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I’M SO MUCH WORSE ⟢ spencer reid x greenaway!reader
summary: elle greenaway left the BAU without saying goodbye. a year later, you, her little sister, walk in without saying hello. you wear burgundy lipstick, leather boots, and emotional armor. you won’t let anyone get close. or… will you?
genre: angst (i guess? nothing bad happens tho. maybe a bit of fluff if you squint. hard to classify as a genre tbh) | w/c: 2.7k
tags/warnings: reader is elle greenaway’s sister, reader is new to the BAU, emotional repression, estranged sibling relationship, grieving someone still alive, reader trusts no one, canon-typical case, extremelyyy subtle mutual attraction/interest (just trust me ok. it’s there), no use of y/n
a/n: welcome to the world, greenaway!reader!!! to all who mourn never getting canon spencelle, this is the start of a slow-burn journey to seeing a different version of reidaway™ come to fruition. honestly this is more of a moody character study/intro than a full-on fic, but there will be more coming soon with actual plotlines I promise.
greenaway!reader masterlist
First impressions never really mattered to you. If you’ve learned anything from your older sister, it was that people only remember the last thing you did — or the worst.
The elevator dings, and you step off onto the sixth floor and into Quantico’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, adjusting the lapel of your blazer as you go. Somehow, no matter what you do, there’s always a touch of dishevel clinging to you like smoke when you try to dress in anything resembling business casual.
Your heavy lug sole boots echo across the linoleum floors as you make your way in. They’re scuffed from years of use, but you can’t bring yourself to part with them. You wear them like armor.
You head to the empty desk you’ve been assigned and set your bag down. No one says hello right away. That’s fine — you’re not here to make friends. You’re here to do your goddamn job. Still, the silence makes you itch.
And then:
“Greenaway?” a voice calls, clipped and neutral. You turn and see your new boss, Aaron Hotchner, standing outside his office. “You’re early.”
There’s a flicker of something on his face — not quite amusement, though. You get the sense already that Aaron Hotchner is not a man who shows signs of amusement often. He steps forward, eyes skimming over you like he’s trying to x-ray your secrets.
One by one, the rest of the team trickle in as you get acquainted with your new boss. You discreetly observe them over his shoulder as they settle into their desks before Hotch clears his throat to gather their attention.
“This is our newest team member, SSA Greenaway,” he says, and now everyone’s watching. “She’s just transferred in from the New York City field office. Specializes in victimology and interrogation tactics.”
“Greenaway?” another voice cuts in, laced with surprise and confusion. You follow the sound and land on a solid wall of muscle with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth and a whole lot of swagger behind it. “Like… Greenaway Greenaway?”
You could lie. You could laugh. You could throat-punch him. But you don’t.
Instead, you slide your hands into your pockets and tilt your head just enough to make it look like you might bite. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
The man blinks.
“Elle’s my sister,” you clarify sharply. Your tone makes it clear that that’s all you have to say on the matter.
“Easy tiger, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, raising his hands. “Elle was a friend. It’s just been a while since I heard that name aloud in this room.”
You nod once. “Yeah. I’m sure it has.”
That shuts everyone up for a beat, and you know what they’re thinking — Elle Greenaway ghosted this team and let the door slam behind her. You wonder if they expect you to do the same.
Hotch clears his throat. “We’re reviewing a case soon. Everyone, meet in the roundtable room in thirty.”
You take a seat at your new desk like a throne and cross your legs like a warning. Better to look like a threat than a question no one wants to answer.
You can feel it already, the way they’re watching you with the wrong kind of curiosity. Spencer Reid — you clocked his name from the nameplate on his desk — keeps sneaking glances over the top of whatever file he’s pretending to read. There’s something hesitant in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to work out a complicated equation and keeps forgetting the variables. You can’t tell if it bothers you or not — being so clearly seen by someone who doesn’t even know what he’s looking at yet.
You don’t know much about him, but you know enough. Elle mentioned his name a few times in those rare late-night calls back when she still picked up the phone. Said he was smart, sweet, young. Said he sometimes reminded her of a cat who didn’t know whether or not to run from thunder.
But you’re not thunder — you’re lightning.
And this office? This whole team? They’re about to find out just how fast you strike.
—
They don’t give you long to settle in.
