I don’t have a masterlist that works since I change my username.
Anon list: 🩰,💐, 🫧, 🦢 ❤️🔥 🐈 💋 🦛 🐇
What I do write:
Big chest reader, tall reader, petite reader, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, protected sex, fingering, praise, breast play, semi public sex, blindfold/handcuffs, horror, alternate universe, etc
Maybe:
Period sex, dubcon, taboo, yandere, power play, bdsm, temperature play
What I don’t write:
Age play, cnc, piss/poop, anal, violent sex, blowjobs, mxm, male reader, pregnancy, race play, underage characters, high school setting, misogynistic slurs (whore, slut, bitch, cunt,etc), incest, stepcest, 3rd person or 1st person POV, race specific reader, member!reader
Looking for a specific fic? Try searching my most used tags:
a/n: hey… hey… how y’all doing… also, I see the requests and everything, just slowly working on it, I swear! title inspired by doja cat’s “candy”
When you really think back on your best friend’s words, you come to a realization that maybe Lois is an investigative journalist for a reason. You’re very grateful that she is, because god knows what you could’ve missed out on.
“mmm- MHM!” JIMMY OLSEN’s lips must be all puffy and red from how long he’s been buried in between your legs. It seems he’s trying to make up for his lack of noise by channeling it through you.
As Jimmy is smothering himself in you, you too, are smothering yourself with a pillow. God forbid you wake up to your landlord issuing a noise complaint for “all tenants.”
Jimmy wants to tell you to move the pillow off your face. He can’t help that he’s a little irritated. You’re muffling and hiding yourself when the whole point of him working you tirelessly is to watch your reactions. Call him selfish all you want, but watching you has always been his favorite part of getting intimate. Though, with how occupied his tongue is, he figures the next best (nonverbal) response may simply be to pull you closer to him. Y’know? Truly give you a reason to scream.
“Oh my god!” Ta-da! Jimmy wins. The pillow has gone out of reach, your fingers now tangling within his locks.
You come to find out that it’s useless to fight against his tight grip. A much better idea to vocalize your thoughts. “F-fuck me!”
An interruption erupts from him, a short lived reprieve of Jimmy chuckling into you before he’s senselessly attacking you again—nose stimulating your bud, tongue massaging deep into you—and in the haze of everything, you can’t seem to make out why he’s laughing.
Then you feel yourself squeezing around his fingers.
“mhm! Please, Jimmy, I can’t!”
“Just this, okay?” You can’t help but nod at his words. You’re already too focused on fighting the tears forming.
He’s pumping in and out, stretching you every now and then. The overstimulation is more than you can bear. He’s so mean, still lapping at your cunt and shaking his head for further stimulation.
All that can be heard coming out of your mouth are vowels, particularly oh, uh, and ah! You’d never taken Jimmy to be such a bully. Blame it on his initial nonchalance, but you never even thought he liked you back until you confessed. Now, there isn’t a single day where you aren’t getting praised.
He’s being so cruel with you right now. He keeps hitting that soft spot inside of you, and you can’t believe it. You know if you look down, you’ll be met with his soft brown puppy dog eyes. The same guy who loves taking off your coat for you, who shows love to every fiber of your being, equally loves to edge and overstimulate you at any chance.
Jimmy’s eyes are lowered in the way that only sex is able to do. His lips are turned into that raw cherry shade and he’s sporting a dopey grin. Before you know it, you feel the knot inside you start to unravel.
“Mhm, I’m so close…” you’re stuttering out along with your hips. He kisses the inside of your thighs, forcing you to ride his palm for the very last measures.
“Ride it out, lovely,” his words spoken like instructions. “Ride it out.”
You feel the final spasms around his fingers, and you don’t even realize you’re mumbling expletives until Jimmy is on you, gently kissing at your dried tears and basking in your heat. A short make-out ensues before he grabs a towel and begins cleaning the aftermath of it all.
Your best view is probably when you’re laid back, watching him do all the messy work for you. Him and his messy hair, and his glossy lips, and his toned arms, and that wet spot leaking through… wet?
“Uh… you good, babe?”
“Hm?”
You can’t help but chuckle as he follows your gaze. “You’re sporting a little something…”
You’ve enough strength in you to lightly tease him with your foot.
“Oh…” your boyfriend just palms himself lightly. “It’s fine, we still have until morning.”
“Whatever you say- wait, hmm?” Did he say until morning…? Until morning?
“What?” He’s already unfastened his pants. “Don’t tell me you have plans this weekend.”
warnings: smut, fingering (fem. receiving), sneaking around
Gideon's weight sank into the mattress, his arm coming around to pull you closer. You relaxed for a moment, letting yourself melt into the safety of his touch. His hand splayed across your waist, warm and steady, and you could feel his breath against the back of your neck, slow, even, like he’d finally let his guard down.
Then, your eyes broke open.
"Gid, your mom said-"
He groaned groggily. "I don't care," he murmured sleepily.
Amber had been clear. You were more than welcome to set up camp in the guest room, but only in the guest room. Gideon had promised, crossed his heart, and held her hands that you would both behave.
“Gid,” you whispered again, twisting slightly in his hold. “She will kill us. Like, Bible-style. Plagues and everything.”
His arm only tightened around you. “Then let it be quick.”
You stifled a laugh, half horrified, half enamored. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m tired,” he corrected, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. “And this is the first time in so, so, so long that we've slept together and I always sleep better with you."
You turned to face him, your eyes still groggy with sleep. "With me or after me?"
He chuckled. "With you, after you."
You tried to glare, but your face betrayed you—softening into a smile as you reached up to brush a piece of his hair off his forehead. He was warm and stupidly sincere, even half-asleep, and you hated how easily that melted your resolve.
