a twirl of her skirt later, the young girl in my office sauntered forward as she whispered, “Yeah, you are a bit intimidating.”
A ridiculous notion.
“You might be the first person to tell me that,” I said, but it seemed my words were a bit premature.
She had only been waiting to know that she caught my full attention before she drawled, “And, you know, I usually just ask the TA for help.”
Say her name, I dared her with my stare. Speak ill of her again and see what happens.
“Right,” was all I said aloud. Judging by the frustration in her eyes and the flushing in her neck, I think she still understood the point.
Nevertheless, she continued.
“But she hasn’t been around lately…”
“Yeah, she sends her apologies. She hasn’t been feeling well, so she’s taking some time off. It’s midterms for her, as well.”
My patience was wearing thin. Not only because I knew that she didn’t have a single care in the world for the flower that was missing from my office, but because the truly pitiful girl was such a horrendous liar.
I could see what she wanted so clearly, even if I hadn’t heard her discussing it outright. Before Bunny, I might have been somewhat flattered (although still very uncomfortable and slightly ashamed) by her attention. But the way she spoke and stalked closer to me like she was something I desired, the angrier I became.
“Uh huh…” she mumbled from only a couple feet away from my chair, “What’d you do to your hand?”
I looked down at the bandages covering my knuckles, and I remembered something else in only vague, fuzzy outlines. I heard the chime of broken glass and the soft silence as I swept it away.
“Nothing,” I decided, “I was being careless, and I hurt myself.”
She was too close. She was somewhere I didn’t want her to be but I was too tired to urge her away from. She had her hand over an open flame with a can of gasoline precariously hanging above it. Then, without a care in the world for the way it would burn, she dumped fuel to the fire and stepped forward again.
“I could kiss it better if you want.”
Choking on toxic black smoke of misjudging perceptions of my decency, I barely managed to drone a bored response.
“… That’s alright. Probably best not to expose each other to germs.”
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what she had been doing, and I was trying to give her the opportunity to tuck her tail between her legs and return to the fantasy she’d seemed to be living in.
“Well, it’s just that I heard that was part of her job, and she’s not here,” she cheekily chuckled. As if it were a joke.
But that was precisely the thing she was missing. Even had my Bunny been what she’d suggested, it certainly did not mean that I wanted this girl. I had known enough young women like her to know the depths of their insecurity and suffering. The bitterness that seeped from them, soaking the hands of others until she was all that remained.
I wasn’t interested. But even more than I wasn’t interested, I was furious.
“She did nothing of the sort, and I don’t appreciate the implication,” I snapped just a little too sharply.
Women like her were good at recognizing a wounded pride. They fed off of it like scavengers that sought out prey whose heart was still beating just enough for them to feel it when it ceased.
I thought of Candy, and how she’d probably been one of those girls once upon a time. I wondered if that was really all that was left for me.
“Fine, she didn’t. But I still could,” the girl interrupted, and I sighed at the sound. If she’d had any idea of the thoughts raging on in my mind, she would have known to stop poking the bear. Or at the very least, she wouldn’t be surprised when it sunk its teeth into her without any hint of mercy.
A small, quiet voice broke through the sound. A conscience that sounded a lot like Bunny. It urged me to be patient, to look at the girl and see that she was hurting like I was. Granted, she was demonstrating her hurt in a way that was very incompatible and unhelpful to my own, but she was just a young girl at the end of the day.
I wanted to be understanding. I wanted to tell her that she was better than this, and that other men might not be as kind as I had been trying to be.
But then she spoke again, with an unparalleled confidence that told me she was too far gone for anything I could help with at the moment.
“I could kiss a lot more than your hand, too,” she said.
“Get out of my office,” was my tired reply.
She didn’t accept it, as I knew she wouldn’t.
“I bet I could do it better than her, too.”
My stomach twisted in knots, the little flower on my desk fading from view but her voice still ringing loud in my head. The sheer foolishness — the outright lunacy that she must have had to think herself comparable to my darling Bunny turned my vision red like the blood splattered glass.
I saw only regret. I spoke much the same.
“Miss Fletcher—“
“Why are you acting like you’re above this?” she scoffed, her feet carrying her closer despite my eyes ordering her to stop.  
If only she had seen the destruction in my wake. The forests sprouted from Persephone’s lust torched and turned to scattered dust that would ensure nothing grew in their memory. The cotton turned into decrepit, iron-laced drapery for my self-hatred.
“Is it just because I’m not her?” she asked, and my mind screamed back, Yes.
You will never be anything like her.
You are too much like me. You, like me, are already broken.
I looked at the girl in front of me, angry with the answer provided and only moving closer. Trapping me between walls that had also had no give. Backed into a corner with no other escape than forcing my way forward, I did the only thing I could think to do.
“Get out of my office before I call security and your fucking parents!” I shouted, but it had no apparent effect other than increasing her volume, as well.
“Because if that’s really all it is, feel free to call me whatever you want,” she taunted before she laughed, “Like maybe… Bunny?”
My voice came out raw and laced with bile, unforgiving and incapable of defiance. Even for her.
“Get out!”
That childish facade of adulthood faded so quickly. In a matter of seconds, she’d lost any hope of the fantasy she’d convinced herself was attainable. Her eyes were burning into me and her mouth curled in a familiar heartbroken disgust.
“Fine!” she choked, and for a split second I almost felt bad to cause her tears. But then reality crept back into focus, and I realized that she wasn’t my Bunny, and her tears meant nothing to me.
“Enjoy being alone, then, asshole!” she cried.
Like I’d had any other choice.
Spencer Reid was not my first heartbreak. Contrary to his fervently held belief, I had encountered bad things before him. I had survived them, and I had always come through it determined to learn from both my mistakes and those made by others.
But the lesson here wasn’t as simple as they usually were. I couldn’t call my friends or family and explain the depth of my hurt. My friends had obviously guessed that something had happened, considering I stopped showing up for classes.
The holiday was both well timed and unfortunate. It was hard to find any reason to be thankful when I still felt an emptiness in my heart. The kind that couldn’t easily be filled with sheer willpower.
There was no one for me to explain Spencer to, because I was convinced that no one would be able to understand. They wouldn’t know what I meant when I said that I felt his heart still beating in my chest alongside my own. They wouldn’t see the tortured eyes of a kind man trying to be bad to protect himself from the pain he associated with attempts at being happy.
They would see a monster where I saw a man, capable of fault and desperately begging for someone to show him the love that he’d only ever encountered in dreams.
I thought that I was alone in the world; the only one who was willing to take on a heavy burden for the beauty that would accompany it. But it seemed that Spencer’s sadness wasn’t the only thing that had rubbed off on me. The arrogance had come with it. Fate wanted to remind me — rather rudely, might I add — that I had not been the only woman who had been subjected to the wrath wrapped around Spencer’s heart.
Because when I finally made it to my station for the volunteering event, I was met by a familiar face. One framed with blonde locks like haloed light and brown eyes still burning with rage at the absolute audacity of the universe.
The woman named Max simply stared at me until I spoke.
“Oh... hey,” I muttered.
“Hey,” she answered.
Then it was silent. She continued to unload the bags in front of her without any hostility or nervousness. She continued about her business like I wasn’t even there.
“You’re... Max, right?”
That time, she stopped. Her eyes scanned my trembling figure and I saw the judgment in them. She still wasn’t angry, or even bothered by my existence. It was more like… She was looking into a mirror and saw something she didn’t like.
“Surprised you bothered remembering,” she sighed.
My stomach twisted into knots at the notion. I thought of how she must have seen me that day; a silly little schoolgirl hopelessly infatuated with her professor. I suppose in many ways, she was right. Especially about the silly and hopeless parts.
But Spencer wasn’t the extent of my existence. I hadn’t only seen her as an enemy or an obstacle. I’d seen her as she was: a brilliant, dedicated, philanthropic woman. I wasn’t sure if she would believe me when I said it with such excessive praise, but I figured my admiration for her work ethic was a place to start.
“Of course. Your program was impressive. I heard it was really successful.”
I was wrong. Just as I tried to start another awkwardly worded sentence about her work, she stopped me. She collapsed the paper bag with two firm hands against the table that definitely signaled the end of the conversation.
Then, to be very clear, she stated, “Right. Let’s... not do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend like we care about each other’s lives. Let’s just focus on the real reason we’re here,” she instructed.
It was exactly the kind of thing I’d normally try to argue. I would insist that she was wrong — that I had cared about her program and thought her worthy of praise for it. Normally, I would wear her down until she was willing to talk about it. I would earn her trust and make friends with someone who dared to see me as only one thing.
But I was tired. I was so, so tired.
So, all I said was, “Okay.”
For at least the first hour, the two of us only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary. But as the day started to drag on, I would catch Max staring for a few seconds longer each time we interacted. Her words would equally drag on, and by the time we hit the third hour, we almost felt like strangers again.
Unfortunately, as things so often did, it ended just before I felt as though we’d gotten somewhere. The last tasks were happening faster than felt possible, and I found myself wishing that I could slow them all down somehow.
Because I liked feeling like this again. Like I wasn’t alone in the world with a secret. I might’ve still had a secret, but it didn’t feel that way. I was almost positive that Max had read my puffy cheeks and swollen eyes within seconds of seeing me. I was certain that if she had, she knew what had caused them.
Of course, there was a possibility she had only been cordial with me because she knew I’d been heartbroken. Maybe she even thought that it was karmic justice, I had no way of knowing. But what I did know was that I was willing to ride that pity train all the way to the station.
“I wasn’t pretending, by the way,” I announced just before the last box was stacked where it needed to go.
Max turned to me with a cocked hip and an equally quirked eyebrow.