And that's fine. You’ve never liked the quiet that comes with waiting — too much room for doubt, too much space for ghosts. The bullpen is already humming with life, papers rustling and phones chirping and chairs squeaking under the weight of people trying not to stare. You keep your head down and rifle through the folder Hotch left on your desk.
And then he calls for the briefing, ten minutes earlier than he’d originally stated.
The roundtable room is glass-walled on one side — ironic, considering no one here seems particularly transparent. You take a seat at the end of the table furthest from the door and resist the urge to cross your arms. It would look defensive, like you’re bracing for a hit.
They don’t know you yet. Not really. But you know how this goes. There’s always a script, even if no one admits to writing it:
1. they doubt you,
2. they test you,
3. they pretend like they always believed in you.
You’ve seen it before. You’re not falling for it again. Still, a small, buried part of you hopes they see you for what you are before they decide who you’re supposed to be.
“Three missing women, all under the age of twenty-five, taken from their homes along the I-81 corridor in Pennsylvania,” Hotch begins. “Two confirmed dead. The third’s been missing for forty-eight hours.”
He clicks the remote. Crime scene photos flicker across the screen like a grim slideshow.
You tilt your head. “No forced entry?”
“Correct,” JJ answers. “No signs of struggle. No witnesses.”
Rossi glances at you. “You see something, Greenaway?”
You lean forward, tap the edge of the first photo with your fingernail. “He watches. Long enough to know the routines. Long enough to know when they’re alone.”
Morgan shifts in his chair. “You think he knew them?”
“Not personally,” you say. “But intimately. They weren’t random. The unsub spent time studying their routines so he could anticipate their windows of vulnerability.”
There’s a pause, and you know that silence: it's what people do when they’re adjusting their expectations.
Prentiss chimes in: “Could be someone with casual access. Delivery. Maintenance. Landlord.”
Spencer opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, then closes it again.
You glance at him, just for a second.
Hotch continues assigning roles: JJ will handle the press and family outreach. Morgan and Rossi will check out the crime scenes. Prentiss and Reid are on geographic profiling.
Then Hotch turns to you.
“Greenaway: Victimology. Coordinate with Garcia to gather intel, and if the third victim’s family agrees to talk—”
“I’ll lead the interview,” you finish.
He nods once. “Good.”
When the chairs scrape and everyone rises, Reid lingers by the table. You catch him looking again — not quite at your face, but at your hands, like maybe they’re saying something your mouth won’t.
“You’re right about it not being random,” he says. “And about the timeline. This took planning.”
You glance back at him. He’s fidgeting with the corner of a folder, eyes darting but not nervous — just observant. You wonder how long it’ll take before he stops looking at you like he’s seen a ghost.
As you turn to leave, you catch the edge of your own reflection in the glass. For a second, the angle’s just wrong enough for you to look like her.
You blink, and the ghost vanishes.
—
You hit the ground in Pennsylvania before noon. The sky above is low and gray, the kind of color that makes everything feel depressing.
You drive with JJ to the home of the third victim’s sister. The woman is pale, clenched, shrunken in on herself in the way only grief and panic can collapse a person. Her kitchen smells like burnt toast and antibacterial wipes. You lead the interview, voice even, eyes sharp. You know when to press and when to pull back.
Halfway through, the woman says, “She told me she thought someone was watching her, but I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just being overly paranoid and anxious like always was.”
You nod. “Most people are, when they’ve got a reason to be.”
—
Back at the precinct, JJ murmurs something to Hotch about how well you handled the sister. You don’t linger to hear the rest.
Instead, you duck into the breakroom to rinse your hands, and that’s when you feel it — a presence behind you, quiet and unassuming, but distinctly there.
Reid.
You finally turn. He’s standing near the doorway, lanky and uncomfortable, like he hasn’t quite grown into his own limbs — which is absurd, considering how tall he is. His tie is slightly crooked. He’s holding a file he’s not reading.
“You’re really observant,” he says. “And I meant what I said earlier — you were right.”
You arch an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”
“I’m not,” he replies quickly. “I just—” He hesitates. “I hadn’t really… considered what it would be like to work with someone who knows her.”
You stiffen. “Elle?”
He nods.
“I don’t talk about her,” you mutter.
