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gghostwriter · 1 year ago

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You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face.

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.”

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.”

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.”

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?”

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?”

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice.

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?”

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.”

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.”

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?”

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater.

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?”

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk.

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation.

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?”

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed.

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth.

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.”

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory.

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up.

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who.

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.”

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?”

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them.

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language.

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?”

“What? No! No, of course not!”

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow.

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend.

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue.

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course.

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down.

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking?

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time.

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk.

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement.

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered.

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement.

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with.

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance.

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest.

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.”

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #gw fics

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blank-potato · 5 months ago

Text

Good Girls Go Bad

Pairing: Lucien Belmont x Reader

Summary:

“Well, well,” he drawls, smirking. He’s half-naked and wearing a cowboy hat and it sends your mind into overdrive. All you wanted to do was go to college, work hard and get your degree. Not get dragged into the sexcapades of a rich, entitled frat boy.“To what do I owe the honour?”“I need you to stop.”Lucien tilts his head, a slow, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Stop…?”He acts coy like he doesn’t know exactly what you mean. Like he isn’t the reason you’ve lost many nights of precious sleep.“Having sex with my roommate,” you spit out as you enter his room and close the door behind you. Or Lucien keeps sleeping with your roommate and ruining your sleep, leading to him always being on your mind. Eventually, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, oral sex, p in v sex, sex dreams, Lucien being a little shit

WC: 4.1k

A/N: I’m obsessed with Lucien and will write about him and Cruel Intentions (2024). Also there's just a lack of fanfiction about him and I was desperate. The title is from the Cobra Starship & Leighton Meester song because I started writing this while listening to it. Anyways enjoy!

♡♡♡

You can never seem to sleep.

Every night there’s some new reason normally caused by your roommate, Olivia.

Whether it’s stumbling into your room drunk, leaving your shared bathroom in an absolute mess or setting the curtains on fire with her essential oil candles. Sleep often evaded you because of her.

On one ill-fated night, it was no different. You walk in and drop your bag on the floor in exhaustion after the extremely long day you had only to be met with a sight that you wouldn’t soon forget.

Olivia and some guy were wrapped up in each other, making out in your common space. You had separate rooms for a reason, but she just had to do this here, in a place you shared.

You sighed, standing frozen in the doorway, contemplating whether to just turn around and leave. But you were stuck as you watched Olivia’s fingers tangling in his hair as they melt into eachother. Just then your breath catches in your throat as a you watch him smirk against her lips.

He was looking right at you.

His continue to roam but his gaze never wavers from yours. He was holding you and your attention captive. Heat prickles down your spine, a strange mix of unease and something far more dangerous settling in your stomach. You should look away. You should move.

But you don’t.

A silent challenge lingers in his stare, daring you to stay, to watch. And then, with deliberate slowness, he whispers something against her lips that makes her giggle. You don’t hear it but it’s like he’s saying it right to you.

He pulls back and puts Olivia onto her back, “Seems we have an audience.”

“Oh shit, I thought you were going to be out for a while,” Olivia says sitting up in embarrassment.

“I wish you would’ve warned me,” you let out breathlessly. Your college experience so far had been devoid of stuff like this and you liked it that way.

“It won’t happen again, I swear,” she starts to say but her excuses and apologies seem to fade away as you feel very aware of his gaze like he was devouring you with his eyes.

Picking up his jacket he heads towards the door and you catch the scent of his cologne as he brushes past you.

“See you around, Olivia,” he says before nodding his head at you and disappearing out your door. You thought that would be the end of it and you would never have to see him again.

Unfortunately, life had other plans.

From that day, it felt like you were seeing him everywhere. This guy who you had never seen before was now in every aspect of your life. In the library, he’s flirting with a pretty brunette over an open textbook, his lazy grin making her giggle. On the quad, he’s lounging under a tree, effortlessly charming a group of wide-eyed freshmen. In your Poli-sci class, he’s flirting with the TA as she tries (and fails) not to smile. It’s like you were involuntarily playing Where’s Wally but Wally has a curly mullet and is trying to fuck everyone on campus. The common theme doesn’t elude you. It wasn’t long before you knew his name, Lucien Belmont. He was a player with a reputation and that made you want to avoid him that much more.