“I wasn’t pretending to be interested,” I clarified before continuing in an ineloquent rant, “I really do think it’s amazing that you take such an interest in improving your community. And I’m really glad I got a chance to talk to you today.”
When she was sure that I was finished, she returned a slow, contemplative nod before she mumbled an equally unrefined, “Thanks.”
The word carried just enough genuineness that I knew I’d done it. Even without trying, I’d managed to convince her that I wasn’t completely full of shit. My praise, albeit awkward and said while out of breath, was recognized as real.
So, in a desperate attempt to earn more recognition from the woman who had already been through what I had, I stepped closer and loudly announced, “I know our first meeting was awkward but... You’re a really cool person.”
Max was quick and vocal in her reply that time as she threw her head back and whined, “Oh, don’t do that! Stop making me like you!”
I swore I heard an undercurrent of humor in the exclamation, but I was still too insecure from the last time I horribly misread the situation to carry my usual confidence.
“Should I leave?” I asked, instead.
Dropping her head to her shoulder, she sighed.
“Ugh... do you want to go get some coffee?”
“What? Right now?” I asked before quickly reminding myself that I was already skating on thin ice. Any offering of an escape might have proven fatal to my efforts. So, before she could answer, I corrected, “I mean, yeah, I’d like that.”
With just one more up-down of my terrified, shaking figure, she pointed her car keys at me like a threat as she carefully explained, “Okay. I’m driving myself, though. I want to be able to leave if things get weird.”
“Completely understandable,” I replied with a solemn nod.
I’d thought the drive over would be unnerving, and possibly anxiety inducing enough that one of us would simply keep driving. But before I knew it, I was standing an uncomfortable distance from her as we both gathered our drinks in a relative silence.
The cafe was busy enough that I knew we blended in, but something about the meeting felt clandestine and wrong. It felt almost like I had been violating Spencer’s boundaries somehow. Even after everything he’d done, I still felt terrible at the prospect of hurting him, despite the fact me and Max had far more in common.
Could I even be called an ex of any sort? It seemed like an inappropriate categorization. If anything, I was just… a fling?
This was a mistake.
A mistake.
I’d been so lost in the thought that when the woman across from me took her seat, I’d almost forgotten where I was.
“Okay. What did he do?” she sighed.
I turned to look behind me, oblivious to the fact the question had just been that well-attuned to my thoughts.
“Who? The barista?” I asked.
To my surprise, she answered, “Yeah, the barista.”
Turning around again, I tried to spot the man whose face I’d already forgotten before I heard a harsh snapping of her fingers from across the table.
“No, you dork!” she yelled through an incredulous laugh, “I’m talking about the boy you spent the past who knows how many days crying over! Spencer! What did Spencer do?”
I flinched at the name both times she’d said it, and I hoped that she didn’t take it too personally. Although, truth be told, she sort of just looked bored. Like she’d already known everything I would say and was preparing to just walk through the same old routine she’d grown accustomed to.
Shifting in my seat, I glanced up at her eyes and found them staring right back. It made me feel so seen that I had to look away.
“I’m sorry, this is probably uncomfortable,” I muttered.  
“What? Because we’ve both slept with the same guy?”
Before she took that particular thought any further, I tried to explain.
“Oh, I didn’t—“
“It’s fine,” she waved off. I knew she was just trying to push past that first weird barrier between women who shared a past, but the truth was more complicated than I’d clearly led her to believe.  
“No, I-I’m a virgin, actually...”
It was the first time I’d ever felt ashamed to admit it. It wasn’t her fault, but her eyes practically doubled in size and her mouth moved like a fish struggling against a hook.
“Oh, okay, well, I wasn’t expecting that. I mean good for you, though. Smart move.”
I believed that she’d meant it. She was, in some way, impressed by my ability to maintain some sort of innocence. But the realization caused by that shock only made my stomach flip harder, twisting itself into knots that wouldn’t be undone anytime soon.
She wasn’t just surprised that I was a virgin because she thought I must be desirable to others. She was surprised because I had been in Spencer’s close company, and it had remained. Whether that was a testament to his attractiveness or deviancy, I didn’t want to find out. 
But I also couldn’t have her thinking that I had been crying over schoolyard crushes and mean comments on my term paper.
“Thanks... But it does have... I mean, it has something to do with sex, I guess...” I ungracefully explained, stopping regularly to clear my throat and bite my tongue that I’d only just burned with too-hot coffee.
Even that reminded me of him. Of his hand on my lower back and his sweater wrapped around my shoulders. Of the way he pushed my dress straps to the side to grant himself more access to the sensitive skin over my collarbone. Of his hand sliding over my thighs and pulling me to the edge of his desk.
Of his hands running through his hair and pressing hard to try to blind himself lest he remembers the way I looked moments before.
I need to be alone.
“Okay, you’re clearly uncomfortable,” Max said, breaking me from the unpleasant memories and thrusting me back into an equally uncomfortable conversation. “Let’s change how we talk about this. You guys got in a fight?”
“Are you mad because of something he actually said, or because he didn’t want to say anything?”
I hadn’t ever thought about it in those terms, but she had easily deduced the real reason I was frustrated. The thing that hurt most of all.
“He just... kicked me out. I didn’t even get to say anything.”
Although she hadn’t meant to chuckle at my misery, that’s exactly what she’d done.
“Yeah. That’s Spencer,” she scoffed, “Keeps the goddamn Great Wall of China between you and him.”
My heart both broke at the idea that our experiences were anything alike, considering hers had clearly ended terribly, and soared at the feeling of being known and understood.
I’d just hoped she could help the same way with the question I’d been stuck asking myself on loop for too long.
“Am I wrong for thinking that he actually cares about me? Am I being stupid?”
A sadness washed over usually bright features. Max paused, looking down at her drink like the swirling taupe foam carried the answers she sought. When that didn’t work, she took a long sip before she came to some kind of conclusion that she was willing to share.
“No, I don’t think you’re wrong. I think you’re… asking yourself the wrong question.” 

She received no reply other than a scrunched up face full of utter despondency. She blew air from her mouth with a similar displeasure before she held her hands up in a prayer position that quickly shifted to point at me.
“What you need to ask is... do you want to put in the work?”
That time, I at least had the decency to drop my head to the side to demonstrate just how lost I was. I think it almost made her laugh. I wondered if she’d seen herself in the motion, or someone else. Someone like the man who knew everything but became lost immediately upon the use of a silly acronym.
Nonetheless, Max persisted in her lecture that I’d explicitly asked for.
“What I’m asking you is— is the happiness he provides you worth the frustration? Because there will be frustration. Spencer has been through a lot — a lot — and... it takes a special kind of person, a very, very patient and understanding person, to get him to feel safe.”
Suddenly, I was whisked under a wave of memories that I was now certain we’d shared. Moments of rage and regret that felt almost cataclysmic at the time. I saw soft brown eyes turned to stone and bronze daggers. I saw split skin, hardened and shaking under the weight of terrors that weren’t there anymore.
I felt Spencer’s tears sting at my eyes and worked fast to try to stop them from falling. My heart was beating so hard from the feeling it was forced to endure, I was convinced that she would hear it. Like the madman from Spencer’s favorite story, I clutched at my chest where I’d buried two broken hearts to hide it from the oblivious investigators who’d come to assess the damage.
Max was none the wiser of the torment. I suspect she was trying to handle her own, distant but powerful recollections.
She broke out of them long before me, dropping her hand to her coffee and returning to her normalcy in a way I almost envied.
“I am not that special kind of person. Trust me,” she whispered.  
I heard the regret that fell through the tender cracks in a tired throat, but I said nothing. I saw the plea in her eyes for me not to speak, and I listened.
“But... are you?”
I carefully took in her question and considered my answer. I contemplated the implications behind the words that sounded more like a request than anything else she’d ever said to me.
A question that sounded like a plea for me to answer in the affirmative. To promise her that he would be okay, with someone who was both willing and able to help him in the way she never could.
But as I looked at the woman who clearly still cared for the man I was falling in love with, I wasn’t able to give her the answer she sought.
All I could say was the truth.  
“I don’t know.”
Once again, Max gave a slow, generous nod. She forgave me for my inability to assure her but dealt one last warning in exchange.
“Well, figure that out first. Because otherwise you’re both going to get hurt.”
As if we haven’t already, I thought. But she already knew that.
“Is that why you two broke up?” I asked, not out of genuine concern, but pure curiosity. An attempt to lighten the mood with a swapping of horror stories like two enemies turned friends might do late at night from the confines of pillow forts and sleeping bags.
Max almost spit out her coffee in her haste to answer, but she waved her hand excitedly to make the pause ever-so-more exciting.
“Oh, no,” she said with a very sarcastic, flat-lipped attempt at a grin, “He cheated on me.”
“... what?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, though. She was executed. Not by me.”
One look at my shocked, disturbed expression told her everything she needed to know about the extent of my innocence. My jaw had dropped and couldn’t seem to move.
Max’s lips finally began to curl into a genuine smile for the first time in front of me. As much as I wished it could’ve been under different circumstances, I couldn’t deny that I was quick to return it.
Just before we broke out into awkward, astonished laughter, she muttered, “If you’re waiting for a punchline, that was the closest you’re gonna get.”
And for just one moment, I felt seen in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Everything was going to be okay again one day. I was sure of it.
One of the thrilling aspects of living in a city is the rate of turnover. Like an ever running river, the people and places around me were almost never made up of the same things as before. Back when I worked at the BAU regularly, I would come home after back to back outings to find an entirely different place than before.
The changes weren’t so drastic anymore, but they were still there. I honestly hadn’t been going out as often as I used to. There were a number of explanations, many of which revolved around a certain little Bunny that had made late nights in my office significantly less depressing.