“I didn’t ask you to. And honestly, no one really ever does,” Spencer says after a beat. “Not anymore. It’s like… if we don’t say her name, what happened never has to make sense.”
There’s a beat.
Then you say, “You were staring earlier.”
He looks mortified. “I—I wasn’t trying to.”
You shrug, tilting your head. “You just do that with everyone, or just people who look like ghosts?”
That lands harder than you meant it to. He takes a slow breath.
“Elle was my friend,” he confesses.
You nod. “You were her friend, too, Reid,” you tell him quietly.
You leave before he can reply.
—
In the end, you were the one who found her.
You saw the pattern — the quiet overlaps in building permits, the odd timing of maintenance requests, the proximity to each victim’s home. One man, always lingering at the edges. Never close enough to stand out, but not far enough to be clean, either.
The missing woman was discovered bound and barely conscious in a crawlspace behind a water heater — dazed, dehydrated, but alive. You rode with her in the back of the ambulance, silent except for the sound of her shaky breathing as it steadied. When her eyes finally met yours — wide, grateful, terrified — you held her gaze and nodded in soft reassurance. You’re safe now. It’s over.
No one congratulates you on the jet ride home for making the connection, but the silence feels different now. Less loaded with suspicion. More… earned.
—
Back at Quantico, the team scatters — paperwork, debriefs, whatever’s next. Eventually everyone heads home, but you stay in the bullpen, light from your desk lamp haloing the clutter you haven’t sorted yet. Your case notes are open, but you haven’t written anything in twenty minutes.
You don’t hear him approach, but suddenly there’s a paper cup sliding into view beside your keyboard. You glance up to find Spencer Reid standing there, hands tucked in the pockets of his cardigan, expression unreadable.
“You’re still here.”
“Wow, look at all those PhDs at work,” you deadpan.
He offers the smallest quirk of a smile and nods to the cup he slid in front of you. “Black. No sugar,” he says. “I remembered.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t recall telling you.”
“You didn’t. But you left the sugar packets untouched at the precinct.”
You blink at him, then at the cup, then back at him again. “Watching me? Creepy.”
His smile falters, just slightly.
You sigh. “I’m kidding, Reid. Relax.”
There’s a beat of silence. He doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t leave either.
“Elle used to stay late, too. After cases. Especially the bad ones.”
You tilt your head. “That supposed to mean something to me?”
“No,” he says quickly. “But I thought you might want to know.”
That throws you off more than it should. You sit back in your chair, legs still crossed, fingers tightening around the coffee cup like it’s suddenly fragile.
You don’t do this — the soft thing. The human thing. You are, for lack of a better way to say it, bad at it.
“I’m not her, Reid.”
“I know,” he says without missing a beat. “You’re not.”
You study him for a long moment — the way he’s just standing there, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s waiting for you to pull a knife or a truth from under your sleeve.
“I, uh—” he starts, then falters. “I just didn’t know if maybe you’d want to talk about her.”
You don’t flinch, but something behind your ribs pulls taut.
“What makes you think I’d want to talk about anything?”
He considers this. “I don’t. Not really. But sometimes people say they don’t and… mean the opposite.”
You snort softly. “Let me guess. You read that in a book?”
“Actually, it’s an observation based on years of empirical experience—” He stops himself. Smiles, sheepish. “But yes. Also a book.”
There’s a long pause.
Then he says, quieter, “When it started getting bad for her, I tried to help. I went to her room the night before…” he trails off, clearing his throat before finishing, “The night before it happened. I thought… I don’t know, maybe if I gave her the opportunity, she’d start talking.”
You sip the coffee. It’s strong and bitter, just how you like it. It’s obvious he made a fresh pot for you, and you refuse to let yourself linger on that thought for longer than a second.
“She didn’t,” he adds quietly. “Talk, I mean.”
You swirl your cup. “She isn’t really the kind of person who lets herself be helped.”
He nods. “And you?”
You give him a crooked smile. “Oh, I’m so much worse.”
It’s meant to deflect. He knows that. You know he knows that. But he doesn’t flinch. Instead, the corners of his lips quirk up in the tiniest whisper of a smile, and he holds your gaze a little longer than expected, like he’s collecting data. He’s watching you the way people watch thunderstorms — from a distance, half in awe, half afraid. You should tell him to leave.