♡♡♡

It’s late when you return home after yet another long day. You decide to spend your evening sitting at your desk, arranging your highlighters and setting up your lecture slides on your laptop. You have a group presentation in the morning and a research paper due next week, and you’re determined not to let it sneak up on you again.

As you are about to begin your study session you hear a loud crash from outside your bedroom door. It’s followed by the shuffle of shoes and rustling of clothes. You freeze, ears straining as you to figure out what you were hearing. Then, the unmistakable sound of hushed laughter reaches you and your stomach sinks. So much for ‘It’ll never happen again.’

Before you could fully get your head around what the hell was going on you heard Olivia scream, “Lucien!”

Of course.

Since your little encounter, Lucien had been frequenting your dorm, hooking up with your roommate nonstop. His hands were probably everywhere, exploring her body like you saw when you first caught them. Their bodies move together, getting tangled in one another. You could see it now, the way his fingers must have skimmed over her skin, the way his lips traced over her throat.

Your grip tightens around your pen.

You should be used to it by now. You shouldn’t care. And yet, no matter how hard you try to block it out, your mind keeps drifting… keeps picturing things you shouldn’t.

Shaking yourself from the daze, you reach for your headphones, determined to drown out the noise with your perfectly curated study playlist. You shove them over your ears, press play, and try to focus on your slides.

But a few moments later, a new sound cuts through the music—a rhythmic thumping. Were they…fucking against your door?

♡♡♡

You storm over to Alpha Gamma first thing in the morning. No longer could you fall asleep to the sound of muffled moans and breathy gasps filtering through your walls? The name Lucien spills from your roommate’s lips like a prayer or a strangely erotic lullaby. This situation was worse than any nightmare.

You enter the frat house and look around apprehensively. It’s… exactly what you expected. Not completely disgusting, but the aftermath of last night’s party lingers. There were red solo cups abandoned on tables, the faint smell of cheap beer and cologne clinging to the air.

You make your way through the house, weaving past a couple of hungover guys slouched on the couch. Spotting one who looks somewhat coherent, you walk up and ask, “Hey, do you know where Lucien Belmont is?”

He jerks a thumb toward the staircase. Upstairs.

You don’t hesitate. You storm up to his door and knock firmly. It isn’t long before the door swings open and a girl steps out, her hair is a mess, but the satisfied smirk on her lips tells you everything you need to know.

She doesn’t even glance at you as she adjusts her skirt and struts past, and you wonder, how does he even find the time?

Lucien himself walks up to you and leans against the doorframe, shirtless, sleepy-eyed, and entirely unbothered.

“To what do I owe the honour?”

“I need you to stop.”

Lucien tilts his head, a slow, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Stop…?”

He acts coy like he doesn’t know exactly what you mean. Like he isn’t the reason you’ve lost many nights of precious sleep.

“Having sex with my roommate,” you spit out as you enter his room and close the door behind you. The air inside feels different and unbearably charged. You have the strange urge to pace, to move, but before you can, he takes a slow step forward.

His smirk deepens as he leans into your personal space “And why’s that?”

The sound of his voice so close to you affects you in the worst way possible. The heat nestling at the base of your spine, the way your breath catches. He has you exactly where he wants you and you hate it, you hate how he’s making you feel angry and weightless at the same time. His gaze flickers down, watching the way your fingers twitch at your sides.

“I can’t sleep…” You say with half your mind elsewhere as your eyes fall on his lips, his beautiful, beautiful lips. Pulling yourself from your mild stupor you focus on the task at hand. He’s been making your life a living hell!

“And…and you guys had sex against my door last night and that’s fucked up!”

“Jealous?”

Your eyes widen. The gall. The audacity.

“Unbelievable,” is all you can manage to say, not trusting yourself to say anymore without imploding. You exhale sharply refusing to play his games. You came here to tell him how it is and he was going to listen. “Just stop or at least stop doing it in my dorm.”

He hums in thought before tilting his head. “What do I get in exchange?”

“Nothing.”

He grins. “Then why would I stop?”