But I was out tonight, approaching a familiar face in unfamiliar terrain. I found almost nothing comforting in her smile, and I wondered if that made me a bad person. I should’ve been pleased; I was the one who’d asked her for her company in the first place.
“Always a pleasure, Dr. Reid,” Candy called from her seat at the back of the bar. It was by far one of the least busy establishments on the street, and for that I was grateful. It made sense, too, considering.
“Always,” I repeated with a nervous laughter as I slinked into the seat that she ushered me to. It was a small, curved booth around a tiny table already holding an Arnold Palmer that I could only assume was meant for me.
“I didn’t realize we had a sober bar in town.”
“You didn’t think I would be so cruel as to bring you to a regular den of sin, did you?” she hummed with a feigned incredulity.
Truthfully, I had. But I couldn’t tell her that, so instead I shrugged and answered, “I guess not.”
Confirming my suspicions, Candy nudged the glass closer to me while maintaining her distance from my body. Immediately, my mind returned to Bunny.
I couldn’t stop myself. I thought only of how she’d never stop moving closer to me when given the chance — how soft she was as she pressed her entire body against mine. The way her eyes relaxed with the rest of her, and how her breathing and heart rate demonstrated the deepest sense of peace when she was in my arms.
It wasn’t fair. The woman beside me was watching me with a palpable anxiety. An insecurity she rarely showed.
“I almost wish it was a real bar,” I said to hopefully explain away my sudden reverie, “Maybe the alcohol would cut through the nerves.”
“Why are you nervous, Dr. Reid?”
I didn’t want to answer, subconsciously or explicitly, so I shifted the conversation away from any topic that would require honesty about my feelings for the one who wasn’t there.
“Even when we finally go on a date, you still won’t use my first name.”
She noticed my dodging, but apparently decided it wasn’t worth it to push the topic any further. It was by far one of her most admirable traits. The kind of simple trick to get people to trust you. And to some extent, I did.
Although it was hard to forget her cruelty to an innocent, naive girl, I also knew about the woman behind the stoic facade. I knew that she had been troubled, too, and at least some small part of her concern was genuine.
She wasn’t evil. She was just jealous and short-sighted. I could relate to that.
“I know your title means a lot to you. I’m familiar with the feeling,” she said, mimicking my own thoughts about how much the two of us shared in common. Then, to my surprise, she laughed. It was a short, simple sound that displayed more freedom than usual, accompanied by the whispered words, “Plus, it makes you sound so… dignified.”
“Do I not normally?” I chuckled back. To which she happily replied, “I wouldn’t like you nearly as much if you did.”
With those words, she swayed closer to me for the first time. Not enough to touch, but enough to demonstrate her interest. I looked down at her legs nearing mine and couldn’t find it in myself to stop her.
She distracted me again, starting up a topic that my mind would comprehend without any effort. That was how things usually were with us. A deeper understanding and a kinship in many ways.
But the thing was, they weren’t in the way I’d needed them to be.
When I was with Candy, I felt the same as I always had. I was the computer with an ever-flashing low battery indicator, hanging on by sheer force of will. I continued to spite everyone who’d ever said I couldn’t.
It was… exhausting.
I tried to pretend. I tried to convince myself that things would get easier somehow, even though all of the evidence was stacking against me the longer the night went on. Even when the conversation was pleasant, I found myself wishing that she’d been someone else.
Someone with a smile that rivaled the sun and flowers blooming beneath her feet.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, and I realized that I’d completely lost track of what she was saying.
“What do I think about what?”
“Has your semester gone by quickly?”
What a question to ask. In a way, I supposed it had. But there were times when it felt like it would never end. Truthfully, in that moment, all I’d really wanted was for the break to be over and classes to return to session. It was the only hope I’d had in seeing her again.
But, again, I tried to maneuver away from thoughts of her as best I could.
“It’s hard to tell sometimes. Time passes differently since I became a consultant for the BAU,” I explained, nervously fidgeting with an empty glass and avoiding sharp eyes that felt like they could see straight through me. “I mean, I know it’s likely the same literally, but… I think I’ve developed a new respect for Einstein’s theories on relativity.”
“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute,” she recalled perfectly.
Then, with stars in her half-lidded stare, she leaned close enough that I could smell cherries on her breath as she purred, “Which one am I, Dr. Reid? A hot stove or a pretty girl?”
It was so difficult, but I tried. I looked into her eyes, the epitome of conventional beauty, and I tried to feel something. I wanted to believe that I could will myself to feel even half of what I’d managed within moments of meeting my Bunny.
But I couldn’t. All I could see was the reflection of myself cast in an ocean of bright blue.
“Would it be offensive to say… both?” I managed, wincing a bit as I said what she would probably assume to be an insult.
Thankfully, though, she found something humorous in the idea. Perhaps she’d been more self-aware than I gave her credit for. Because almost immediately after I’d said it, her eyes wrinkled in a most authentic way.
“No, I get it,” she laughed. Then, with all of the daring I knew her capable of, Candy moved close enough to finally make contact. Her thigh pressed against mine, and a bold hand landed gently on my forearm before sliding down to my wrist.
I didn’t stop her, no matter how wrong it’d felt. She sensed my discomfort, I knew, but it only made her movements more jagged. It didn’t make her stop. I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted her to, anyway.
My eyes flicked between her hand and eyes but settled on the latter when she spoke again.
“I do hope you eventually see me as something more delicate than a stovetop, though.”
The next thought I had was unfortunate. In trying to place any object that carried an open flame delicately, I could only think of her. My Bunny, a flickering candle in the darkness of night. The source of light that I consumed to create a shadow. The light leading me through the darkness and accompanying me through the torture.
I thought of her, dripping like hot wax until she disappeared in the light; scented water and smoke. My hands began to burn again, recalling the way it’d felt when I placed my hand over her open flame.
“Now, look what I’ve gone and done,” the woman beside me sighed, and I realized that despite looking right at her, I’d failed to see her for at least thirty seconds. Clearly, she had noticed, too, because she subtly shook her head as she muttered, “I’ve lost you so quickly. And I was doing so well.”
Although I disagreed on her varying range of success, I didn’t want to debate the topic. Felt like one of those things we were both aware of but had the decency not to discuss. I did, however, feel I owed her an apology. I hadn’t been a very kind nor hospitable date.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” Even those words reminded me of her in the worst way. “I’ve just been… distractible.”
“I know,” she mumbled with less bitterness than I was expecting. It was a more tragic tone than that. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t missed your attention.”
I felt as guilty as I could while still not caring enough to change it. At least, not more than I’d already attempted. Through a flat-lipped smile, I tried to convince us both that my half-assed efforts would be enough.
“Well, I’m sorry, and I hope this remedies some of that.”
As we stayed just like that, looking at one another and hoping to find some shred of hope in one another’s eyes, I realized that I was, above all else, a terrible person. What was wrong with me that led to me being so unthinkably selfish? To waste the innocence and youth of Bunny just to throw it away and do the same with this woman’s time and attention?
Why had I ever brought her here, knowing damn well that I could never find the same feelings for her in my heart? I’d tried. I’d tried so unbelievably hard.
The stubbornness I harbored reared its ugly head, appearing to turn my hand around to hold hers like it might change the fate already written in the stars. Candy looked down at interlocked fingers and her sad smile remained half-downturned as her eyes fell away.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“I’d like that.”
Anything to make me feel like I wasn’t the most horrible man in the world for leading them both on just to break both of their hearts. But what she’d decided to say had quite the opposite effect.
“I understand what it’s like to want something that you can’t have,” she said. “It’s a horrible feeling. That emptiness is… all-consuming.”
It pained me. It hurt because I knew that she was ready to spill her heart out to me, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. Not for her. The beautiful woman ready to try with all her might to get me to love her would fall short of the one I’d chased away.
But she tried, and I forced myself to witness it.
“Returning to relativity, this time in the general sense, even the largest black hole will eventually evaporate. Over time, the light inside of you will break free from the darkness until it can coexist without hurting anymore,” she explained in our common tongue. Her thumb stroked the back of my hand, trying to bring life to the stillness through excitedly spoken words and sugar-laced breath. “You just have to believe in the power of Hawking radiation.”
I hadn’t even meant to that time, I realized. I had slipped past the sadness and chuckled, instead, “Tell me, how many times do you have to correct people when they say your name?”
She bounced back with no issue.
“I prefer letting them get it wrong and making a joke that Hawking wishes he were related to a mind like mine.”
“It is a wonderful one, Dr. Hawkin,” I enunciated properly, bumping shoulders with her as we both tried to pretend like it meant something more.  
“Thank you. I could say the same for you, Spencer.”
But when she’d said my name, it sounded nothing like before.
Candy’s beauty was undeniable, and she taunted me with the promise of a sweetness if I could only close the distance. If only I could shut my eyes and pretend for one second, knowing it made me indisputably evil.
She had so much less to lose than my Bunny had. Candy wouldn’t miss the time before she knew me. Her life would go on unchanged, if not a little bit better, having finally received something for her efforts.
I tried to close my eyes and picture the tiny flower in her place, but when our noses bumped and her breath didn’t shake, I knew that it was wrong.
Candy’s eyes opened, immediately averting somewhere, anywhere else.
“I’m sorry,” I tried, but she was already trying to placate my frustration with an insincere, “It’s alright.”
But it wasn’t. That was the problem. None of this was alright, and it wasn’t going to change. It would only grow more bitter and resentful like molasses in the sun. We would crystallize and rot if we let ourselves.
“No, I’m…” I wanted to explain. The words never came out, but she heard them, nonetheless. 
I’m sorry, but it will never be you.
With a small, downtrodden nod, Candy withdrew from me and turned her full attention to the purse at her side. No words were spoken as we gathered our wits and our things and exited the bar that had meant to provide a safe space to hide away from the temptations that lie beyond its walls. 