Instead, you say, “You’re not really what I expected, Dr. Reid.”
He blinks. “Is that… a good thing?”
You shrug. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“You were great out there,” he tells you quietly. “If it weren’t for that detail you noticed with the maintenance requests… we might not have found her in time.”
You hate compliments — especially the true ones. So you shrug it off again, sharp and practiced. “Guess I’m good for something, then.”
You glance over at him, study the slope of his jaw, the twitch in his left hand where his fingers tap a rhythm against his. You could cut him down with another quip. That would be easier. You’re good at sharpness — good at being unreadable, untouchable. But instead, you tilt your head.
“Thanks for the coffee,” you say, quieter than before. “It doesn’t suck.”
He smiles at that. “I’ll add pouring coffee from the pot into a cup to my list of core competencies.”
You take another sip and go back to staring at the same line in your report. Spencer calls your name as he walks out a few minutes later, hand held up in an awkward wave before he disappears through the bullpen doors.
Great. You really shouldn’t have said anything nice. Now he’s going to try to talk to you again tomorrow.
And you really shouldn’t want him to. But for some unknown, inexplicable reason… you do.
God help you, you do.
ᝰ.ᐟ
PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!
this fic is part of the greenaway!reader universe/series! you can find more fics like it & read more about this pairing here ♥️
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
In which the reader plans a vacation to italy but on arrival finds the hotel is fully booked. Spencer had taken the last available room but was more than happy to share with the reader (smut/fluff)
wc: 3,155
masterlist
tags: spencer&reader have never met, meeting, start of relationship, sharing a bed, vacation fluff, vacation sex, sex hotel, one bed, strangers-friends-lovers, hooking up, protected p in v, reader rides him, eating out, munch!spencer, one room, swimming, dinner, catching feelings, kissing, making out, grinding
warnings: porn with plot, smut is near the end
notes: I actually wrote this fic sometime last year so if it’s not great i do apologise hope you enjoy!
———————————————————-After a long and quiet miserable week at work, you decided you needed a break, a vacation in the sun to relax. It was unlikely you’d be able to find something so cheap last-minute but you had a budget in mind and hoped you’d find something.
After some searching, you found a hotel in Italy in your price range with a pool and close to the beach, which was perfect. You checked the reviews, where many people said they had an amazing experience with their partners, and, honestly, a slight touch of jealousy ran through you. It had been too long since you’d been in a relationship.
You booked the hotel and flights for three days' time, which gave you enough time to pack and sort things out before leaving for your trip to Europe.
——————
In Virginia, Spencer was leaving work after informing his coworkers that he was going to try exploring outside of his comfort zone by visiting Europe, more specifically Italy. He had had the vacation booked for a while and he was honestly looking forward to it.
He had packed last week in order to be prepared and now he had the weekend off before leaving Monday morning.
——————
Spencer arrived at the hotel a couple of minutes earlier than planned. The hotel looked beautiful but he couldn’t help but notice a couple of people giving him weird looks as he entered on his own but he decided it was because of his warm choice of clothing.
The check-in process was pretty simple and once he got his key card he turned to leave almost knocking into a stunning woman behind him waiting to check in.
He offered a small smile, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” You replied, stepping up to the desk, “Hi I’m here to check in please.”
“What was your booking number,” The woman at the desk spoke with a very prominent Italian accent.
“156297,” You replied, tapping your fingertips on the marble desk.
“Ah, mi dispiace, it seems we are overbooked. Your room will be available tomorrow we can upgrade you tonight to a suite we have available but it will be an extra cost.”
“Uh, how much- " you started but were cut off by a voice behind you.
“You can share with me for the night? I’m here on my own I don’t mind,” Spencer said. He honestly surprised himself by offering a stranger to stay with him, considering his job but she was definitely a very pretty stranger, one he wouldn’t mind sharing his bed with.
You turned around to face him, the man who had bumped into you earlier, “Oh, that’s okay, I couldn’t ask you to do that but thank you anyway.”
“You’re not asking I’m offering.”
You looked between Spencer and the receptionist, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, everything’s already paid for it’s just one night.”
“Okay sure thank you, I’m Y/N.”
