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reidselle · 1 month

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Okay so I have a small req (Honestly this is more of an hc than anything-but I need to share cuz vshvskhbjks) I feel like Spencer is genuinely so perverted when it comes to his girlfriend??? like if you leave your panties lying around he IS swiping them and he is not ashamed like...he may not do much in public but in private he will grab a handful of your ass or tits when he can like.....In the early seasons, I feel like he'd be a little ashamed but s13+? hell no, especially when it comes to him getting caught being a lil perv gfkjk (FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF IT ISN'T YOUR CUP OF TEA!!!!)

A/N; Gave this one some ✨️angst✨️ just because I could, but YES TO PERVERTED SPENCER!! YES INDEED!!

Summary; You get to know your coworker well after a decade on the job. You get to know just how much he loves to touch you and just how much you enjoy his hands on you as well. But after prison, something is changed in Spencer Reid.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ Minors DNI. Masturbation (M, F), oral sex (F), hand job, mentions of somewhat public indecency, groping, grinding, etc, unprotected sex, PinV, creampie, dirty talk.

Spencer Reid had always been a pervert, and it took you six long, quiet months to figure that out.

When you'd joined the BAU after years of begging for a chance, you were a team expecting field-hardened agents, and for the most part, that's what you'd got. Hotchner was as bureaucratic as they came, Rossi had been at the institution as long as the concept of the BAU had, and the others had some serious qualifications to their names.

But Spencer Reid was the outlier. He was a bit timid in front of the others, always seemed to put his foot in his mouth when it mattered most and seemed to be patronized around the office a bit until it came to his intellect.

And you didn't quite know how to act around him until you got to know him very, very well.

A case in some state or the other had called for emergency motel rooms, unfortunate as some Nascar show or the other was rapidly filling up hotel room spaces everywhere. So, as the two youngest members of the team (and by far the most eager to please), you'd ended up rooming together in a double twin room.

“So, Spencer, what do you do at night to wind down? Relax after a case?” The motel door had swung shut loudly behind you an awkward three minutes before you started the conversation, and you needed something to break the awkward tension in the room.

“I… read, I guess?”

“You're always reading. What book is it today? Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy? Maybe Dickens?”

In response, he'd just awkwardly held up the book cover for a minute, leaving you to nod and let the conversation peter out. It wasn't the first time one of your conversations with him died out due to a mutual lack of skill, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Giving in, you grabbed your bag and headed for the small bathroom, a strategic retreat to pass the time without having to acknowledge that the teams resident genius was ignoring you.

Because he definitely was.

You'd been on the team for six months, and you couldn't quite figure out why he'd never so much as asked you how your day was. He'd be jovially talking with one agent or the other and would clam up as soon as you joined into the fray.

Spencer Reid was stuck in his shell, you'd been told. He was someone who didn't open up very easily, especially after his first few, very rough years in the BAU.

You let each concern roll off your back as you showered and cleaned yourself up after a day of dumpster diving for clues. Your next aim was getting out of the shower, dried, and into bed before you felt the weight of his disinterest in you settle any heavier.

“Hey I'm all done now, and I'm gonna hit the hay, so bathrooms all yours.”

“Thanks,” he said and immediately strode in, shutting the door behind him without another word.

You wished you could shake the man. You weren't exactly used to being so pointedly avoided by a peer, and it was honestly making you feel rather indignant. You wanted to grab his attention and hold it any way you could, so much so that your palms started itching.

The sounds of Spencer's shower interrupted your attempts to rest, so you set about organizing your things instead. Folding your shirts, you placed them in your go bag, taking inventory on how many fresh outfits you had left and how much laundry you'd have left to do when the case ended.

It could've been the haze of sleep, or perhaps just an early warning bell, but no matter how many times you counted, you always came up short by one pair of panties. It took another minute of blinking out the sleep in your eyes, becoming suddenly alert again, that you realized it was the pair of panties you'd been wearing before your shower.

“Fuck,” you sighed, trying to fill the deep pit of embarrassment opening in your stomach before it swallowed you from the inside out. “Fuck.”

When in doubt, you found it best to curse at least twice.

And just like that your coherent thoughts went out the window - a morning, afternoon and evening doing manual labor under the guise of a nice desk job would do that to any girl - and you found yourself opening the door to the bathroom without knocking first or even remembering Spencer Reid's presence in the room at all.

He froze in shock as you came face to face with him, shirt and pants open, his long cock in his hands and his face flushed with erotic shock as he rubbed up and down the length of his cock.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer I'm sorry I was- are those my panties?”