You purse your lips, trying to keep your temper in check. “Because… I asked nicely?”

Lucien raises a brow, mockingly sceptical. “You call that nice?”

You open your mouth but shut it again. You weren’t here to argue (necessarily).

“Unless you can offer me something in exchange there’s nothing I can do for you.” Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he adds, “Now, you should probably go. Unless… you want to join me in the shower. I don’t mind.”

♡♡♡

The next morning, you hear a knock on the door. You leave your room and open it, only to find Lucien leaning against the doorframe, looking far too comfortable for someone who shouldn’t be here.

“Olivia’s out and I thought I told you to stop—”

“I’m not here to see her.”

His voice is lower than usual, his eyes darker with a quiet intensity that sends your heart slamming against your ribs.

Before you can react, he steps forward, backing you against the wall. The air shifts between you, thick and electric. Then his lips find your neck. His kisses were hot and urgent as he decorated your skin in beautiful marks. A whimper escapes your lips as his hand slides up, fingers wrapping gently around your throat. Just enough to make you to keep you in the moment, to make you aware of how he’s ruining you. Then, he tilts your chin up and captures your lips, stealing your breath away. It was no use resisting so you finally give in, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him back in. Lucien chuckles against your lips, the sound smug and knowing.

“There she is.”

Your entire morning was a disaster. Your routine? Ruined. Your lectures? A blur of missed notes and wandering thoughts. And now lunch would be ruined too because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the idea of him.

You were eating with your friend—someone you met at orientation. Maybe if she had been your roommate instead, all of this would’ve been avoided. No Lucien. No Olivia sneaking him in and out of your dorm. No dreams you wanted to scrub from your memory.

You sigh, poking at your food with disinterest before glancing out onto the quad.

Your gaze drifts, almost against your will, and you wonder what would it be like if he were with you at that moment. If he were to walk up to you, lean down and take—

“Hello? Where’d you go?”

You awaken from your daydream as you look at your friend who’s staring back at you in suspicion. She can tell something’s up, she always can.

“I’ve just been… distracted.”

Your friend’s eyes narrow with immediate suspicion. “Who is he?”

“There’s no guy.”

“Don’t lie, I know that look too well.” She leans in, practically vibrating with curiosity. “Who is he?”

She was far too excited, fully revelling in your misery and you hated it.

You sigh, rubbing your temples before finally admitting, “Do you know… Lucien Belmont?”

Her expression immediately drops.

“Oh no.”

You groan. “Yeah.”

“Did you guys—?”

“Hell no!” you say quickly. “But he’s been sleeping with my roommate, and it’s been driving me crazy, and I can’t sleep because of it, and—and they even did it against my door, and now I’ve been dreaming about him, and I can’t stop!”

The words spit out of her mouth like a verbal volcano.

She just stares at you for a moment, processing. Then she takes in a slow, deep breath, tilting her head as she thinks.

You sit up straighter, awaiting her wisdom. You would do anything to stop this madness. Whatever she suggests, you will do it. You would climb the highest mountain you can find, become a social recluse, train like a monk for the rest of your life, you would even—!

“Fuck him.”

That was not where you thought she was going.

“Sorry?”

“You need to have sex with him to get him out of your mind.”

“No no no, I need to eradicate him from my mind by avoiding him at all costs not…the devil’s tango.”

“Trust me, they rarely live up to the expectation in your head. You’re only dreaming of him because of the fantasy of it. Sleeping with him will break the illusion and you’ll move on. Trust me, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

♡♡♡

You go back to your routine but your days have become a blur. You shifted from trying to avoid him to actively trying to get him in your bed. Your sleepless nights continue to haunt you, exhaustion dragging at your limbs as you sit in your Poli-sci class. And, of course, Lucien is right next to you, of all the seats in the lecture hall he had to sit right next to you. His very presence has you on edge, like a live wire buzzing beneath your skin, impossible to ignore. As you (attempt) to listen to your lecturer, your eyes get heavier and heavier and your blinks get longer and longer until…

You feel it, his hand on your thigh pulling you from your dazed state.

You stiffen. “Hey, what are you—?”