Still, before we went our separate ways, where she would continue to hope and I would fail to forgive myself for allowing her to, she stopped me one last time. She wrapped her hand around mine and held on for dear life.
“Do me a favor, Spencer,” she begged, and I found the strength not to stop her. “Give it a chance. Give Hawking the time to try.”
I returned the bittersweet nod she’d given me earlier but uttered nothing else besides what desperately needed to be said.
“Goodbye, Candy.”
And although the realization of what I’d meant dawned on her, she stubbornly persisted as I’d known she would.
“Goodnight, Dr. Reid.”
I couldn’t blame her, either. I knew the feeling well. I knew what it was like to want something that I knew I shouldn’t. Something carefree and clever with enough light inside of her to shine through someone else’s eyes.
Not something – someone. Someone I couldn’t have.
| Part Twelve |
418 notes · View notes
luvofyourlifeliv · a month ago
my professor spencer dilemma:
going on dinner dates and coming home to cuddles and drinks on my balcony while he tells me fairytales he memorized <3
him railing my shit <3
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52 notes · View notes
spenciegoob · a month ago
Pretty When You Cry
Chapter 7: Anticlea
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A/N: oml the intro to this chapter is kinda long, but also i’m really proud of this one idk i worked really hard on it... some ppl may believe that reader is “too calm” in this situation, but remember everyone reacts differently, and when faced with confusion some people (myself included) shut down and to others, it may appear as “calm”
Summary: Reader was always a good girl, that was until she met Professor Reid. What will the hot shot FBI agent make Reader realize about herself? Will she let herself fall for a man who may or may not be able to love her the same?
Pairing: Professor!Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: R - Mature Content - 18+
Series Content Warning: language, alcohol abuse (mother), virgin!reader, smut, absent father, toxic relationship, mentions of drug abuse, sexual harassment and Cat Adams
Chapter Content Warning: Language, absent father, alcohol abuse (mother), toxic relationship, hospitals, and mentions of the following: sexual harassment, drugging, alcohol consumption - this chapter deals with heavier topics. if I missed anything, do not hesitate to let me know.
Word Count: 3.1K
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For a very short time during a class I brudigidly took in high school, I learned about olfactory memory, the remembrance of smells attached to certain memories. Scents skip the brain's thalamus, and send signals straight to the olfactory bulb which is directly connected to the amygdala and hippocampus. Sometimes, even a whiff of a certain perfume will remind me of when my mother was in her 30’s, and sometimes wet sand will bring me back to the one month I tried to play softball.
But now that I can smell pine scented candles, my brain remembers the home that was haunted by his presence.
When my mother was pregnant with me, she never truly had any crazy food cravings. Instead, she had an obsession with smelling pine, and funnily enough, when I entered the world, I too enjoyed the smell that others would think to keep at bay until the holidays. She had a candle still leftover from being pregnant when we returned home from the hospital, and one night, I must have been restless; screaming my bloody head off. In her last effort to calm me down, she lit the candle, turned off the lights and rocked me. Obviously it worked, and since then, pine candles have been bought in bulk.
She stopped lighting them when I turned 14, because every person has an olfactory memory, and even though I never asked, I can only assume pine reminded her of when my father completed our family.
It was sad, really, how excited I got when I woke up to that smell again.
Because I shot up so quickly that my brain couldn’t follow at first, kind of like when you wake up Christmas morning and you don’t care how tired you are or how many hours you slept. I needed to find the source of that smell, partially because if I followed it, it would lead me to my mother, but also because I forgot the label, and have been searching ever since I moved out.
It didn’t matter to me all that much to take notice in how I was back in a room with pink walls and photos taped to my mirror, or that half of the clothes on the floor don’t fit me anymore. Who cared when my mother was lighting pine candles again.
Rushing down stairs, using the left side of the staircase because I subconsciously knew the right creaked, I could hear voices, muffled from exhaustion both physically and emotionally.
I wish I could say I had the courage to make the whole way to the source of the voices, but once I caught the sound of my father being begged for, I halted. This wasn’t a conversation I’m supposed to hear.
“Lartus please,” I heard my mother beg, the tears that were no doubt streaming down her face like the Neda waterfalls coming through in every broken, choked out syllable. “Don’t do this, please!”
Heartbreak. Heartbreak, and suffocation was all I could feel as if a transplant was to happen, emptying my chest and placing the organ my mother had that beat for my father into the cavity.
“I’m sorry,” came his response, cowardly hidden behind faux guilt in the form of a whisper because speaking any louder would be too much for him. There was no great effort, no attempt to assure my mother that his next life choices were nothing but his fault instead of hers.
“How- how could you?” My mother shrieked at him, and I could hear porcelain plates hitting the bottom of the sink where she completely abandoned her nightly duties to fully express her distress. At least one of them was. “What about your daughter?”
I hated the way she practically sneered that question, as if I was a weapon, the Excalibur my mother waited to reveal she could wrench from stone in order to add the element of disgusted shock to the argument.
“She’ll be okay.” But I wasn’t, not when the morning came and I ran down the stairs to find my mother in the same spot she was no doubt grasping onto frayed excuses for my father not to abandon her… us. Especially not when I was naive to look past the tears blackened and dried on her face. Not when the numb look in her eyes did nothing to deter me from asking where my father was.
I wasn’t okay, and I don’t think that I am now because pine turned to sterilized air, and the family photos hung in the hallway that mocked me became burnt orange dots seeping through black.
A disgruntled sound left my lips, making the feeling of my scratched throat more noticeable in my attempt to distinguish my surroundings. The second thing I picked up on once the small echo in my head subsided was the small comfort I found in socks that made it impossible to run my foot along the stiff bed sheets due to the rubber dots lining the bottom.
And then finally the bright lights that stung more than anything once I got the courage to open my eyes and face reality instead of returning to repeated pleas and pine. I mumbled a quiet ‘fuck’ the best I could under these confusing circumstances. Someone heard me, and as unrecognizable as the voice was, his words were perfectly chosen.
“Is it the lights?” He asked, and my impaired vision helped to heighten my hearing because I could make out the sound of a chair being pushed back and steps retreating from where he sat. The orange dots subsided once the lights were flickered off, and I worked myself up to open my eyes once again.
It was just me and this stranger now, and upon noticing just how bigger he was than me, my nervousness spiked. His eyes didn’t scream dangerous, if anything they were just the opposite, but I did not know this man, and he had all the privacy and abilities in the world to take anything he wanted.
“Who are you? I don’t - I don’t know... Why are you here?” I ignored how unrecognizable my scratchy voice was even in a whisper, and the way my throat practically begged for me to shut the fuck up, because I did not know this man.
How he understood what would reassure me, I do not know. “I’m Derek, a friend of Spe- Doctor Reid’s.”
Doctor Reid. Spencer.
“Is- is he here?” I asked, taking my gaze off of Derek in favor of returning my head back to its resting place staring at the ceiling. Whatever he caught that made him let out a laugh under his breath, I wasn’t aware, but I had an inkling he wasn’t just Doctor Reid’s friend.
“I tried to send him home, God knows the kid needs sleep, but I’m positive he only made it to the waiting room. I’ll go get him.” I couldn’t thank him before he left. He was already finishing his sentences halfway out the door either in desperate need to remove himself from this slightly awkward conversation, or to retrieve the only person available that would be able to give me some sort of comfort the fastest he could.
The silence was worse than the uncomfort of having a strange man in the room with me. My brain felt… numb, and I couldn’t explain why, because one moment I was having fun, dancing the night away, and forgetting how the girl suffocated in a tight dress sweating on a bar floor was not who I am, and the next I was in a hospital bed. I couldn’t see any injuries past a scraped knee and blisters that were no doubt on my feet from those god awful heels. Did I indulge too much on alcohol, and do something entirely embarrassing and life-ruining that I ended up in the hospital from my careless actions?
I needed answers, and when Doctor Reid came rushing into the room, halting in the door frame with a heaving chest, part of me believed he knew the answer from the distraught look in his eyes. Whatever I did, he saw, and probably created a false perception of me in his head that discredited all the times I’ve tried to be the utmost of perfection in front of him.
Neither of us spoke, myself out of fear from leaving this blissfully ignorant middle ground to fall from shame into a 6 foot deep hole that I dug for myself. Doctor Reid was still trying to catch his breath, but I hated the way his eyes begged for me to throw the first stone, to ask the first question.
“Your friend Derek seems nice,” was what I settled on. Whether it was the excitement of being able to talk about someone close to him, or the fact that I broke the silence, he came farther into the room to pull the chair his friend recently inhabited closer to my bed.
“Yeah, he’s great. We used to work together.” He nodded, giving me a tight lipped smile once fully seated. It dropped when he opened his mouth to continue saying something, but it seems he changed his mind, because the only thing that came out was a huff, and the start of nervous habits. While he was fidgeting with his hands, he mumbled. “He was with me last night.”
“Oh,” was all I had to say.
“What do- Uh, do you remember anything from last night?” Any sort of emotion from his voice was gone, undetectable. The only thing giving me a clue to the fact he was still human was the small dull in his eyes clouded by pity I did not want. The hazel still looked beautifully enticing.
“I went out… to a bar, and- I went to, and then I-” I couldn’t finish my words, the sentence I wanted to speak so clear in my head, but my ability to form the words aloud seemed to leave with the last of my fighting dignity.
“That’s okay,” he assured me, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Do you remember who you were with?”
Of course I did. Danny was either the mastermind behind my great embarrassment or the reason I was allowed to go so far as to end up in the hospital. A night in the ER after a party was not unlike Danny, so why wouldn’t he want me to follow in his footsteps, become him. Doctor Reid didn’t need to know that, though.