Rather unabashedly, your eyes hadn't left his crotch as he froze in fear at your intrusion.

“I'm not a pervert!” He shouted, still unable to let his dick go, so close to bliss as he was.

“You're madturbating into my panties, Spencer. What other label would you put on that?”

“You're really hot. It's hard to ignore. I don't usually do this, but they were in here on the floor, and I thought about taking them back out to you, but then you'd think I was a pervert for touching your underwear and then I imagined you thanking me and putting them back on right in front of me and my cock was so hard and you said you were going to sleep. Did you know most men masturbate eight times a week on average? Me doing this once while sharing a room with you for a week isn't statistically …that …bad. Why are you doing that?”

You'd been done listening halfway through and had somehow found yourself sinking to your knees. He'd rested his body against the bathroom sink, so you organized yourself in front of him, staring up at him innocently as you wrapped your fingers around his hand.

“I want to see what it was you were doing with my panties, Spencer,” You moved his hand up and down his length, slowly dragging the lacy material across each inch. “Please let me see.”

The empty shower kept flowing and the room was thick with steam as you kept up a steady pace rubbing up and downs Spencer's cock.

A sense of achievement hit you with each moan and gasp he let out. Every time his hips thrust up into your hand, each time his hand stroked your hair in thanks for your copious attention.

You'd finally gotten through to Spencer Reid in a way that you were about to make sure was mutually beneficial.

His moans got louder and harder to conceal with a bite of the lip as he got closer to cumming. He really was a pervert, letting his coworker jerk him off in a motel bathroom while on a case. He was practically begging for release.

“Cum for me Spencer. Make my face pretty, please please please.”

His eyes shot open wide as you stuck your tongue out, just in time to taste his cum on your lips. A few stray ropes hit your chin and cheek as well, with the majority staining the panties you'd come in to search for.

“Thank you, Spencer,” You giggled, wiping away his cum and standing yourself up to come face to face with him.

“Y/N, it won't-” You cut him off with a kiss that he eagerly returned hands, falling all over your body in his haste to feel every part of you. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he was a cartographer mapping out its caverns, desperate to learn each soft caress you returned off by heart.

“If you were about to say it won't happen again, I suggest you think again, Spencer. I want this to happen again. Regularly.”

You shut off the shower and turned on your heel, walking back out to the bedroom and out of the heat for a few minutes.

“You want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm the pervert?”

“You were using my panties and your hand like a fleshlight, Spencer. Yes, you are a pervert.”

“I'm a pervert but you still want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

That's how it began. Your decade-long escapade with Spencer Reid. It wasn't that you dated. He was still unsure about how to approach you for another few months after that, but there was nothing like the relaxation of a few orgasms to really help you warm up to somebody.

For the first few years, a case didn't pass without one of you slipping into the others motel room for some late night entertainment.

You knew just how deep his fingers could hit inside you after only two weeks. You became obsessed with how well his cock could stretch you out, how his hands would gently rub around your clit in circles while you bounced up and down on his length. How he watched your breasts bounce with untold wonder in his eyes.

You most of all loved that his tongue was as eager to taste you as you had been that very first time to taste his cum.

Half the times he let himself into your room, he'd satisfy himself by eating you out lazily for hours on end, making you moan his name while you came on his fingers and tongue. Every flash of violet that he caught a glimpse of - that first pair of panties - drove him crazy.

Motels and hotels and once the back seat of an SUV after a long drive became your time to get closer to your coworker. You never once thought of bringing this physical relationship home with you, though, and it wasn't a continuous thing.

You'd had to take it easy when he got shot in the leg, not wanting to hurt him anymore. And again, when he'd gotten shot in the neck, though a few times he'd begged you to close his hospital door and help him out still.

And you'd both distanced yourself after Emily's death and miraculous resurrection. Surprisingly enough, you'd found your heart slightly twisted when he'd begged the team for help rescuing his girlfriend from a stalker.

But you always found your way back in his bed with his tongue pressed against yours and his cock buried as deep into you as far as it could go. In the decade you'd been sleeping with the secretly perverted and somewhat insatiable Spencer Reid you'd never gone longer than three months without his body in your bed.

Until he went to prison.

The weight of your grief at losing him was unparalleled. You'd been heartbroken when Emily had died, but it paled in comparison to the thought of his isolation. Penelope had to remind you to eat, Luke had to engage you in conversation to keep you talking.