Before you can finish, he moves. Smooth, deliberate. He pulls you in, his lips crashing against yours, and you swear the world tilts on its axis. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before and every hair on your body stands on end.

Your breath catches as his lips trail down, pressing against the curve of your neck. Your mind fights to focus on class, on the professor’s voice, on anything but then, in a flash, Lucien grips your hips and pulls you onto his lap. A quiet gasp escapes you.

“We’re in public, you degenerate. We need to…”

His hands roam, slow, deliberate strokes up and down your thighs, and you swear your body betrays you with every touch. You try to focus, try to keep some self-control, but the heat of his palm gripping onto your butt through your jeans, made it an impossible task.

“We need to…” you start again, but the words die in your throat.

“Can’t finish your sentence?” he remarks as he starts to undo the buttons of your shirt. He laughs before he starts kissing between your breasts looking up at you all the while.

“Lucien, we—”

You wake up to the sharp poke of a pencil against your arm.

“Good dream?”

“Huh?”

Blinking, you jolt upright, rubbing your eyes. The lecture hall is almost empty and students are filing out, chatting, and some stuffing laptops into bags. The professor is already gone. You missed the entire thing.

Lucien is still beside you, chin propped on his hand, watching you with a smirk that is far too pleased. “Oh, by the way,” he drawls, “you were said my name in your sleep.” He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “Was I that good, or…?”

Your face burns. “Shut up,” you hiss, grabbing your bag and packing away your textbooks haphazardly.

“I just find it amusing that I’ve got you in such a state and I haven’t even touched you… yet.”

“I’m not in a state…”

“You were moaning my name,” and your face heats up as you wonder if anyone else heard but Lucien interrupts your train of thought, “Don’t worry, you were quiet and it was very cute.”

It takes everything in you not to punch him and yourself in that moment.

♡♡♡

You try to focus. You really do. Sitting at your desk, books open, highlighters lined up like usual, you attempt to study but it’s pointless. There is no possibility of that now. Not while a certain curly-haired frat boy was running through your mind.

You are completely overrun with him. His stupid smirk, his pretty chocolate eyes. He looks like an angel, but you know better. At least, you thought you did.

Perhaps your friend was right.

You needed to take matters into your own hands. You’re already standing outside Alpha Gamma before you fully process what you’re doing. Most of the frat is at a Delta Phi party, meaning the house is eerily quiet. You hesitate, shifting on your feet, and lift a hand to knock.

Seconds tick by.

Nothing.

You exhale, feeling ridiculous, beginning to turn away. This was a stupid idea.

But then, just as you step back, the door swings open.

Lucien stands there, his hair slightly damp, a towel slung low around his hips. His smirk is lazy, almost as if he knew you’d be there. He takes his time, his eyes flickering over you.

“Took you long enough.”

“I have something to exchange for you to stop sleeping with Olivia.”

“Lay it on me.”

You drop your coat to reveal lingerie. It was delicate and lacy and definitely something that felt like it belonged to a version of you. One that doesn’t overthink every decision. This was so far outside of your comfort zone, but the ache, the longing that had been building inside you for weeks had finally won.

Lucien’s eyes darken as he leans against the doorframe, gaze sweeping over you in slow appreciation. “What changed your mind?”

You swallow, your pulse thrumming in your throat. “The dreams…” You meet his eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re not enough.”

You blink and his lips are on yours. It’s soft and gentle, surprisingly so.

You had always imagined he’d be impatient, all teeth and hunger, but this… this is different. He’s taking his time, unravelling you slowly, savouring the way your body melts into his.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you deeper into his embrace. He tugs your head back to have full access to his canvas, your throat. A sharp gasp escapes you as his lips trail down, pressing heated kisses like fire along your skin. He takes his time as he marks you with slow drags of his teeth nipping at your skin, his tongue soothing the sting after. Like flowers in bloom, the evidence of his touch blossoms across your skin. When he finally pulls back, he admires his masterpiece.

“What a pretty sight, you’re all marked up for me.”

He picks you up effortlessly, a yelp escaping your lips before he tosses you onto his bed. The mattress dips beneath you, and before you can catch your breath, he’s on top of you. His eyes search yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t hesitate to dive back in, playing with you like you’re sure he’s done with others many times before. His lips trail lower, slow and teasing, pressing against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. Every touch, every kiss, sends heat pooling deep in your stomach, winding tight like a coil ready to snap.