“I’m Spencer.”
The receptionist smirked at both of them before passing you a keycard for Spencer’s room, “You can get the keycard for your room after 12 pm tomorrow.” The woman offered a smile and winked just before you and Spencer walked off to the elevator.
Spencer pressed the button for his floor, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Oh it’s cool, I could have paid the extra you didn’t have to do that,” you smiled.
“I wanted to, I felt bad, especially since I took the last room.”
“How do I know you don’t want to murder me or something,” You said with a small laugh even though that really wasn't funny.
“It wouldn’t make me a very good FBI agent if I went around murdering beautiful women,” Spencer laughed back.
“Whoa an FBI agent, that’s awesome. You must be smart.”
“A bit… what about you? What do you do?” Spencer asked as he pushed the hotel door open.
“I’m a bartender and I model occasionally, I’ve been trying to make modelling a full-time job but it’s difficult sometimes. Wow, this is actually beautiful and there's a balcony pool, damn.”
“It is nice,” Spencer put both of your suitcases onto a single bed that was in the room, “I’m going to take a quick shower. There are so many types of germs on planes including E.coli.”
“Okay,” You laughed, “Take a shower nerd- for the record, I’m joking and I too hate germs.”
While Spencer showered you started to read one of the pamphlets on the bedside table.
You heard him step out of the shower. “Hey Spencer?” you called.
“Yes?”
“Did you know this is a sex hotel…” You opened the drawer beside you where there was a box of condoms and lube.
“What?” He asked leaning out of the bathroom. The white towel was on his waist but his V-line was still very visible making you feel the need to clench your thighs together for a quick minute.
“Uh… in the pamphlet it says it’s a sex hotel. I opened the drawer, and there were condoms and lube.”
“That must have been why I was getting weird looks…”
You burst out in a fit of giggles, “This is hilarious, how did I not see anything online?”
“I suppose it’s a little funny but now I can only think of the number of people who have had sex in that bed and probably that pool and sperm can live a couple of minutes longer in water than in other places.”
“Spencer no one has cum in your pool in the last few minutes and they definitely clean it between guests, same as the sheets on the bed. You’re fine,” You giggled.
“What about the amount of bodily fluids on the lube bottle?”
“The lube and condoms are new, fully sealed, I assume they change them after every person,” You paused for a second, “Anyways I didn’t know you’d be going in that drawer,” You teased.
He blushed, “I should get dressed, I forgot I was only covered by a tiny towel.”
“I’m not complaining it’s a nice view. The FBI are training you well.”
“I-I, stop… umm seriously?” Spencer stuttered.
“Yes, seriously we just met I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Thank you,” A blush brushed over Spencer’s cheeks before he went into the bathroom to get dressed.
“We have half a day left, do you want to hang out and get dinner or do something alone?” You called out to him.
“We could hang out?”
“Great! I wanna go to the pool, if that’s something you want to do too?”
Spencer walked out of the bathroom, “That sounds great. Where are you from?”
“All over? I’ve spent time in LA, New York, DC, Montana, Long Island but I’m primarily in New York.”
“What about as a child?” He asked.
“California,” You changed positions to lie on your stomach and kicked your feet in the air on the bed, “Let me put a bikini on.”
You crouched down to open your suitcase, you could feel Spencer’s eyes on your ass but you didn’t say anything. You took out your favourite strapless bikini before going into the bathroom to put it on with a thin skirt and no shirt.
“You're um, not wearing a shirt?” Spencer said not knowing where to look.
“There’s no point. You don’t like it?” You asked knowing full well he clearly liked it since he couldn’t stop looking down at the bikini top that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“No, I like it, I mean it’s pretty. You look nice. I just-“
You cut Spencer off, “Chill you’re panicking.”
“Sorry,” He laughed nervously, “Let’s go.”
——————
“So have you ever been to Italy?” You asked as you climbed into the warm water.
He shook his head, “No I’m too busy with work. I would love to bring my mom to Italy though, I think she would love it.”
“That’s sweet, are you guys close?”
“Kind of, I mean yes, we are close but she has schizophrenia and sometimes she doesn’t remember who I am,” He gave you a sad smile.
“Oh Spencer I’m sorry,” You said before his phone started to ring from the poolside.