“Why are you talking to me like that?” I answered his question with my own, the confusion I was consumed by igniting an anger at the fact that I was being treated like… like a-
“Like what?”
“Like a victim,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes in his direction until he let out a sigh and returned his gaze to his hands. The guilt and the knowledge of both his and my memories of last night were evidently a heavy burden to carry if the dark circles plaguing his sculpted face were any indicator.
“Do you remember who you were with last night?” He asked once again, refusing to return my eye contact.
“Yes, now,” I sat up, and upon answering his question, Doctor Reid furrowed his brow and shot his head up in my direction. “What happened?”
I watched the way his eyes bounced through every possible way to break the news to me, not finding the solution after another 10 seconds had passed, but that’s okay. It isn’t like I’m sitting in a hospital room with no recollection of half of the previous night’s affairs with a patience running very thin.
There was a comfortable silence once his eyes halted, seeking reprieve in finding my own, a silent beg to stop him from having to speak. It did not belong there, the comfortability I felt with him, nor did I wish for it to dissipate. Strangely, I enjoyed this soft equilibrium that passed between us, morphing from guilt and embarrassment to form an odd understanding of mutual torment.
“He’s not a good person.” Doctor Reid’s words may have been a whisper, but the anger bubbling beneath the surface of his irises was anything but dulcet. I would not have believed he was finished speaking if it wasn’t for how he clenched his jaw shut so tight teeth ground against each other, like the words he truly wanted to say were putting up a battle inside of him and the only way to stop was to go against every dentist’s wishes.
“I- I know that, but-” I took a deep breath, one that some half-ass yoga instructor on Youtube told me would work at calming my erratic heart and flushed cheeks. I was angry, and there was no way to get through to the man in front of me. If I couldn’t gamble with the man, I would have to gamble with the doctor. “You’re purposefully keeping information from a patient, Doctor Reid. I request that you tell me how I ended up here, and I suggest you do it fast.”
“I’m not your doctor.”
“Thank fucking God.” And so, the solace I found in his presence was gone only to be replaced by a hatred over the fact that he could sit there, and bite his tongue. “Tell me.”
Doctor Reid rose from his chair, not sparing a second glance in my direction before leaving the room. I looked away before his figure was out of view from how far I could see out the doorway, I didn’t want to watch him give up on allowing both him and myself the pleasure of speaking so freely to each other. That’s why when he returned shortly after with a clipboard in his hand, I was startled, and unfortunately a little relieved.
“Patient Y/N Y/L/N arrived at 10:43 PM with high levels of Rohypnol in her system. According to two people accompanying her, Agent Reid and Agent Morgan, the patient did not willingly take Rohypnol that evening. Monitor every... hour,” his words faded slowly to a whisper, a recognition that his point had been made with me at the center of it all.
In some movies, when the world comes crashing down on the main character and the volume of their surroundings slowly fade away to nothing but ringing, you could feel what the actors and directors worked so hard to convey. The intense grief of losing the person they were 5 seconds ago when they lived blissfully ignorant, if done correctly, could bring an audience to cry.
But when it’s happening to you, there is no fade out, no sad music with lyrics so applicable that it feels the song was made just for that moment. There were no tears, because sure the girl I left the house as no longer existed, but how could I possibly grieve the loss of someone that didn’t know who she was to begin with?
“I’m sorry,” he continued, not raising his voice past a hushed murmur, moving through the words like he couldn’t speak them fast enough. I don’t know what he was sorry for, he had no reason to be and yet I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him anything, really. “Your mom should be here shortly.
But that? That caught my full, undivided attention. “You called my mom?” I exclaimed, raising my voice so loud that a nurse stopped in her tracks to poke her head in the room.
“Of course I called your mom.” He was trying to be the mediator in a battle he was also fighting in, but I wouldn’t let him. “Why wouldn’t I call her? You were hurt.”
“Oh, I don’t know, because- because,” and to be quite frank, I truly didn’t have a reason to be mad at him for calling her. I wouldn’t have, even though the one thing I really needed right now was my mom. “Get out,” was what I chose instead of admitting defeat.
“I said get out!” Now, the woman of the hour could not have come at the worst time, because upon hearing the voice of her distressed daughter, she came bustling into the room with a rage only a mother can possess.
“What’s going on here? Who are you? Are you the one that did this to her?” She spouted, and even in her older age, that woman squared my professor up not caring for the stark height distance between the two. “If you are than so help me go-”
“Mom, please. It wasn’t him.” Even though I was the slightest bit glad that my mother taught Doctor Reid a lesson in minding his own fucking business, I couldn’t watch the scene go down any longer. His eyes had already turned to fear with a frantic need to defend himself from a woman who would not hesitate to start a physical altercation in the middle of a hospital room.
He didn’t even try, though, trusting that I would take on the challenge of correcting her mistake, and instead mumbled a quiet “I’ll give you two some privacy,” before retrieving his bag and scurrying out of the room.
In The Odyssey, Odysseus makes a journey to the Underworld seeking guidance from the deceased prophet Tireseas. Upon arriving, he stumbles across spirits, one of them to be his own mother, Anticlea. At first, he refuses to speak to her as he is there with a specific goal, and is waiting for Tireseas to make himself known. Once he finishes speaking with the prophet does he allow his mother to speak to him. 
She admits that the reason for her death was because of the heartbreak she felt when he hadn’t returned home yet. When Odysseus tries to embrace his mother, he discovers that Anticlea is incorporeal, and his arms move through her figure. Odysseus cannot hug her, and is heavily saddened by the fact.
But I was not Odysseus, and my mother was not Anticlea.
“Sweetheart,” my mom whispered, the tears heavy in her eyes once she put her focus onto her only daughter sitting in a gown that wasn’t even tied all the way in the back. “Look at you. I’m so sorry.”
She came over to sit on the edge of the mattress, grabbing my head with both of her hands and staring down at a face unscratched beyond the numb in my eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I assured her, even if it was a lie. “Can you just, um, can you hold me, please.”
She didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around my shoulders, pulling me to her chest and shushing me as the tears I couldn’t predict nor stop started to fall.
Sometimes, a little girl just has to cry to her mom.
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The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 10)
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| Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen |
Summary: Spencer accidentally calls Reader by a different name… in front of the entire class. When he begins avoiding her, she confronts him. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Embarrassment, begging, kissing, apprehension, fingering, verbal altercation, sexual regret. NOTE, there is a completely optional scene. There will be separate CWs for it when it comes. Word Count: 7.4k
I’d never been a morning person before; something about the early sun unsettled me. For a long time, I’d convinced myself that I was a creature meant to inhabit the shade. That foregone fate was one of the biggest reasons I was afraid of the dark. I didn’t want to submit to the shadows quite yet. I’d come closer with each passing year.
But when I met my Persephone, everything changed. I turned leaves on white poplar trees to find vibrant green. I discovered that the dull, discolored bark was embedded with diamonds. Beauty was in everything, evergreen like cypress trees that embodied love with nowhere else to go.
The sunlight stubbornly burst through wooden slats covered with curtains, unwilling and unable to stop until it touched my fingertips reaching for it across the wood.
It reached me the same time she did, with a wide smile to disguise sleepy eyes.
“Good morning, Professor!”
I smiled, too, because how could I not?
“You seem chipper for a girl I know for a fact didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“It can still be a good morning, right?” she asked, marching over to the windows and flipping the slats to bring the sunshine in with her. She still cringed when the brightness hit her, but I accepted the warm embrace of the light.
“Was it not a good night?” I returned. The question caught her off-guard, but she had always been quick on her feet.
“It was,” she sneakily simpered.
“Good,” I said as I stood from my seat. The action seemed to set off something inside of her, because I could actually see the muscles in her arms and neck tense at the movement.
Her little hummingbird heartbeat was going absolutely wild in her throat, and her eyes were equally restless. She blinked quickly, then not at all. She just stared at me while I tried not to ogle her deer-in-the-headlights posture more than necessary.
Although rare, death by shock had been documented in rabbits. Especially young bunnies.
But it was too tempting not to tease her. I couldn’t look at her wringing fingers and bitten lip and not want to torment her a little bit longer. To see how she would react when denied the thing she’d finally worked up the nerve to ask for.
So, I didn’t hug her, despite her stepping directly into my path. I stepped beside her with my hand resting gently against her lower back. I urged her to follow me like there wasn’t unfinished business behind the thick, wooden doors.
“Wait, Professor!” she huffed, digging her heels into the floor and turning to me with her best pleading look to date. She didn’t stop there, either. My bunny took a firm step forward, blocking my exit completely and demanding my full attention as she tried to be bold.
“A-Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Am I?”
I’d meant the intonation to illustrate just how sarcastic I was being, but the poor thing seemed to take the challenge to heart. Her spirits fell at the same rate her hands raised to her chest and wound together. She freed two fingers and began patting them together as she murmured, “A promise, perhaps?”
“Was it a promise?” I asked, and she heard the affection in my voice that time.
Her eyes lit back up like the sunrise over dewy fields, and I finally understood why the songbird sings.
“It was,” she chirped.
When I opened my arms to her, she had no hesitation. She practically leapt between them and threw her own around me before I could even set down the papers I was holding. I took my time enjoying the koala-esque grip of the girl, only setting down the papers on the desk because they’d gotten in her way.
I laughed as she hummed and nuzzled her face against my shirt. There was no other way that I knew to express the joy bubbling through my chest. I had no physical nor verbal language that could correctly capture that feeling.
It may be a crude and stereotypical comparison, to liken myself to a computer — but I felt the current between us like lightning. I felt myself become more alive the longer she held me, with hands clutching and releasing fabric like each attempt might bring me closer.