“Gideon,” you warned, though there was no real heat behind it. “You swore.”
He hummed again. "I promised that she wouldn't find us in bed together," he said, his hand trailing lower and lower. "Not that I wouldn't come in here anyway."
You flinched, gripping his wrist. His fingers already trailing beneath your waistband. "Gideon, I'm serious."
"I am too."
Your grip on his wrist loosened, but didn’t fall away. “That doesn’t make this any less stupid, Gideon.”
He gave a half-smile. “You knew what you signed up for when you started sleeping with a preacher’s kid.”
"Someone's going to hear," you groaned. “Sleeping next to, Gideon. Next to.”
“Semantics.” He lowered his voice. "Please, just let me take care of you."
You nodded, relaxing just a little bit more. Gideon worked his way down through your pajama pants and underwear. He chuckled as he fiddled with the bow on the front.
"Got a little gift for me?" He teased.
You smiled into his chest. "Yeah."
His fingers rubbed your clit gently, moving the nub in soft circles. You let out small whimpers, trying not to close your eyes in pleasure as you. He eased his middle finger inside of you, feeling your wet walls around his digit. He slowly began thrusting his finger in and out of you.
"Gideon," you whimpered, burying your face into the plush fabric of his Henley.
“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered. You clenched around his finger, earning a kiss from him. "You like when I talk to you like that?"
You whimpered. Gideon eventually added a second finger, curling both of his digits so that he hit your g-spot. You jerked your hips, angling yourself differently. He continued uttering out praises and dirty talk, urging you with each thrust of his fingers. The rhythmic movements and the repetition of hitting your g-spot didn’t make it hard for your orgasm to come.
You moaned at the feeling of heat across your abdomen. You swallowed thickly, rocking your hips as he worked you though the orgasm. Your toes curled as he held you impossibly closer.
Gideon rolled onto his back, breath slow and a little uneven. The mattress shifted with him, the cool air slipping in where his body had been pressed against yours.
You whimpered softly, reaching for him without thinking. “Stay.”
His hand found yours instantly, fingers threading together as he tugged you back toward him. “Just setting an alarm,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep and softness. “For the morning. I’m not going anywhere.”
You rested your cheek on his chest, heart still beating fast from more than just the adrenaline of almost being caught. His fingers lazily brushed your spine, his other hand still holding his phone at arm’s length, screen aglow in the dark room. He set the alarm for early, way earlier than you’d like, but practical.
"Can't have them kickin' you out. It's only night one."
thinking thoughts abt gideon…. i imagine if he was in a relationship with someone privacy would be hard to come by so there would be a lot of car sex. i could so see him plowing u in an empty parking lot, looking over after finishing, and being like “sooo u wanna get slurpees or something?” if u wanna work ur magic on this i wouldn’t be mad 😌 i don’t have writing brain i apologize if this is a weak prompt lolz
omg this is not a weak prompt at all bestie. here are my thoughts on that
warnings: smut, p-in-v, no protection mentioned (seriously? Jesus can only do so much guys, wrap it up)
It was far too often that you wound up like this, meeting up in a damp parking lot. Just ten minutes ago, he was telling his parents he was going out for a burger, stuttering out that he wanted to go alone when they tried to send his brothers along.
He'd barely parked when you were whipping the door open and crawling into his lap before the engine had even cooled. His hands made their way to your hips before you were moaning in his ear. His arm snaked beneath you both, the seat sliding back with a harsh thump as you relaxed against the steering wheel.
“Jesus, okay,” he gasped, “okay, baby, I got you."
"Do you?" You teased, tossing your shirt into the passenger seat.
It was hot. The kind of heat that stuck to your skin and made the leather squeak under you. The kind of heat that fogged up every glass surface until the world outside disappeared and all that was left was him. His breath in your ear. His nails in your thighs. His palm over your mouth when you got too loud.
Gideon groaned, one hand smacking the ceiling when your teeth scraped his neck. "Fuck, don’t do that with your tongue unless you want this window cracked.”
You sat back, feeling his hands push your skirt up higher. His fingers hooked into your underwear, pushing them to the side. You moaned loudly as he ran his fingers through your folds.
"Shhh, darling," he cooed.
“Think someone’s gonna walk up and recognize you?” You asked, climbing off of him and over the console into the backseat.
Gideon leaned in closer, hair falling forward, eyes glinting with something almost smug. “If they do,” he panted, “they’re gonna see me balls deep in the best thing that ever happened to me, so.”
He huffed out a small “sorry” when he leaned into your hip for support. He braced himself on one arm, the other already ghosting along your thigh as he settled between your legs. He braced himself on one arm, the other already ghosting along your thigh as he settled between your legs.
“Don't apologize,” you said, voice low, eyes dragging over his flushed face in the dim light. “I was the one who couldn’t wait.”
That made him grin, crooked and drowsy, like he wasn’t about to ruin you in a parking lot next to a closed-down Jamba Juice.
“You never can wait,” he muttered, mouthing at your jaw, then lower, kissing over the hollow of your throat like a man starved. “You act all sweet in public, then drag me out here and say shit like-”
You cut him off with a sharp gasp when his hand slid beneath your waistband. "Gideon, you just- fuck- you always know what to do."
He grinned again, slower this time. “Exactly.”
The car rocked softly as he pressed into you, one hand tugging your skirt up just enough, the other bracing above your head. The windows fogged quickly. Your back arched. You dug your fingers into his hair and moaned something desperate against his mouth, biting at his bottom lip as he pushed into you in one smooth, breath-stealing motion. You clenched around him, crying out as he stilled.
“Shit,” he choked out. “You tryna make me see stars?”