“Doing such a good job for me…” he says with his sweet voice and you feel yourself falling deeper into his trap.

And he continues until he reaches between your legs. Your thighs tremble once he begins his ministrations but he holds them tight, keeping you from squirming too much.

As he picks up the pace, your eyes roll back, your back arching off the bed.

Your toes curl as a string of desperate moans leaveyour body. You desperately need something to hold onto, something to tether yourself to this moment. Your hand reaches out toward his head, which is bobbing up and down but you hesitate and stop yourself.

But as if he has eyes in the back of his head, his hand finds yours and he guides it to his hair, letting you get a firm grip on it.

As you pull him deeper, as if instinct alone is guiding you, his hands tighten on your thighs, grounding you even as you feel yourself slipping. Every movement, every teasing flick of his tongue, every slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers against your skin. It was as if his only goal was to drive you crazy.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement and something darker. "Taking me so well."

You feel like it should be illegal for him to say such nice things. It’s like your brain short-circuits the moment you hear his voice and you would do anything to keep him talking like that. He goes back to eating you out and the pleasure he’s giving you pulses through your whole body. He has you in a mess as you stutter out moans and cries and they only continue to get louder as he toys with your clit. You make eye contact, and the innocent look in his eyes is nothing short of deceptive. You had never seen such a juxtaposition.

Gripping your thighs, he moves faster, eating you out like you were his oasis in a desert and your body goes into auto-pilot. Just as you feel yourself nearing your orgasm he pulls away leaving you hanging on the edge. He wasn’t just living up to your expectations he was exceeding them. Not giving you too much of a respite he hooks his arms underneath your knees and drags you to him beginning to move his hips against yours.

As he grinds himself between your thighs he says, “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

You nod eagerly but that’s not good enough for him, you know he’s a cocky son of a bitch, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m gonna be a good girl for you,” you mutter, your eyes set on the ceiling.

Taking your chin and angling it down towards him he says, “Like you mean it.”

“I’m…I’m gonna be a good girl for you. I promise…”

Seemingly as a reward, he positions himself at your entrance and slowly pushes himself in and you let out a desperate whine. Before you know it, he’s picking up the pace, his movements becoming more intense. Your fingers dig into his back, nails scraping against his skin as you continue to lose yourself to this ecstasy.

The sound of his hips smacking against yours echoes through the room, each movement pronounced even more by your choked moans and the breathless curses that spill from his lips. Your body arches beneath him. You’re glad more people aren’t in the house, you didn’t need a whole frat house hearing you getting fucked out of your mind.

“Am I better than her?” You say breathlessly in the heat of the moment, wanting or maybe needing to hear him admit it.

“So much better than Olivia…” Lucien’s voice is a low murmur against your skin, dripping with satisfaction. He slows down, prolonging your pleasure, teasing you with deliberate, torturous movements that leave you gasping. Every brush of his fingers, every roll of his hips, is meant to drive you closer and closer only to pull back just before you get there. Of course, in all areas of life, he is a tease.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he suddenly flips you over, switching your positions with effortless ease. Now, you’re straddling his hips, his hands gripping your waist as he guides you up and down as he simultaneously grinds up into you. The heat, the tension, it isn’t long before you unravel around him.

“Lucien!” You cry out, your head tilting back as you reach your climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Lucien is not too far behind as he finishes as you ride out your orgasm. Pulling out of you he crashes next to you, the first thing out of his mouth being, “Your little praise kink is adorable.”

His voice is dripping with smug satisfaction, and it only makes your face heat even more. You huff and smack his chest, though it does absolutely nothing to wipe that insufferable smirk off his face. "Shut up."

Lucien chuckles, catching your wrist with ease, his fingers curling around it as he lays a kiss on your pulse point. “Bad girl.”

Masterlist

#lucien belmont #cruel intentions 2024 #lucien belmont x reader #smut #x reader #cruel intentions #cruel intentions tv #female reader #cross posted on ao3 #zac burgess #cruel intentions fanfic

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