I rested my head against hers, breathing in the distinct smell of soap and perfume. I, too, pressed harder against her, hoping that she could imprint on me in more ways than one. I thought of how later that day, the breeze might blow me a kiss that smelled like her on my skin.
That was the moment I realized that, in all of her enthusiasm, I’d yet to even return the hug. My hands were more hesitant than hers, but they made their way around her, nonetheless. I treated her gently, because I’d meant it when I said that was what she deserved.
Gentle, but firm in my desire to be near to her. To share this space, this breath, this body in a way I’d rarely experienced with anyone else.
She sighed, the warmth tickling my skin through the fabric, and I similarly felt her eyelids flutter shut as she, too, found peace in the embrace.
I couldn’t be sure how long we stayed like that, with hands and hearts full of one another, but I was the one to break the silence. As we barely started to sway under the weight of everything, I whispered the only thought I could think.
“How could I ever forget you?”
When she answered, there was a sadness in her voice that I hadn’t expected.
“Professor?” she called.
Without moving or allowing me any hint of what emotions were undoubtedly displayed in her eyes, she vaguely stated, “I missed you.”
I knew what she’d meant, but the reminder brought pain where I wanted there to be only happiness. So, I cautiously clucked my tongue before answering, “Silly Bunny, I haven’t gone anywhere.”
That might’ve been a stretch of the truth for what she was referring to, but it’d certainly been true in the moment. If anything, I’d only held her closer. I was surprised that we were both still capable of breathing, but I credited that to our body’s natural understanding of how to move as one. As her lungs emptied, mine filled, creating the illusion of the two-headed monster often referred to as lovers.
Her voice was small but powerful in its breathiness.
“You’re softer than I expected,” she dreamily explained as she drew patterns against my back. Before I could ask her to expand, she did it on her own.
“It’s a good thing,” she assured me.
I believed her. She could have said nothing else, and I would’ve written it off as a mere preference of a physique. But she seemed to sense that I hadn’t understood her point still, and her frustration came out in the form of three truly baffling words.
“It feels... safe.”
That, I knew, I would never understand. The goosebumps that tore over my skin were as much out of affection as they were fear. The inertia carried me away from her — my arms retreating quickly as I cleared my heart from its place in my throat.
My Bunny was calmer than I’d ever seen her, with a sleepy hint to all of her features and a dopey smile on her face. I stared for a moment longer, unafraid of the fact she would see me because I wanted to be sure that I would never, ever forget a single detail of her face in that moment.
Her hands rose and rested against her chest, holding herself like it might keep the ghost of me there longer.
She said nothing, but the clock continued to warn us of the world raging on outside.
“We should, um... we shouldn’t keep them waiting,” I announced, although I really didn’t want to. I wanted to keep us both there, shielded behind closed doors and holding each other.
She didn’t put up anything resembling a fight, and I tried to follow her example. We both picked up papers and started to make our way to the classroom like every other day.
But it wasn’t like every other day. How was I meant to focus, knowing that she was behind me? Watching me with eyes filled with admiration and an understanding of what lie behind my defenses. Knowing about the rhythm of my heartbeat and the way my hands roamed. How could I care about teaching anyone anything, when I could be holding her instead?
I’d run on autopilot so many times, I thought that I could make it.
I was wrong.
With a tired but still smitten voice, I called to the girl in the back row as I finished scribbling mostly illegible writing on the board.
“Would you pass out those papers for me, Bunny?”
It wasn’t even the sound of my own voice uttering that nickname that caught my attention. I’d adopted it into my regular vernacular so pervasively that I didn’t even realize I’d made a mistake — not until I was met with a stunned silence behind my back. Not until I turned to make eye contact with that poor girl as her pencil fell from between her fingers.
“Y-Yes, sir, Professor!” she said a little too loudly, her voice careening and breaking with each added syllable. She nervously flittered over the room just like that, and I only found it possible to look away from her state of panic because of the knowing stares that had all fallen on me.
I stood front and center, watching sharp, judgmental eyes misjudge the girl who’d done nothing wrong. I felt them like needles in my skin, digging deeper with each scoff or giggle that seemed to never end.
Although I was able to turn back around and begin speaking again like nothing had happened, my mind never once switched off the mistake over the course of the hour. The sheer lack of luck that I must’ve been made with for everything to unravel like this. I’d known all along that it was dangerous to refer to her as something so blatantly affectionate, but I’d also foolishly thought that I was smarter than that.
What a fool I was, expecting my mind to ever work right when it came to her. I desperately wanted to rewind time to before the tragedy, to free her from the giggles and whispers that would follow. To free myself from the temptation to take her now that I’d already ruined her several times over.
But when she approached me as the students left, with a grimace and shaking hands, I couldn’t handle it.
“Professor, I’m sorry about—“
“I can’t talk right now,” I said, forcing my eyes off the pitiful sight of my own transgressions and sweeping all of the piles of papers into my own arms. She saw me trying to shake her like the autumn winds had torn the last stubborn leaves from naked branches.
“Okay, but I think we need to talk about it,” she said with broken words that I suspect matched the feeling in my chest.
I made another mistake, looking up at her and witnessing the consequences of my actions. The desperation and longing flashing behind glassy but effervescent eyes. I could practically hear her begging for me to let her try to help. She wanted so badly to cradle my head against her heart and show me how she might still be able to make it better somehow. That she might be able to save me somehow.
But that wasn’t her job. I wasn’t her responsibility.
“Not right now,” I said.
And I ran. Like the coward I’d always been, I ran from her and hoped that she’d had the self-preservation and mercy to let me go for good.
I had never been a particularly brave person when it came to myself. To many, the most notable accomplishment of mine wasn’t even anything I’d done, but rather, my avoidance of doing something. The failure to hand over the one thing that they wanted most from me. Their fascination hadn’t been with me, but instead about what about me they could claim and consume.
Spencer had once casually likened me to a flower, and I’d since wondered what kind. I had a feeling it would be one where the petals were plucked easily between naive fingers. My downfall, a spectacle before others, to the tune of ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’
It wasn’t easy for me to stand up for myself, even when I’d done nothing wrong. But as I stood outside of his office that day, it felt like I was doing something wrong. Not necessarily making a mistake, or anything close to regrettable, but too taboo for someone like me.
I knew it was silly to think of it all that way — I was usually the first one to point out that the very notion of virginity was a ruse intended to liken women to objects rather than conscious beings. The myth of purity, I knew, was exactly that: a false ideation to force compliance.
I knew that sex wasn’t tied to morality, and that I could be both evil and a virgin just as easily as I could be a martyr and a harlot. So why was the idea that I might lose any part of it so unbelievably petrifying?
My legs felt like they were encased in lead, but when I glanced down, I saw the bare skin of my thighs peeking out between socks and skirt. I felt the heat filling every inch of me, and I knew that if I didn’t act soon, I would surely burn and turn to ashes on his office doorstep.
All I had to do was tell him how I felt. He’d done it to me a number of times before that moment. Just the night before he’d demanded all of my attention an hour after he’d backed me against my car and implied that I was welcome in his bed.
Or, I had completely misinterpreted everything, and was about to initiate my own demise. Either way, it had to happen then. Thanksgiving break was only a week away, and I refused to go through the whole holiday worrying about what was waiting for me back at work.
That potential, dreadful reality brought my hand to the handle. My feet almost moved too fast for the speed with which I opened the door, and as a result I stumbled rather gracelessly into his office.
A poor start, which was only made worse by the greeting I’d received from the man behind the desk.
“I can’t talk right now,” Spencer replied, refusing to even look up. I suspect he’d been waiting for this.
I knew I had, but for another reason.  
He kept his eyes on the desk and his hand shielded his eyes from detecting me, even just through his peripherals. He hid away from me like it would be enough to dissuade me.
He was wrong. He thought too little of me.
“Fine,” I said in a voice that hardly sounded like my own, “Then... w-we don’t have to talk.”
“Listen, Bunny...”
But the thing was, if he wasn’t going to listen to me, I certainly didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I’d heard all of his excuses before. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what was holding him back. He’d worn the guilt and shame on his sleeve like a badge of honor.
Spencer Reid could pretend all he wanted, but I knew the truth of how it felt when he touched me — when he so much as looked at me. The way his voice changed to a melodic tune and his laughter became freer and more easily earned. I’d been on the receiving end of his desire, and I wore the bruises to prove it.
I was done waiting. I wanted my answer. An honest end to the question I’d been asking myself ever since the day I’d met him.
Do you want me like I want you?
I repeated it in my mind like he’d be able to hear. He couldn’t, but I caught his attention, nonetheless. The sound of rustling fabric and heavy breathing brought his eyes to me for the first time since it’d happened.
His eyes grew wide, and I swore I saw his pupils reflexively shrink from the brightness just before they doubled in size at the sight of my shirt already half-unbuttoned.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice lacking fear and carrying a different anxiety in its place.
I didn’t stop moving closer, and my fingers continued to fumble with the buttons until I felt the cool embrace of chilly air against my stomach. But while I continued to approach him, Spencer seemed paralyzed in place. The only things that had moved were his eyes and his mouth, both of which tried and failed to focus on one thing at a time.
My hands fell away from the opened shirt and dropped to his hand gripping the armrest closest to me. I tried to pick it up, but he remained steadfast. So, I just held onto him there. I wasn’t able to withstand the scrutiny of his stare well enough to speak, so I turned my face away before I did.
“Touch me.”
I held my breath, and I heard him do much the same. It explained why when he answered, he did so in such a quiet, strained voice, I’d barely heard it.
“I know you want to do it, a-and... I want you to do it,” I stammered, clutching tighter to his hand like that might make him move, “So touch me. Please.”