You laughed, high and breathy, gripping the edge of the seat. “You’re the one who said he wanted to go out tonight."
"I'm going to be so late," he huffed.
"Tell 'em you were stargazing."
He snorted, nearly lost in the pace he set, rhythm snapping, controlled but messy. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging roughly as you arched into him.
He hissed through his teeth, biting back a groan as your nails scraped lightly against his scalp. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and half-lidded, lips parted like he wanted to say something cocky but couldn’t find the breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You tryna kill me or what?”
You grinned, hooking a leg around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Guess we’ll find out.”
The car creaked under the rhythm of his hips, the windows almost fully fogged now, cloaking you in a heat-hazy bubble. The low rumble of traffic a few streets over barely registered, nothing else existed except the push and pull of him and the soft, obscene slap of skin on skin.
Gideon dipped his head, mouthing along your collarbone, sucking a mark just beneath your jaw like he needed to leave proof he’d been there. You whimpered, high and sharp, thighs tightening around him.
“Say it again,” he panted.
“Say what?”
“That thing about stargazing,” he growled, burying himself in you to the hilt.
You gasped, fingers scrabbling against the seat for leverage. “Tell ‘em you were stargazing,” you repeated, barely holding the words together as your body trembled beneath his. “Tell ‘em the view was so good you lost track of time.”
Gideon groaned like that’d done him in. “Fuck, babe- gonna come-”
You held him tighter, pulled him in like you never wanted him to leave, and murmured, “Then come.”
And oh, he did. Head buried in your neck, arms shaking, his hips finally losing rhythm as he gasped and grunted your name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once. His release triggered your own, your legs wrapping around his waist tightly.
He collapsed against you with a soft thud, breath shallow, hands gentle now as they traced lazy shapes against your sides. You readjusted your clothes, sitting in the back as you both tried to steady your breathing and taking in the silence.
Gideon glanced over. "Slurpee?"
You huffed a quiet laugh, still catching your breath. “Yeah."
He opened the door, reaching for your hand to help you out. "I think I'll do blue today."
You shut the door behind you, reaching for his hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you close. The red and green lighting from the gas station reflected off of his cheeks. "I'll do red, like always. Cherry's good."
He smiled. "Wanna make purple?"
"Nasty," you huffed.
Gideon glanced down at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Why are you walkin’ like you just got off a rollercoaster?”
You gave him a sharp look, cheeks burning. “Maybe because someone thinks every backseat is a challenge.”
He laughed, head tilted back. “You didn’t seem to mind when I had your leg up-”
You smacked his chest. “Do not finish that sentence in public.”
He grinned, holding the door open for you as the gas station clerk greeted you both. The chill of the AC hit your skin like a wall. Inside, everything buzzed fluorescent white and smelled like hot dogs and spilled ICEEs.
“Blue Raspberry or Blue Coconut?” he asked, already reaching for two cups.
You gave him a look. “You mix it every time, don’t lie.”
“I blend it,” he corrected, pulling the lever for a bit of both. “There’s a difference.”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a straw. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
He shot you a smirk as he handed you your full cup. “I’m also a good time in parking lots.”
“Tragic,” you said around your first sip. “Imagine putting that on a résumé.”
Gideon leaned against the counter, watching you like you hung the damn stars. “Nah,” he said, licking the Slurpee off his spoon-straw. “I’d save that for the wedding vows.”
his parents wont allow girls in his room, but he doesn't really care
fem!reader, suggestive but not full on smut or anything. like one porn joke but that's it. also not proofread
probably ooc jesse + amber sorry …
i actually have no idea how old gideon is during any of the show because it lowk makes zero sense but he's 20 in this and isn't in grandaddy roy's house yet, just work with me here.
gideon never paid much mind to the "no girls allowed in his room" rule, it's not like girls were lining for a turn in his bed or anything. if anything, it was the opposite. no one wanted to be with the "gemshit" kid. and he totally didn't care about that at all, whatsoever...
honestly, he’d completely forgotten about the rule until he finally introduced his girlfriend to his family. it all seemed fine, they ate dinner together without much fuss, his mother shooting him a stern look anytime they were a little too close. the worst part didn’t come until after she left, thanking his family for the food, amber even going in for a small hug, with jesse giving gideon a small, affirmative nod, which is what he hoped for, for her to be accepted.
what gideon didn’t expect was to be sat down on the couch like it was an intervention, his parents sat across from him.
“gideon, we, uh..” his dad began, clearing his throat, obviously trying to relieve his own awkwardness. he’s never been the best at these kind of talks. “your girl, she’s nice, but we still… we still ain’t want grandkids.” gideon’s eyes furrowed almost immediately, his confusion only heightening.
“uh… what?” gideon let out a half-hearted, awkward chuckle.
“what your dad meant to say was, the rules still apply while you live under this roof.” his mom interjected.
“what rules..? oh…” gideon murmured, before realization struck. “but i’m 20? i’m not a teenager anymore.”
“that don’t matter. you live under this roof, you follow our rules.” amber said, nodding towards jesse, before he hastily agreed.
and that’s what led to now, hidden in the back of gideon’s car underneath a black blanket, blending in seamlessly in the night. your hand was pressed firmly against your mouth, trying to avoid any noises or giggles from escaping as you heard gideon talking to the security guard, who was completely oblivious to it all.
you heard the engine rev up again, moving forward. waiting a few seconds, you uncovered your head, peaking out.
"i can't believe this is working." you said, a failed attempt at concealing your giggles.
"i can't believe i'm doing this." gideon mumbled, though it wasn't an attack on you. gideon didn't want to do anything to go behind his parents backs, not after betraying them, but he's allowed to have a little fun, right?
it was sometime past 10 pm, and his parents, as they were around that age, were most likely already in bed. gideon told them he'd be "back late" since he was "catching up with old friends", which they let slide without too much interrogation.
he parked in the driveway of his parents' house, turning around to face you.