Emily slipped a spare key to Reid's apartment to you somewhere around the three week mark, and you'd let yourself into a place you'd only ever heard described. You slept in his bed to feel his scent wrapped around you, touched yourself there to remind yourself that you were just feeling the loss of a sexual partner and friend and nothing more. It was lust and sexual frustration driving your depression. That was all.

Spencer came out different. Everyone did. On the surface, he was still kind, still a little bit nerdy, and he still wasn't the best at reading social cues, but there was an intensity to him that wasn't there before.

On cases, he'd wrap a hand around your waist and push a hand just slightly under your shirt while you introduced yourself to local detectives. He'd hug you at the end of every work day, breathing in your scent and telling you how tired he was.

His hand would firmly cover your thigh and not move the entire duration of any car ride, team dinner or family event, and he'd kiss the back of your neck and grope your breasts each and every elevator ride you took alone together.

Spencer Reid hadn't been able to keep his hands off of you for six whole months, and yet he hadn't actually touched you.

Every time you'd knocked on his motel door, he'd not opened it, and he hadn't once come to yours.

You'd expected him every day for a week after he'd first gotten out and had even explicitly told him so. You texted your address, invited him over, and sent him pictures of you in those infernal panties that you really didn't wear that often anymore.

He desired you still, you knew enough from brushing past him and feeling his semi push against your ass, you knew in every hug where he touched you just enough to know he wanted more but still had the control to pull away.

You knew that he only kissed your neck, because if he kissed your lips his tongue would wander all the way to your cunt and he'd be on his knees between yours making you scream his name in pleasure.

Spencer Reid wanted to avoid you, but he still wanted you, and after six months of celibacy you were tired of waiting around for him to finally crack.

Emily had never asked for the spare key back. With 10 years of dalliances under your belt, you were sure the entire office had caught on, if not before prison, then certainly after his hands took possession of your body after his release. She wasn't going to ask for the key back because that was like asking a question she probably would sleep better without having the answer to.

Spencer started his professorial work, and you finished some nights before he could manage the commute home, so it was easy to let yourself into his apartment for the confrontation.

When Spencer finally turned his key in the lock, he found you there on your knees on the floor in a matching violet set of lingerie. Not your originals, but certainly close enough - smaller, though.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I'm just sitting here in my underwear for fun, Spencer. You should try it sometime.”

He frowned at your sarcastic reply but stepped closer to you, topping your head up to meet his gaze with a quick flick of his finger.

“I mean it, Y/N. Why are you here?”

“I…I want you to touch me again.”

“I touch you plenty, Y/N. I touch you here,” he traced your lips.

“And here.” His fingers fell to your neck, sweeping some hair off your shoulders.

“And a lot here, too.” He cupped one breast in his hand and gave it a squeeze, and you let your head rest against his thigh as he slipped a finger into your bralette.

“I want you to touch me more, Spencer.”

“How? How should I touch you? Be a little pervert for me and tell me, Y/N?”

Your breathing faltered for a second as he pinched your nipple and you bit your lip before you told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I want to feel your dick buried deep in my pussy. I want to cum on your tongue. I want you to stretch me out with your fingers and I want you to fill me up with your cum. Please, Spencer, I miss you so much.”

He said nothing but withdrew his hand from your chest and distanced himself slightly, turning his face away from you.

“Spencer, please, what's wrong? Did I do something-”

“Do you miss me? Or do you miss fucking me?” The words would regularly send you into an indignant stomp, and part of you was still begging you to let out a shout of “what the hell is that supposed to mean.”

But Spencer was frozen still in the doorway of his house, almost statuesque as a melancholic look overwhelmed his features.

Your courage drained your body as you stood up and pulled the shirt you'd earlier discarded back on.

“Spencer? Look at me, please.”

He did reluctantly, and that blank expression still filled his eyes with gloom.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch, sitting him down and wrapping yourself around him.

You say there, head pressed into his neck, legs straddling him as his arms slowly came up to pulling you back in. Your heart beat harder by the second, and you counted down the minutes as you worked up courage.

“I missed you so much I drove myself insane. I had to sleep here for a week straight after they told me you were put in solitary. Every day, I thought of your hands on my body and how much I missed seeing your fingers flipping through a book on the jet. I missed asking you what you were reading, and I missed convincing you to put the book down.”

You pulled your head up to meet his gaze and slowly let your mouth fall to his lips. It was slow, soft. An innocent peck in the context of your usual caresses. It spoke the words I miss you more effectively than your voice could, and neither of you seemed to want to part from the warm embrace.