He mouthed ‘sorry’ to you before going over to pick it up. You swam up to the pool edge to stay close to him and because you were a little nosy.
“Doctor Reid speaking… Oh hi Penelope… Yes, Italy is nice, it’s warm… Yes warmer than home, I’m hanging out with a friend I’ve made here could I call you back at a different time?”
You bit your lip, so he had a doctorate and he was willing to stop speaking to someone to continue hanging out with you.
He hung up the phone, “So Penelope is a friend?” You asked.
“Yes, a friend I work with, she is a technical analyst.”
“And you've got a doctorate?” You raised an eyebrow as he got back into the pool.
“Yes, I have 3 doctorates.”
“Sexy,” You winked before you swam underwater.
——————
At dinner, you wore a long white knit dress while Spencer wore a lightweight striped shirt with some white linen pants and you had to admit he looked beautiful and both of you matched amazingly.
Spencer pulled the chair out for you to sit down before sitting opposite you.
“What are you going to have?” He asked after looking at the menu for a couple of seconds.
“I haven’t even read it yet,” You laughed.
“I’m going to get the pappardelle al ragù di anatra,” He said with a pretty good accent.
“How did you decide that fast?”
“I can read faster than average.”
“Faster than average? That was faster than a cheetah can run.”
Spencer shrugged and waited patiently for you to choose what you wanted.
“I think I’ll have the carbonara,” You placed the menu down and rested your hands on top of it.
“Good choice. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Spencer, you look nice too.”
“So did you want me to sleep on the small bed tonight?” He asked.
“We are both adults I’m sure we can be in the same bed if that isn’t too much for you?”
“No I’m fine with whatever you want.”
“You’re single right? Well, I guess you are if you’re here alone,” You asked just to make sure. You didn’t want to share a bed with someone’s boyfriend.
“No, no girlfriend. What about you?”
“I’m not seeing anybody.”
You continued the casual conversation getting to know each other until your dinner came over when you both fell silent and remained mostly silent while you ate.
——————
Back in the room in the evening you had taken your pjs out of your suitcase, they weren’t really suitable to be wearing in bed with someone you had just met but at least it wasn’t lingerie and in your defence, you weren’t expecting to be sharing a room.
Spencer was a fan of the red silky pjs though you could tell by the way he was looking and trying to look away but not quite succeeding.
You got into bed on the side he wasn’t occupying, his pjs were cute with checked bottoms and a black T-shirt, but you could tell already he was going to overheat in them, the room was hot.
“You look nice,” He smiled, he now had glasses on his face as he read some of his book.
“Thank you, you look adorable.”
He scrunched his nose, “Thanks?”
You leaned on your arm facing him, “What’s your book about?”
Spencer hummed in response as he was finishing what he was reading.
You leaned closer to read part of the page, “Spencer!”
“What?”
“I did not expect an intellect like yourself to be reading something so filthy,” You gasped dramatically.
Spencer’s face went red, “It’s not that bad it’s just some kissing…”
You smirked at him, “Do you want to kiss me?”
“What?-“ Spencer’s eyes widened.
“Do you?”
“I-I don’t know how to answer that,” Spencer cleared his throat.
“Okay if you don’t want to that’s fine,” You turned over in the bed.
“Wait.”
“Yes?” You turned your head and raised an eyebrow.
“I do… but we don’t know each other very well yet.”
“We can get to know each other another time, we have ages here but we are only spending one night together.”
“That’s true, okay… yes, I don’t have condoms though if that's what you were umm alluding to.”
“That was what I was alluding to and you don’t need them there’s a whole box in the drawer remember,” You laughed.
“Right, I don’t really want to touch that box,” Spencer pulled a face of disgust.
“It’s new I promise,” You laugh and get out of bed to grab the box.
You threw the box onto the bed and climbed onto Spencer’s lap taking his book from him and placing it on the bedside table.
Spencer played with the silky strap of your pyjama top as you kissed him for the first time, his lips were so soft and your first thought was that you knew this could not be the first and only time you got to kiss him.
You deepened the kiss, Spencer’s other hand moved to your lower back. You could feel his dick getting hard underneath you which he was trying to disguise out of respect.
You pulled back from the kiss, sitting up properly on his lap. Your fingers skimmed the bottom of your top.