"i'll be right back, okay? gonna make sure the coast is clear." gideon promised, to which you gave him a small nod.
"don't be long, this is uncomfortable." you mumbled, referring to the position in which you were laying across the back seats, body contortioned in a way so the blanket could cover it in its entirety.
gideon chuckled in response, exiting the car, turning it completely off, which left you all alone in the deafening silence of the night.
it felt like forever before he returned, though it was only ten minutes. he opened the door to the backseat, ushering you out. you gladly hopped out of his car, leaning against him in a quiet fit of adrenaline-induced laughter. you were terrified of getting caught, and you loved it.
"shh!" he shushed you, putting a hand over your mouth, though his own dopey smile betrayed him, finding the idea of being caught just as thrilling.
slowly, you both entered the house, you following closely behind gideon as he led you the way to his room, listening intently for any sign of his family. you knew where his room was, having passed by it, and once actually went inside it, but only after saying you were "going to the bathroom", so this wasn't entirely foreign.
suddenly, gideon pressed you both against the wall, as the creaking noise of a door nearby resonated. you waited, expecting someone to come down the hall and catch you two, preparing for an earful from jesse, or the most disappointed look from amber, or even ridicule from his brothers. but nothing came, and gideon looked at you, giving you a small nod, before you both continued walking down the hall.
in the dark, his house felt like a labyrinth, so when you finally reached his room, it was the equivalent of exiting the worlds most excruciating maze. the only light emanating in the room was a small lamp next to his table, and right after gideon shut the door, his hands cupped your face, his lips on yours immediately.
like clockwork, you wrapped your arms around his neck. the kiss was messy, the tension and the adrenaline of sneaking in melting away through the contact.
"the things i do for you, that was terrifyin'." gideon murmured into the kiss, slowly moving his hands from your face to your hips, feeling you up and down.
"you love me." you teased, your hands finding his hair, entangling themselves.
"unfortunately."
you both made your way to his bed, hands still on each other. you broke away for a moment, gideon sitting down on the mattress, only for you to immediately straddle his lap.
"just can't keep your hands off me, darlin'?" gideon chuckled, his hands finding your hips again like they were made to be placed there.
"gotta take advantage of this moment while i can." you winked, looking down at your adoring boyfriend, his blue eyes almost pitch black as his irises dilated simply by gazing at you.
before he could reply, you kissed him again, pulling him impossibly closer. his lips were one of your favorite features of his, at least physically. perfectly soft for kissing, and, god, were they just beautiful.
gideon took advantage as you were lost in thought, slipping his tongue in your mouth. it took you by surprise, letting out a noise that was just a little too loud, gideon squeezing your hip, telling you to be quiet.
it was obvious how inexperienced he was before he met you, you both were. your make-out sessions were either far too careful, or extremely sloppy, and right now it was the latter. spit drooled down your chins, gideons tongue happily exploring your mouth. hands exploring each other’s warm bodies, trailing just far enough so neither of you crossed the boundary between making out and something more.
when you finally parted for air, a string of saliva connected you both as you looked at each other with half-lidded eyes. just then, gideon mischievously smirked right before he flipped positions, but this time, you laid on the bed, letting out a huff of air as you made contact with the mattress.
before you could register it, gideon was atop of you, attacking your neck with soft kisses. gideon made it seem like he'd die if he wasn't touching you. not out of lust, but pure adoration, almost like he couldn't believe you were real. he kissed and nipped across your jawline, finding that perfect spot along your neck that had you moaning involuntarily. he clasped his hand over your mouth, not moving his head from where it hid in your neck.
"don' want my dad hearin' you now..." he murmured against your skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "we'll get caught, never get to see each other again..." gideon rambled between kisses. "can't risk it... s'much as i love your voice..."
gideon's hands found themselves under your shirt, his warm hands ghosting just barely over your skin, as if he was afraid he'd break you if he allowed himself to fully touch you. his fingers traced up your spine, your body bending into his at his touch. they traced across the band of your bra, gideon finally looking up at you as he reached the clasp, wishing for your permission.
you chuckled lightly at how gentlemanly he was being, giving him a soft nod.
he struggled with the clasp for a moment, his face flushing from embarrassment. gideon avoided looking at you now, brows furrowed as if the clasp was his own enemy. finally, he got one of the three undone, maneuvering it to unclasp the second.
just as he did so, his head shot up, a rather loud knock at his door.
"in my closet, quick, go!" he whispered, kissing your forehead before he hastily got up, smoothing down his clothes and hair. your heart raced, eyes quickly landing on the door to his closet, getting in as quiet as possible.
"uh.. uh, hold on!" gideon said, as the knocks repeated, helping you into the closet as you had to step over whatever was strewn about on the ground.
"gideon, i swear to god, if you don't open this door-" it was jesse, you didn't even need to peak through the closet to know. "what in god's name are you doing in here, boy?" jesse interrogated as soon as gideon opened his door.
"oh, i was just, uhm.. watching- watching a movie." gideon chuckled, awkwardly, a lopsided smile on his face.
jesse gave him an incredulous look. "a movie?" his face then contorted into one of discomfort. "oh, i- i mean... watch whatever you want, son.."
gideon was confused at first, brows furrowing. "what? oh, wait, no- no it's not that-" but before he could finish his sentence, his dad gave him a gruff goodnight, leaving before the conversation could become any more uncomfortable.
he closed his door, turning around and rubbing his face with his hands. "oh my god, my dad thinks i'm watching porn." gideon murmured as you slowly made your way out of the closet, giggling at the humor of it all.