It was less an order and more of a beg. A sad, desperate attempt to remedy the tension between us. Even if he’d said no, I just needed to hear an honest answer from his mouth. I needed to know if it really was all in my head, or if there was a chance that he might let me love him like I’d wanted to.
As if to prove my point, Spencer let out a long, somber sigh before he murmured, “Bunny...”
The name would normally bring me happiness, but in that moment, it only served to upset me. It was a constant reminder of the problem that seemed to have no solution other than blind hope and begging.
“Don’t you see, Professor? That right there — that’s not normal!” I cried before biting my tongue, trying to stop actual tears from falling as I tried to appeal to him. “You keep telling me that you can’t, but you’ve never once said that you didn’t want to, and it’s not fair that y-you get to make all those decisions without me!”
“I don’t know what to tell you—“ he started, but I cut him off by finally, successfully lifting his hand from the chair. His fingers flexed but did nothing to stop me. Not even as I brought it to my skin.
“Don’t tell me anything just...”
Spencer watched as I moved his palm over the soft skin of my stomach. I guided him over areas I’d seen him try to memorize, and I reveled in the warmth provided.
“Please,” I pleaded, “I need you to touch me.”
His reaction was delayed, his control over his muscles only returning when his fingertips grazed over the fabric of my bra. That damned garment was all it took to bring him back to reality, and Spencer’s hands immediately tried to cover his face again.
“Это пиздец (This is fucked up),” he groaned in a language I couldn’t place. I could tell from the sheer force behind the words that they weren’t portraying kind feelings, but the frustration told me they weren’t all bad, either.
While he rubbed his temples, his eyes made their way back to me. They caressed each inch of skin on display just as he’d wished his hands could do a thousand times before.
“Professor, please. I’m begging you,” I said. The request would have been meaningless if not paired with action, so I did that, too. With shaky legs and an even more precarious tilt to my tone, I climbed onto his lap with absolutely no resistance from the man.      
“I-I... I want you, Professor,” I whispered, “Please, believe me.”
Unable or unwilling to focus with my body on display for him, Spencer both threw his head back and clenched his eyes shut with his hands over them as he practically sobbed, “этот заяц будет моим концом (This rabbit will be the end of me).”
Whatever the words had meant, his hands made their own statement. They flowed from his face and fell to his lap where I rested. He couldn’t avoid touching me then, so he did, cautiously caressing my thighs with hands that shook just as badly as mine.
It felt familiar but exhilarating in an entirely new way. Beneath me, I also felt his erection straining in his pants. I could feel it twitch against me at the same time he opened his eyes and saw me, panting and wanting just as he’d left me.
He tried to look away again, but I caught his face in my hands. I led him back to me and inched closer, trying to close the gap as much as I could without losing sight of those vast universes within the taupe ripples.
“Do you want me like I want you?” I asked, hoping I might finally get my answer. In a way, I did.
"ты не знаешь, что ты просишь от меня (You don't know what you're asking of me),” was the garbled noise I’d heard.
Although I didn’t understand a word of it, I saw the longing in hazel irises that had locked onto my own. I saw the intention to stay forever in his eyes, and I wanted nothing more than for him to see the same thing. To let himself believe what he saw without question.
When my fingertips brushed over his cheeks, Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut for just a few seconds before they found me again. Each second that passed, I felt closer to the man in front of me in both a physical and metaphorical sense. His pulse so fast and so hard that I could feel it against my wrist, and I found the urge to kiss his neck until it calmed almost irresistible.
But somehow, I managed. I maintained a single inch of distance between our lips as I leaned my forehead against his and allowed my own eyes to close for the first time since we’d started. As much as I wanted him to see the confidence with which I spoke, I was too afraid that I would find a retort in his eyes.
“You can speak in tongues all you want…” I whispered, shaky but sure, “but I know you, Professor.”
I wanted so badly to kiss him, but I didn’t. I demanded he do it himself, to take that step or end it all right here. If he truly didn’t want me, I wanted to give him an opportunity to prove as much to me.
Spencer made his decision. With soft, hesitant lips against mine, he answered my initial question in the affirmative.
I want you like you want me.
The kiss was so gentle that I could barely feel it. I hardly reacted at all at first, waiting to see if I’d simply misjudged or imagined the feeling. But, just as quickly as I’d started to doubt myself, Spencer’s hands became ruthless once more.
Short nails dug into my skin and caused a high-pitched yelp to echo off our walls. From that point on, it seemed that causing chaos to the tune of my voice was all he’d wanted to do. He left angry welts in wake of his hands until one eventually tangled in my hair. His mouth was equally ravenous, biting down on my lip when it didn’t open fast enough for him.
“You want me to touch you, Bunny?” he asked, smirking against my mouth stuck open in a broken cry. He knew I couldn’t answer him yet, so he took the time to lift me off his lap and slam me onto his desk before he asked again, “Answer me, is that what you want?”
There wasn’t a single shred of doubt in my answer that I nearly screamed, “Yes! Yes, please, Professor!”
The noise was only kept away from nosy neighbors by the scratchiness caused by the extensive overuse of my lungs. An overexertion that would only grow exponentially worse when I heard Spencer laugh; bitter, broken, and low.
“Touch you, or fuck you?”
On instinct, my hand shot down to grab his wrist as it slid under my skirt with ease. Spencer halted his actions, but his words grew louder and more insistent in my ear.
“Because that’s what I want to do to you, Bunny. I want to hold you down and fuck you until you break. I want to defile you beyond recognition.”
When his fingers twitched against my thigh, I pulled them closer to my throbbing heat. I gasped when he pressed hard against the flimsy fabric, but the sound wasn’t enough. He needed me to repeat it, louder and more enthusiastically. So, he grabbed hold of my hair once again with his free hand and forced my head back to achieve his desired result.
Then, when I was at his mercy with my hips rocking against his hand and tears stinging at lust-filled eyes, he growled, “I want to fucking ruin you.”
I tried to respond— I really, really did. But the only sound that came out was an unintelligible whimper as his finger continued to stroke harshly against underwear that was quickly growing damp from his attention.
Out of breath and patience, Spencer continued quieter, “Is that what you want from me, Bunny?”
I couldn’t trust my mouth to make any words, so I tried to guide him in other ways. My hands slid over the tense, twitching muscles in his arm still fixed between my thighs. Without a word, I pushed him closer, rewarding him with a quiet squeak or moan when his fingers toyed with the side of the fabric and came closer to doing what I’d wanted them to.
It still wasn’t enough for him. The vague excitement in his eyes was buried beneath a persistent guilt, but I could still see it. I could taste the true power that he’d tried so hard to keep locked away. I wasn’t sure what else I could do besides returning to my literal, desperate begging, but thankfully, I didn’t have to guess.
“Tell me what you want,” he pleaded, “I want a reason to give it to you so fucking badly.”
Drunk and delirious from his touch, I slurred my response as clearly as my lips would allow, “You, please, God. I want you.”
Our eyes were locked, and our breaths were practically synchronized in their chaotic patterns. Spencer stopped, taking the time to analyze each atom of my expression with more scrutiny than I’d thought possible. And although I should’ve been terrified, I wasn’t. I wore my lust like a crown of thorns, daring him to doubt how badly I craved him.
He never once stopped looking at me, even when his finger finally slipped past the last remaining barrier and slid through slick folds. The pleasure derived from the mere anticipation of his touch in such an intimate place shot through me like lightning. I cried out to him, but my hands were sliding over loose papers on his desk.
Spencer, sensing that I’d needed something to ground me, wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me against him on the edge. The jolt of movement muddled the sensations between my legs so well that I barely noticed the sting when his finger finally pressed between tight, resistant muscles.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he instructed between light kisses against my forehead.  
“I can’t,” I keened, my back arching to move away from the intrusion. But my hips rolled forward, causing my whole body to squirm in his embrace that became more confident by the second.
“I know you can, little Bunny” he cooed in a way that almost felt like mockery. But I couldn’t deny my body’s response to the encouragement. After each wave of tension in my legs followed a brief pause, a fluttering that would eventually allow space for a second eager finger.
Spencer chuckled again, pressing a sloppy kiss against the side of my lips like anything closer would break his concentration. I knew he could see his title on my tongue, but the clever bastard curled his fingers inside of me just as I went to call to him.
He smiled, watching each of my naive, overly excited responses like I was his favorite subject of study. He would pause, releasing hold of my body to brush away strands of hair that got in the way of his admiration. His lips would break to litter my cheeks with kisses.
The harder I started to shake, the faster his fingers would thrust inside of me. With each motion, he would pause, gently stroking against a spot that made my whole body shiver. When my nails dug into his shoulders to try to hold on to my sanity, he winced from the pain but rewarded me with a low, rolling groan.
“Look at that,” he praised, “you’re doing so well for me.”
Every cell in my body was on high alert. My muscles were tensed around his hand tightly enough that I didn’t understand how he’d maintained his pace. But then he forced his leg between my knees and forced them open without so much as slowing down.
“I-I...” I started, but my throat closed, refusing to open for anything other than broken cries of pleasure.
Spencer cradled my face and ran his thumb over my bruised bottom lip as he assured me with both his eyes and words, “Shhh. Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”
“Professor, I...!” I tried again, finally able to break free of lust’s grip on my soul to sob, “Oh, god, please. Don’t stop.”
That brilliant man heard the way I called for him by title only, and I watched as the idea sparked to life inside of him. His fingers grew even more insistent, and his hand on my jaw pulled me forward at the same time.
“Don’t be shy now,” he ordered.
I knew exactly what he’d wanted, but I wasn’t able to give it to him when his palm began to apply a crushing rolling pressure against the sensitive nub at my center. It was just as soon replaced with his thumb, which was only more practiced in the motion.  
“Say it, Bunny,” he dared, “Say my name.”