Spencer took your hand away, “Can I?”
You nodded as Spencer's hands began lifting your shirt. The contact of his hands to your skin causes goosebumps to erupt over you.
When your shirt hit the floor you then realised how bare you were and how uncommon this was for you to do something like this, sure you had done photoshoots with a lack of some clothing items but this was different this was hooking up with someone you had never met before and for a moment you were unsure where this confidence came from until you felt his fingers brushing the side of you breast.
“Oh,” You hummed in pleasure over the one touch.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asked.
“More than, just touch me,” You smiled before meeting Spencer’s lips again as he wasted no time before playing with your breasts in different ways.
“You’re so pretty,” Spencer said breaking the kiss and moving his lips to the top of your breast.
“Thank you,” You pulled at the bottom of his shirt, letting him lift his arms so you could pull it off.
You ran your fingertips across his stomach stopping at the waistband of his pants.
“Take them off?” You suggested.
Spencer nodded letting you climb off him before removing them while you removed your shorts.
“Lay down,” Spencer said his confidence had grown but he still sounded timid.
You did as he asked and lay on the bed accommodating a space for him.
“Can I eat you out first?” He bit his lip as he spoke.
“No chance I’m saying no to that,” You giggled, “Of course you can.”
Spencer positioned himself between your thighs and left kisses on your stomach as he got closer to the top of your underwear.
His hands ran from your hips, up and down before his fingers hooked on the underwear.
“Can I take them off please?”
“Yes,” You replied your fingers playing with his hair.
He slipped them off carefully before adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.
His thumb was the first thing that made contact with your folds as he ran it up and down spreading the wetness already created.
His hands held your thighs spreading your legs further as he finally lined his face up to your pussy. With just one lick he was transfixed.
Spencer knew what he was doing for sure with the way he licked and sucked in every right spot and the way he played with your clit before pushing his tongue inside of you.
You ground against his face moaning and begging him not to stop but from how things were going you knew he wasn’t stopping anytime soon.
He moved one of his hands from your thigh to your lower stomach when he felt you getting closer.
“Spencer, I’m so close,” You moaned breathlessly as his lips closed around your clit for a final time.
Your orgasms crashed through you making your legs shake and loud moans spill from your throat but still Spencer kept going despite your juices covering his mouth and chin, he made sure to lick all of it up leaving none behind.
“Spence” You pulled his hair lightly, “Too much.”
Spencer pulled back, “You taste amazing.”
You kissed him tasting yourself on his lips, “Are you ready baby?” You asked tucking your fingers in the waistband of his boxers.
“God yes,” Spencer moaned as he spoke.
You pulled them down letting his dick spring out.
“This time you lie down,” You said.
“You want to be on top?”
“Yes, now lie.”
Spencer liked being told what to do so he immediately obliged.
You ripped open the condom packet sliding it onto him once he was comfortable.
You lined yourself up with him lowering yourself slowly, he was big in length but not very girthy but luckily that was what you liked.
With each inch you took inside of you Spencer couldn’t hold back his groans. Once he was fully in you waited before moving to fully adjust to him.
Spencer couldn’t help but jerk his hips, “Sorry!” he said quickly after.
“It’s okay, It felt nice,” You said, kissing him and starting to ride him slowly.
Spencer held your hips to steady you as you rocked back and forth on him.
Once you had him at the right angle with every thrust and movement he was nudging your g-spot, you couldn’t help the moans that were leaving your mouth.
“I don’t know how long I can last,” Spencer groaned, “I don’t do this often.”
“That’s okay, I’m almost there,” You moved a hand down and used two fingers to circle your clit, you knew Spencer would if you asked but you liked how his hands were placed firmly on your hips.
Your walls tightened around him and with a few more thrusts you finished at the same time.
You waited until you had your breath back to climb off of him, both of you whimpered as you lost the feeling of him inside of you and he lost the feeling of the warmth of your walls.
You draped an arm over his body and tilted your head up to look at him, “We’re doing that again right?”
“Right, yeah, definitely,” Spencer kissed the top of your head.
“Even after we leave Italy?”
“Yes even after we leave Italy,” He pulled the duvet over both of you and pulled you closer even though there was barely a gap to begin with.