"i mean, it's better than him knowing i'm hiding in your closet." you stated, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck.
"breakfast'll be awkward regardless." gideon laughed airily, kissing you softly.
you were gone for a work trip which left jake extremely needy, horny, and no choice but to desperately take matters into his own hands…
note: thank you for 500 followers! i’ve been saving this for a while now and this is probably my horniest jake audio yet i’m so fucking feral over this guys i hope u enjoy ;)
I don’t know why I couldn’t comment on your tv show recommendations post but HIGHLY suggest The Pitt. One of the best shows to come out in recent years and Whitaker gives a lot of the same vibes as Spencer. Also Abbott if you like older men 😅
You better not be catfishijg me cause the guy on the cover of the Pitt is chopped asf so it better not be him (thank you)
is this supposed to make me support sex work. this further proves that the industry preys on desperate and vulnerable people. the answer to this issue is getting better support networks and welfare systems put in place, not enabling prostitution.
like a heathen clung to the homily ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x reader
summary: spencer returns home in the middle of the night, exhausted beyond words and in dire need of a snack. who are you to turn him down?
genre: smut (MDNI) word count: 2.9k
tags: fem!reader, oral (f receiving), munch!spencer, fingering, kissing, spencer is a tease, yes of course he's wearing glasses, title from a hozier song, written in a morrisons car park, proofread (please hold your applause)
notes: on god he's devouring that shit like it's his last meal
Coming home late is an art that Spencer Reid has learned to master. He’s studied which floorboards creek, which ones groan, and which ones scream bloody murder at the slightest misstep. He’s learned how to unlock and open every door without making a sound. He’s adapted to staying light on his feet and traversing the apartment, soundlessly, in complete darkness.
Every inch of this place is memorised; every sharp corner, every piece of furniture, every lip of every thick woollen rug that he once would trip over almost every day. He even knows where you are most likely to leave your belongings, and he accounts for them, whether they are there or not, as he goes about his silent routine.
There used to be a time where he could make as much noise as he wanted to, within reason. A time where he could flick on the lights and hum a happy little tune to himself without fear of disturbing any sleeping lovers. But it isn’t just him anymore. His once solitary apartment—his bachelor pad, as Morgan used to call it—is now a shared space, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would happily spend the rest of his late nights fumbling around in the dark, holding his breath, if it meant that he got to return home to you.
But tonight, though he does continue with his usual dance in the dark, the last thing on Spencer’s mind is letting you sleep.
“Psst. Hey.”
You wake disoriented, half-buried among your hoard of soft pillows and softer blankets. You’re sprawled out like a starfish, limbs strewn across your shared bed, with your face partially obscured by your favourite purple and orange quilt—a birthday gift handmade by Spencer.
Leaning over you is Spencer himself. Hair tousled. Glasses sitting halfway down his nose. Backlit by the light of the moon peeking through the blinds and looking very much like a guardian angel.
All you manage in response is a low grumble. Words feel too far out of your reach as you squint up at him, face all scrunched up in this confused, sleep-riddled expression that is probably about as far from sexy as you can get.
You’re dimly aware of the state of your hair, and of the fact that you’re sleeping in a shirt that very obviously isn’t yours; you like maths, sure, but not enough to parade yourself around in a shirt displaying a right-angled triangle with the words “I’m always right” printed under it in big, ugly lettering. You’ve told Spencer to throw this shirt out more times than you can remember, and yet here you are wearing it when he isn’t around. If he hasn’t already figured you’ve been missing him, then he’s bound to find out as soon as he sees that cursed shirt.
“…Spence?” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open.
He greets you with this huge smile, bright and excited in all the ways that are sorely inappropriate for such a late—or early—hour.
“There she is.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, and he stays there for a moment, letting his words hit your skin as he murmurs, “there’s my angel.”
“You’re back,” you observe, stating the obvious. You rub your eyes, still trying to pull yourself out of your haze as he settles down beside you.
“I am.”
He sounds far more enthusiastic than you do, peppering your face with kisses like he’s been away for months, and not a week—six days, technically.
He was due to come home tomorrow night. At least, that’s what he told you. You wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the sake of surprising you like this.
“How did it go?” Your fingers find his face in the dark, and you cup his cheek. “The case. Did you—”
“Shh.” Spencer presses his lips to yours, silencing you with a kiss that seems to thrum with something more, something unspoken, but he pulls back before it can be explored. “Just let me kiss you.”
“Spence,” you whine, but your protests are quickly muffled as he kisses you again.
Still, despite your attitude, you lean into him. Your hands slip into his hair, and you thread your fingers into the silken brown strands as you pull him closer. You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down.
“It went well,” he eventually murmurs. “I missed you.”
“’Missed you, too. How well is ‘well’?”
Spencer sighs against your mouth, and he pulls away with a barely contained smile. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you, studying you in all of your sleep-ruffled glory. “We caught the unsub,” he says, “no one on the team got hurt, and Los Angeles can sleep well knowing they don’t have a serial killer to worry about.”
“Only paparazzi.”
“And celebrity stalkers.”
“Same thing.”
“Very true.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “But that’s enough about me. How have you been? Have you been sleeping okay?”
“Well, I was…”
He flashes you this faux-sympathetic pout. “Sorry.”
“Empty words,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I was having such a nice dream, too.”
“Oh?” Spencer shifts, bringing himself closer to you as he props his head up with his hand. “What were you dreaming about?”
You shrug. “Oh, you know…some pretty FBI agent, a queen-sized bed, and…” your voice trails off for a moment, and you puff air into your cheeks before adding, “whipped cream.”