My eyes were barely able to stay open as the tightening in my stomach became unbearable. My jaw dropped and my lungs lost their fight to fill enough to stop the room from spinning.
A tenderness immediately tore through oceans of hazel, but he never once stopped. He just stared, unbroken and filled with adoration as the first wave crashed over me before I said it again.
When I tried a third time, riding out the death of some notion of innocence as long as I could, he stopped me. His mouth covered mine without any of the violence and all of the love I knew him capable of. He waited until my muscles had settled into fine tremors before he stopped.
“Хорошая зайка (Good Bunny),” he breathily called as he wiped evidence of what he’d done against my thigh, “Good girl.”
The room was quiet except for the sounds of our hearts and lungs trying to return to normal. My vision, however, remained hazy. The lights haloed around him and I wondered if he would ever see what I saw when I looked at him. The unadulterated good that he’d kept sequestered from the rest of us.
It was so rare to see it, and I didn’t want to let it go. I was terrified that I would spoil the moment, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’d never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to please him and hear more of his praise.
There was an undoubtedly stunned look about him, but it was overall good. Eerily calm in a way I wanted to remedy. But in hindsight, perhaps wanting to fix anything about him was my first fatal mistake.
The second was reaching out to him when I knew my hands were too shaky to be useful. As I tried to unbutton his pants, the only thing I did was signal to him just how untrained I was at our activities of choice.
“Spencer…” I said with a nervous gulp, “I-I want to help you, too.”
I just wanted a chance to try. I needed to feel him and see him come undone as he’d been able to with me. I wanted to hold him and bear witness to his unmuted pleasure at my hands. I was greedy and naive. I was stupid and selfish.
I made a mistake.
The word, firm and unforgiving, felt like a punch to my gut. Spencer tore his whole body away from me in such a purely instinctive manner that he’d actually crashed into the chair behind him. He’d managed to stay standing, but only barely.
“But I want to—“
I climbed off the desk as fast as I could, misjudging how pliant my legs had become and almost falling the same way he had. He caught me, but then continued his retreat around the desk. Anywhere to get away from me as he begged, “Please, stop. Don’t do this.”
“What did I do?” I asked, although I shouldn’t have. Not when I wasn’t prepared for the answer that was blatantly obvious based on everything about him in that moment.
“This was a mistake.” Spencer bristled, his hands running through his hair only to be violently thrown to the side with no apparent thought. His meltdown only grew more furious, with fists pressing against his eyes and his voice fighting itself. “We shouldn’t— I-I can’t be this person for you.”
What was I meant to say?
This was a mistake.
What was I meant to do?
This was a mistake.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said, like it would do anything to heal the wound he’d just inflicted.
“You didn’t make me do anything, Spenc—!” I tried to assure him, I tried to reason with him. But then he spoke again, and any hope I had crumbled like the most fragile dried jasmine.
“Stop calling me that!” he yelled, turning to me with a snarl that carried nothing but disgust. I couldn’t hide my anger, then.
“It’s your name. You asked me to!”
The reverberated sound of our anger hit him, and for the briefest moment I saw the regret before it faded back to frustration and denial. It had barely taken him five minutes to forget everything we’d shared and replace it with the vilest self-hatred. He learned nothing from my sacrifice and chose only to taint the innocence he’d so readily devoured with spite.
“I’m so sorry, Bunn—“ He stopped. “(y/n). Please, just leave.”
When I made no such movement, he tried again.
“Are you firing me?”
I saw the word ‘yes’ on his tongue, and it felt like the most horrific, nauseating pain. I watched him fumble back and forth over the line like he always did. I felt it as he only just barely saved the porcelain encasing my heart before it fell away and shattered.
He couldn’t look at me anymore.
“No,” he corrected his course, but it hardly helped. “No, I’m not mad at you. This isn’t your fault. You’re not fired I just... I need to be alone.”
I need to not be, I thought, but I knew he wouldn’t understand.
I need you to want me to stay.
“I’m so sorry,” he choked on tears that began falling like the downpour from the first time he’d tried to warn me of the impending storm, “I am so unbelievably fucking sorry.”
Maybe it was childish, to continue to fight him, but I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to at the very least acknowledge what he’d done — what he was choosing to do — to the one person who wanted to love him more than anything.
“Please, at least look at me before you kick me out!” I shouted.
Slowly, and regrettably, Spencer lifted his eyes to meet mine. He saw the life-altering wrath, fury, and scorn. He saw confirmation of every horrible thing he’d ever felt about himself in my eyes, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t even flinch.
“Please, don’t look at me like that,” he sobbed in the most unconvincing manner, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Each step away from him I took felt like another lost petal.
He loves me.
“You’re a little late for that, Professor.”
He loves me not.
 —————(OPTIONAL SCENE)—————
 (Content Warning: panic attack, meltdown, violence, unintentional self-harm (breaking glass), blood, canon-consistent trauma (Tobias, Prison), implied CSA and childhood abuse, implied medical neglect, EXTREME self-hatred, heavy religious symbolism, might be triggering for suicidal tendencies)
—————(OPTIONAL SCENE)—————
If there had ever been a hell, it was hearing the door slam behind her. It was the silence that caused an immediate bombardment of every regrettable encounter I’ve managed to amass in a pitiful existence spanning only forty years.
I paced, back and forth, the memories of what had just happened flooding back in high-definition. I could still hear her, feel her as she fell apart on my fingers. The sweet, sticky nectar of an eviscerated honeysuckle stuck on my skin.
My hand felt foreign, felt wrong, felt tainted. Tainted with goodness. I felt like I was burning, already half decayed and spitting plumes of smoke in place of carbon dioxide.
Stumbling out of my office, the fluorescent lights of the hallway strongly contrasted the pitch black color behind the windows. I felt like I’d already fallen to the lowest depths, and the empty expanse of tile and brick felt like a labyrinth with no end.
I moved by pure muscle memory, my hands stuck craned and shaking until I found myself in front of the bathroom sink. Refusing to look in the mirror yet, I forced the faucet to the highest possible temperature and watched as steam began to rise from the porcelain.
I drowned my hands in soap like it would help me rid myself of the memory of her voice crying my name. I scrubbed mercilessly at skin until it broke out in purple dots among red welts. Tears dripped from my eyes into the mess of bubbles, blood, and regret.
There was no escaping the bastardization of every good memory through the bad. Her voice calling my name just as quickly turned to her quiet sobs and the slammed door. That sound was so familiar, each one shut set off a chain reaction until I was alone in my bedroom and unable to escape.      
No one was coming to save me. I’d thought my dad might, but his hands had never intended to do anything close to healing. My mother, too, though she tried, would willfully misinterpret any bruise on my skin.
Well, it’s your own fault, Spencer.
You knew you couldn’t climb that high.
Where were you trying to get to, anyway?
Heaven, I thought from the depths of Hell.
I’d wanted to walk among angels dressed in white and have them recognize me as something worth saving.
I’d mistaken the doctors for them once. I’d convinced my mother to take me, with the help of the one woman at school who spoke to me kindly. The one that never met my eyes and never made me hug her. I thought of her when we walked, because at least her ramblings made more sense than my mother’s when she was like that.
It’s not her fault, either.
You’re doing it again.
Stop blaming everyone else for the fact that you’re broken.
The guilt was so overwhelming that I’d changed my mind before we even got to the door of the hospital. Suddenly, every conviction I’d had was obliterated by the desire to save my mother like she couldn’t do for me. I recalled the lies I’d concocted to convince the doctor that the bruises on my skin and the fractures in young bones were the result of normal boyhood ruckus.
I was ready to tell him, to explain it all away.
But he never asked. All he’d said was, ‘He seems perfectly fine.’
That was the day that I realized that my instincts were right.
Broken boys like you are meant to suffer.
I never went back; I never sought the angels again.
Bunny found me, anyway, though. She marched into my life like she’d had every right to be there. Like it wasn’t blasphemous for me to even breath the same air as her, to even exist on this earth with her. She’d let me love her and kiss her and take my fill of her innocence.
For the first time since the sin, I forced myself to look in the mirror that wasn’t made of her eyes, for they were incapable of showing the truth. Her vision of me was warped with a misunderstanding of godliness. A conflation of piety and malignity.
The man who stared back at me was nothing worth seeing. He was the same one that had ruined everything whenever given the chance. The one who stole precious vials from the corpse of an innocent man he’d just killed. He’d played God to remove the spirit of Raphael, but in the process, he had become him.
The same man who’d allowed himself to pretend to be healed from the wicked poison long enough to find himself behind bars of steel and self-hatred. To contaminate the only anesthetic offered to other evil men in an attempt to play god again. He had become them.
I stared at my reflection until I couldn’t any longer. The raw, bloody hand that had been scratched until it broke did the same to the silver-backed contraption hanging from the wall. The high-pitched shattering sounded like chimes from a lullaby that my teacher had once sang to me when she found out I couldn’t sleep in my own bed anymore.
It sounded like Bunny’s laughter that quickly morphed into her screaming, begging me to see her.
But all I saw was blood and broken glass.
All I saw was a mess that I needed to clean up. It was my own fault, anyway.
Pulling jagged little pieces from my fingers, I calmly wiped away the iron with care not to aggravate the already existing wounds. I wrapped my knuckles with toilet paper in silence, replaying each dressing I’d ever received on the field with something akin to fondness for the memories.
I turned off the faucet and found a closet that looked nothing at all like the first place I’d held her. I grabbed a broom and a dustpan from the room and left the door cracked for my return. Broken glass was swept and thrown away, and the area of the wall where the mirror had hung cast an inverse shadow from years of being hidden away.
As I turned off the light to leave, I thought to myself that it almost looked better that way.
| Part Eleven |
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