“I missed you, Spencer Reid.” You spoke, cutting off your kiss as you grew more impassioned by his touch, breathing harder and speaking faster and faster now as you kept on.

“I missed you when you came back because you kept your hands on me. You let yourself enjoy my body in public but wouldn't let me share your bed in private. You hugged me, but you wouldn't let me hold you, and you have not once spoken about how you feel, you have not once told me that you are okay now or that you are not okay and you need my shoulder to cry on.”

He was silent until your tears sprung forth, and then he was everywhere around you, kissing the drops from your face, shushing you and whispering words of encouragement and thanks and love into your ears while he placated your breaking heart.

Because somehow you fell in love with the pervert who stole your panties and now you were sitting in a room with a mostly broken man, begging him to use you to feel whole again.

“I love you, Spencer. Please, please let me touch you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered against your lips, hands finding your hips again as he finally pushed his tongue into your mouth.

His nails bit into the skin at your thighs as he forced you not to move, instead grinding up into you after another heated kiss.

“It was hard, but you kept me going. Memories of you, your mouth, your scent your wet cunt wrapped around my cock, you kept me alive in that place.” He worked you up with each dirty confession as his hands pushed the shirt back off your shoulders and bared the lingerie to him once again.

“Then I was out, and you were still the same as I remembered, but I was different, and I needed more from you. But I couldn't take more, and I didn't want to ask you to give more because I could not beg one more person to love me.”

“You don't have to beg, Spencer, I love you already, I love you I love you I love you.”

“Y/N, you don't understand. I am completely enamoured with you. I want to possess you, I want to keep you in my room, I want to have a hand on you at all times. I want to put a bullet in any man who looks at you because you are mine. I'm not a pervert, I'm a monster, and I'm going to hurt you.”

“Possess me, hurt me, keep me, Spencer, do whatever you want to me, I will let you. Just please don't leave me.”

Your teeth clicked together in his haste to recapture your lips again, his cock hard and already sprung from his pants thanks to two pairs of quick working hands.

He pushed aside your panties, and he was inside you, pressed to the hilt recapturing the place that was home to him.

“You picked this color for me. You wanted me to lose control and fuck you and you got what you wanted,” he whispered in your ear as you locked your ankles together behind his back.

“I did.”

“Good. I'm going to rip them shred by shred from your body so nobody else can see you acting like such a desperate wet cunt ever again.”

You let out a gasp at his words, and his tongue dropped back down your throat as he rutted into you ferociously.

“Spencer, yes, fuck me. FUCK!”

Your hips met his in a furious clash, his hand making their way around to your butt cheek as he aided your thrusting, pulling you up and down the length of his cock.

“That's it, look at your boobs bouncing for me, sweetheart. Your body knows when it's being fucked right, it knows when I'm here, and I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, right baby?”

“Yes, Spencer. Yes!”

His hand came back up to your clit as you met his hips more enthusiastically than before, fucking yourself on the length of him.

“You're going to cum on my cock. Show me how much you missed me, missed this.”

“So much, missed you so much, Spence….need your cum inside me, fill me up Spencer, please."

It took both of you only a few more desperate thrusts to reach the climax you'd waited half a year for. You convulsed on his dick, shuddering underneath him as he filled you with rope after rope of cum.

But when you had both caught your breath, you still didn't let go, still holding on to him desperately as of he'd vanidj in another second despite your confessions.

“Y/N…” he cooked into your ear as you buried your face in his chest again. “Y/N, we need to get you to bed.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“No, you're not. But you're not sleeping on my couch either.”

You pulled away just enough to watch his face as he dipped down for another sweetly chaste kiss.

Lifting himself up, and pulling his cock out of you, you whimpered a little at the loss of his warmth, but after rearranging himself in his pants, he pulled you up next to him and wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug as he slowly walked you back towards his bedroom.

“You really slept at my apartment?”

“I slept in your bed. I'm sorry, I know it was overstepping, but you were gone and I-”

“Missed me, I know.” His hands traced your spine again before cupping around your bare ass and hooking it under to touch your soaked cunt.

“How much did you miss me, Y/N? How did you spend your nights here?” His fingers once again hooked under the panties, but instead of pulling them to the side, he quickly pulled at the seams, and you heard a ripping sound aa his eyes demanded the answer to your question.

“Close the door, and I'll shoe you exactly what I did here, Spencer. I'll show you everything.’

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