Spencer’s brows shoot up, and he nods along animatedly as though you’ve just uttered something profound. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Sounds like fun.” He trails his fingers, touch feather-light, along your jaw. His glasses continue to slip until they’re balancing precariously on the end of his nose, and you’re certain they’re about to fall right off and hit you in the face. “But I feel like whipped cream on a queen-sized bed would just result in quite a…sticky mess, right? I mean, the amount of laundry that would come of it—”
With your index finger, you push his glasses back into place. “Shh, let me have my fantasies.”
“Okay, okay,” he concedes with a sigh—light and breathy, almost like a laugh. “And I’m very sorry that I interrupted such an…interesting dream.”
“Very interesting,” you say.
“I’m sure it was.” His hand is holding your jaw, barely. He’s handling you with such an impossible gentleness, angling your face towards his with such subtlety, that you hardly even notice he’s doing it. “Let me make it up to you?”
“Hm…maybe.” You find yourself leaning into his touch instinctively, gazing up at him with love-laced curiosity as you ask, “what do you have in mind?”
Spencer purses his lips for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought as though it isn’t painfully obvious that he has, in fact, come in here with a plan. His hand leaves your face, and he begins carefully peeling away your blanket. “The same thing I’ve had in mind for the last week.”
“I’m listening.”
The words come out a fraction quieter than you had been intending. You try to bite back a smile, but your efforts prove futile as Spencer pushes the blankets aside to reveal you in just a t-shirt and underwear. Again, his t-shirt. One that he clearly recognises, because his face lights up with this stupidly smug grin. When you roll your eyes in response, he leans down to kiss your cheek.
"It suits you," he murmurs, almost whispers, and he follows it up with another quick kiss before sitting up.
He nudges your knee, silently asking something of you. Your brain is, admittedly, still a little foggy, so there's a moment where you just stare at him, buffering, before you spread your legs and hope it's the correct move. Thankfully, it is.
He settles between your legs, on his knees, and leans over you. One arm braced against the mattress, the other brushing hair from your face. He inches his face closer to yours, taking a long moment to just…look at you, admire you before (hopefully) kissing you again.
You decide he's taking too long, so you cup his cheeks and pull him down until his lips meet yours, and it seems that every ounce of restraint he had been exercising thus far dissolves in a matter of seconds. He kisses you like he's been starved of oxygen, need-driven and thoughtless—as thoughtless as Spencer Reid can get, that is—like he'd devour you whole, if physics allowed it.
His glasses, no longer in place on his nose, press against your browbone, and you break the kiss just long enough to take them off and set them aside, out of harm's way, before turning back to him. Lips still parted, ready for him to dive back into you.
But Spencer's focus has now shifted to your neck. He trails his lips down until they meet the junction between your neck and shoulder, where he knows you're most sensitive. He nips lightly at the skin, and you feel him smile, proud, as your breath catches. Then, he works his way back up until his teeth find your earlobe.
"You know, it's a generally accepted theory that erotic dreams may be representative of latent non-sexual desires, or needs, that aren't being met," he explains in this soft, honeyed tone as he pulls back. His hands travel down your body, palms brushing over your curves through your (his) shirt. "They can come about as a result of loneliness, or a need for safety—even low self-esteem."
His fingers hook under the band of your underwear, and you raise your hips without hesitation. He pulls them down slowly, so slow it’s almost hard to watch, because he just loves making you wait, skimming the fabric along your legs before casting them aside.
"There's also a possibility that you may see qualities in this pretty FBI agent that you lack in yourself," he continues, lifting your leg to press a kiss to the inside of your knee before progressing, steadily, down your thigh, "such as…attention to detail, maybe. Or perhaps…orderliness…a level head…"
"Spence…"
At the sound of your voice, Spencer looks up at you, brown eyes wide. Almost innocent-looking. You never should have told him that those eyes, and that damn deer-in-headlights look, were your weakness—all he’s done since then is use them against you.
"Mhm?"
"We agreed to keep Freud out of the bedroom," you say.
Spencer grins, baring his teeth against your thigh as he chuckles softly. "I know, but it's kind of difficult. He's so relevant."
"I’m sure he is," you mutter, doing your best to look unamused despite the smile tugging at your lips. "I have an idea."
"And what would that be?"
"Stop talking."
He gasps, faking offence as his hands squeeze your thighs. "I thought you liked my ramblings."
"I do," you say, "when we're not…like this."
"Oh, I see…you're getting impatient."
You stay quiet, denying him the satisfaction of a response. If you disagree, then odds are he'll drag this out even longer. And if you agree, if you validate him, then it'll just go straight to his head. And his ego is already big enough as it is.
"I could be a lot worse," he adds with an unassuming smile, "if you—"
"Spencer."
"Yes?"
"…please."
The word is an admission in itself, but it beats the alternative.
Spencer sighs. "Well…if you insist." He lowers himself, settling fully between your legs as he brushes his nose against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him to be. "I suppose I won't boreyou with all the dreams I’ve had while I’ve been away…"
"Wait, what—"
A sharp gasp cuts through your words as Spencer's mouth finds your clit, and any coherent thought vanishes, replaced with hot static and an overflow of need that has built up in his absence. His fingers press divots into your thighs, keeping them open as he works you with a proficiency that only he could manage; that eidetic memory serves him well when it comes to memorising you. Your body, your essence, your nuances; all the little things he can play to that have you writhing beneath him, forgetting everything that isn't the way his mouth feels, and the hunger that it ignites within you.
Need mounts almost to desperation as you lift your hips in a silent plea for more, and you whine when he gently presses you back down against the mattress. Your fingers find their way into his hair, curling into the chestnut strands as you push his face deeper into you. He makes this noise in response; a low, pleased hum, and it reverberates through you in a way that has you fucking reeling with pleasure.
He releases his grip on one of your tensed thighs, and the next thing you know he's slipping a finger inside you with ease. A second finger follows and, before you know it, you're arching your back and trying to stifle moans in the hopes that the neighbours won't hear you as Spencer finger fucks you with practiced, calculated precision, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly and bringing you closer and closer to the edge at a carefully controlled pace. He knows you, inside and out, probably better than you know yourself—no, definitely better than you know yourself, because not once have you managed to achieve this kind of high when you've flown solo. It's second nature to him, something he can do without thinking—something he needs, just as much as you do, after such a long week.
His name tumbles from your lips, whispered like a prayer between hymnal moans. He looks up at you and, for a moment, his gaze locks onto yours. What you see in those dark eyes in that split-second is nothing short of worship. Tainted around the edges with a smugness that he can never quite hide when he has you like this, especially when you start to devolve into helpless whines and whimpers and choked, breathless curses. The way you always do just before he brings you over the edge.
The orgasm hits you right when he wants it to; halfway through whining his name, so all you can manage is a weak “Spence-” before the tension snaps and you lose yourself completely. You moan into your hand, and your thighs clench around his head—not that he seems to mind—as he continues guiding you through it, squeezing every ounce of bliss out of you before it all subsides, and you melt beneath him, dazed and drunk on your own ecstasy.
Spencer sits up, red face glazed with a thin sheen of sweat, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He watches you for a moment, gaze travelling across your form like you're a work of art in his stupid t-shirt, and he allows you to catch your breath before leaning down and capturing your still-parted lips in a slow, tender kiss. Your hands return to his hair, and you pull him that little bit closer, unable to stop yourself from moaning softly as you taste yourself on his tongue.
You trail a hand down his body until your fingers brush against his prominent erection and, when you do, Spencer breaks the kiss with a gentle shake of his head. His fingers close around your wrist, and he pulls your hand away even as you whine in protest.
"Not tonight, sweetheart," he whispers.
"Why not?"
"Because," he punctuates his words with a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "I just want this to be about you."
You pout. "Why can't it be about both of us?"
All Spencer does in response is flash you a knowing smile—one that raises far more questions than it answers—before lowering himself until he's lying flush against your body, being careful not to put too much weight on you.
"You're weird," you mumble.
"You like it."
"I do."
Spencer nestles his face in the crook of your neck, and you can still feel him smiling against your skin as you run your fingers through his hair. It's hard to believe that he's only been gone for a week; it feels like it's been so much longer than that. Too long.
You'd ask him to never leave again, if you thought you could. But you know exactly what his answer would be; soft-spoken, sympathetic, disappointing. He can't be here every night, not without giving up his job, and you'd never ask him to do that.
Instead, you go a different direction.
"So…" you murmur, "about those dreams you mentioned…"
He lifts his head. Eyes narrowed; brow raised. "Oh, now you want to hear about them?"
"Yes. I’m curious."
He purses his lips for a long moment, keeping you on edge until he finally shrugs and says, "no."
You frown. "No?"
Spencer nods, and that smug, knowing little smile returns. Only now it's tinged with a hint of something disconcerting—something sinister, almost. He kisses your cheek once, then your nose, and then, finally, your lips.
"I think it'll be better if I show you," he says, keeping his voice light and innocent. "Tomorrow."
Movie nights with Jake had become a ritual since you both started college—a way to unwind after endless lectures, assignments, and the general chaos of university life. Tonight was supposed to be no different: your dorm room, dim lighting, snacks scattered across the bed, and whatever movie Jake had picked on Netflix.
"This one's supposed to be really good," Jake says as he settles beside you on the bed, remote in hand. He's wearing that oversized hoodie you love, the one that makes him look soft and boyfriend-shaped, his dark hair still slightly damp from the shower he took after basketball practice.
"You said that about the last three movies," you tease, stealing a piece of popcorn from the bowl balanced on his lap.
"Hey! I have great taste in movies," he protests, but he's grinning, that boyish smile that made you fall for him in the first place.
The movie starts—some indie film that Jake swore had great reviews—and for the first twenty minutes, you're both actually watching. You're curled into his side, his arm around your shoulders, thumb drawing absent-minded circles on your arm. It's comfortable, familiar, perfect.
Then his hand starts wandering.
It's subtle at first. His fingers trailing from your shoulder down your arm, then to your waist. His touch is light, almost teasing, like he's testing boundaries he's already crossed a hundred times before. You don't think much of it—Jake's always been tactile, touchy in a way that makes you feel wanted and cherished.
"You comfortable?" he murmurs, lips close to your ear.
"Mhm," you respond, eyes still on the screen even though you're becoming increasingly aware of his touch.
His hand slides under the hem of your (his) t-shirt, palm warm against your skin. Still innocent enough, still casual. But then his fingers start tracing patterns on your stomach, dipping just slightly lower with each pass, and you feel your breath catch.
"Jake," you whisper, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds.
"Hmm?"
"Are you even watching the movie?"
"Movie?" His hand slides higher, fingers brushing just below your breast. "Oh. Yeah. Totally watching."
You turn your head to look at him and find him already staring at you, eyes dark with want. The movie is completely forgotten, just flickering light and background noise at this point.
"You're such a liar," you breathe, but you're smiling.
"Can't help it," he admits, shifting so he's facing you more directly. "You're so much more interesting than whatever's on screen." His hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "You're so beautiful. Have I told you that today?"
"Like three times," you laugh softly, but your heart still flutters.
"Not enough then." He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts sweet but quickly deepens. His tongue traces your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you grant it willingly. The taste of him—popcorn and mint from the gum he'd been chewing earlier—is familiar and intoxicating.
His hands are everywhere now, one tangled in your hair, the other sliding down your side, grabbing your hip, pulling you closer. The movie is definitely abandoned at this point, the plot completely lost as Jake kisses you like he's been starving for it.
"Missed you," he mumbles against your lips, which is ridiculous because you literally saw each other this morning.
"I'm right here," you point out, but he shakes his head.
"Not close enough. Never close enough." His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, finding that spot that makes you gasp. "Can I... can we...?"
He's always so polite about it, always asking even though you've been together for months, even though the answer is always yes. It's one of the things you love about him—how he never assumes, never takes.
"Yes," you breathe, and you feel him smile against your skin.
He shifts, gently laying you back against the pillows, his body hovering over yours. The movie casts flickering shadows across his face as he looks down at you, and god, he's so beautiful it almost hurts. Dark eyes full of want, lips kiss-swollen, hair falling into his eyes.
"You're so perfect," he says softly, reverently, like he can't quite believe you're real. His hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you want. You don't want to stop him. You never want him to stop touching you.
"Jake," you whimper as his lips find your collarbone, kissing, sucking, definitely leaving marks that you'll have to cover up tomorrow.
"Love the sounds you make," he murmurs against your skin. "Could listen to you all day."
His hands are working at your shorts now, fingers hooking into the waistband. He looks up at you, eyes seeking permission even though his fingers are literally trembling with want.
"Please," you say, lifting your hips to help him, and the groan he makes is absolutely sinful.
"So eager for me," he says, and there's something almost awed in his voice as he pulls your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion. "So pretty."
He settles between your legs, hands on your thighs, and just looks at you for a moment. The intensity of his gaze makes you squirm, makes you want to close your legs, but his grip keeps them open.
"Don't hide from me," he says softly. "Want to see all of you."
"Jake, please—" You're not even sure what you're asking for, just that you need more, need him closer, need his mouth on you.
"I've got you, baby," he promises, and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing, biting gently, working his way up with agonizing slowness. "Gonna take care of you."
When his mouth finally reaches where you need him most, the first touch of his tongue makes you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He groans against you, the vibration making you whimper.
"Taste so good," he mumbles, and then he's diving in like a man starved, tongue working you with single-minded focus. He's always been enthusiastic about this, always acted like getting you off is his favorite activity, and the way he's moaning against you makes it clear he's enjoying this as much as you are.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he groans again, the sound muffled but desperate. One of his hands grips your thigh, keeping you open for him, while the other slides up to interlace with yours, grounding you both.
"Jake—fuck—right there—" Your words dissolve into incoherent sounds as he focuses on your clit, alternating between broad strokes with his tongue and focused attention that has you seeing stars.
He pulls back just enough to speak, chin glistening. "You're so responsive for me. So perfect. Love making you feel good." Then he's back, adding a finger alongside his tongue, and the combination has you arching off the bed.
"That's it," he encourages between movements. "Let me hear you. Don't hold back."
You couldn't hold back if you tried. Every movement of his tongue, every curl of his fingers inside you draws sounds from your throat that should probably be embarrassing but you're too far gone to care. The movie is still playing in the background, completely ignored, just white noise compared to the sounds Jake is pulling from you.
"So close," you gasp, and you feel him smile against you.
"I know, baby. I can feel it. Come for me. Want to taste you." His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you cry out, and his tongue focuses on your clit with determined precision.
The combination sends you over the edge, pleasure crashing through you in waves that have you gasping his name like a prayer. He works you through it, tongue gentle now, fingers slowing but not stopping until you're pulling at his hair, too sensitive for more.
He presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before crawling back up your body, face flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright with satisfaction. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue, and it should probably be weird but it's just hot.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against your lips. "Could do that forever."
y'okay can we stop pretending yet. like can we all acknowledge that eating disorders are chic again, and it's going to kill someone.
and like. do we have to keep gently phrasing things to protect naturally-thin people's feelings. in my life it has never been fashionable to be fat. "fat" is still a bad word. there has never been institutional power pushing people to gain weight; no trillion-dollar industry to "fix" skinny people. a larger body type has never been over-represented in models, influencers, celebrities. sure, people might say "i'm worried for your health," but they do it with respect and gentleness, like they're talking to a scared deer.
every single fucking time i talk about this, i have to be so careful with what i say, in case i offend even one skinny person. it is just true that skinny people have social capital across many cultures. there is a reason you almost never hear someone say "i wish i was fat," but you will constantly see people say "I wish i was thin." and yet inevitably some skinny person will tell me: i thought you wanted body positivity. it is the same fucking attitude as when a cis man says "when you say men have power, well, i've been bullied for being a man. i thought you believe in mental health awareness. don't you know men have a higher suicide rate?"
two things can be true at once: your experience being bullied for being thin was terrible. and people with larger bodies probably have it worse.
i have been big and small. i know many other people who have been big and small. trust what i'm about to tell you: being small is much easier. the world is kinder to you. people treat you better. honestly, this pattern occurs pretty much regardless of gender - my guy friends have confided that they'd rather be bullied for being thin than be bullied for being fat. if you're skinny, the pressure might be to gain weight, sure, but it's often to do so in a way that keeps you skinny - to gain muscle, specifically.
thinness is seen as innate and natural, genetic. whereas carrying any fat - that is a moral failing. it is assumed to be related to your character, your personality. i have seen people equate it to discipline, to hygiene. that bias is why we need to talk about this.
of course i want nobody to make a comment about anyone's bodies. and i think that hyper-thinness and an obsession with weight loss and a recession and a rise of conservative values... all of this is very fucking concerning. we are watching a return of "pro-ana" content, reframed as choice feminism, "health-conscious" behavior, "looksmaxxing". it's fucking terrifying.
