SHEEPLE. THEY DON'T WANT US TO ATTEMPT THIS BUT WE CAN. WE CAN HAVE SPENCEWIVES LIKE THEY HAD SNAPEWIVES. WE ALL KNOW THAT SPENCER REID IS A SPIRITUAL BEING THAT THE CRIMINAL MINDS WRITERS FAILED TO HARNESS THE TRUE POWER OF AND WE NEED TO START ACTING LIKE IT. IF YOU AGREE TO JOIN THE MOVEMENT PROCLAIM BEFORE TUMBLR.COM AND GOD THAT YOU ARE A SPENCIST IN A WAY THAT FEELS MEANINGFUL TO YOU.
thank you that is all and I will be posting my first Spencer Reid smut soon so please stay tuned for that. That is all.
i don't have a semblance of an explanation for this one. i've fallen off the ledge and i'm never coming back. if you know, you fucking know.
pairing: billy butcher x f!reader
summary: you move in across the street. butcher notices.
warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, unprotected car sex, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink (one mention of pregnancy), softdom! & soft!billy...? weird.
word count: 3.6k
main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤
Six days. He made it six days.
He’s not this weak a man, is he? Is he really? To stand by the living room window, whiskey in hand, white-knuckle grip threatening to shatter the glass. Five minutes. Only five more minutes.
To watch your figure float between rooms, flicking lamps on and flitting blinds closed. A patchwork façade, now become an almost nightly routine. Polite little home on a polite little street, on this polite little evening.
You’ll leave the radio on in the hallway. Your neighbors will never know.
He’s not so weak to feel himself harden at the mere thought: your body bending backwards under his, his every move stealing the sweetest of sighs. Leaden weight in his pants, painful and premature and at the same time – a fucking relief, honestly.
Relief that he’s still alive, somewhere inside himself. Relief that he can feel something other than burning rage, simmering resentment. Relief that he can still spot a right fucking sort when he sees one.
Billy’s not a weak man.
You just might be testing his willpower, is all.
It’s been a month since you moved in. Since you first crossed paths across the street. He was walking Terror, cooling off after another spat with the missus. Never fucking listens, does she, old boy? Never. I ain’t tryna cause a fight, but she makes it so bloody –
Hang about. Who’s this?
You looked too good to be true. Boosting yourself up into the back of the moving truck, dipping into the shadows for the one, two, three steps it took him to reach the curb. He could feel the ricochet of his pulse through every vein in his body.
You resurfaced in the light, nudging a brown box towards the ledge with the heel of your shoe. Skimpy little shorts, Billy noted, your skin glistening with sweat and sun.
When you hopped back down, your breasts – Jesus fuck, your breasts – they bounced so perfectly into place. Full and round and fucking delicious beneath that tank top.
Billy loves a challenge, doesn’t he? Fly little bugger. Didn’t matter to him when your little twat of a husband came scurrying out, scooped up the box and, following your direction, staggered like some pathetic drunkard back inside.
Didn’t matter to him, and didn’t seem like it mattered to you. At least, not when you caught sight of your new neighbor and took one looping glance – from raveled boots to rugged beard, lingering on the Hawaiian shirt in the middle – and then smiled.
Smiled like you knew you were about to ruin his fucking life.
Hi.
Hello, love. Moving day, is it?
You gestured to your feet, then to the Tetris block boxes in the back of the truck. Bit of a shitshow so far.
Looks like it. Need a hand?
He could’ve sworn you were considering it, the way you paused. The way your hands crossed to cover the ring on your third finger.
You rolled your tongue from one cheek to the other. Thanks, you decided, I think we’re good.
And then, just as Billy made to cross the street, you cast another line.
Nice neighborhood?
His mouth twisted into that sick smirk of his. Muscle memory. He had you ensnared already. He glanced over his shoulder. Hm?
I’m not from around here. Is it a nice neighborhood?
He staggered back over, stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘s alright, yeah. Few wronguns, couple curtain-twitchers.
Terror sniffed a trail between the boxes at your feet. His leash wrapped around your bare legs.
You knelt to cup his blocky head, scratch the folds of fur between his ears. Curtain-twitchers, huh? you echoed to the pup. And which category does your daddy fall into?
Billy’s fist locked around the leash. He could already feel it: the rush of blood heading somewhere he knew it fucking shouldn’t.
Neither, he replied. Yet.
You looked up at him. All doe-eyed and innocent. Younger than him by a decent amount, so it looked. A light in your eyes and a fullness in your cheeks that gave you away instantly.
You looked brand new. Lovely little thing; a baby crease between your brows as you ruffled the dog’s snowy fur and stood up, mirroring Billy’s suspicious smirk.
So fucking sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Billy wanted to chew you up and spit you back out. Wanted to see how much of a mess he could make of such a pretty girl.
He’s always known just how to ruin a good thing, hasn’t he?
Well, you cleared your throat, it was nice to meet you, uh…
Butcher, he said, holding a paw of a hand out. Billy Butcher.
Billy Butcher, you echoed. I look forward to seeing where we both turn out.
Forty-five seconds still on the clock, he gives in.
Gives in to the need thrumming through his bones, so electric he can’t stand still. Gives in to his fluttering heart and the way it falters with each sighting of your silhouette.
Gives in to the fucking brick in his pants, the painful ache and the feeling like bruising each time it ruts against his jeans.
Can’t help himself, can he? He’s already bursting at the seams. He hasn’t touched you in – Christ, Billy, it’s only been eighteen hours – but fuck it.
You’re the only good thing about his day. The only relief he gets, the only time he feels like himself.
The only thing Billy has to look forward to these days, is pushing his cock inside someone else’s wife.
Ain’t that a fucking thing? Fuuuckin’ hell.
He thinks, swaggering down his front steps, that he should feel bad about it. He almost wishes he could.
He thinks, watching you mirror him across the street – collar up, head down, the way he’d taught you the first night – that he should call it quits. Tonight, last night, last week. This affair should never have started in the first place.
He thinks, as he sighs into his car and you strut off in the opposite direction, that he should let you go. Tell you to turn around, head back home. Back to your husband, back to your life – unblemished by Billy’s messy, poisoned hands.
He should let you go back to that girl he met on the side of the road. Ring on her finger, dimple in her cheek. A twinkle of innocence as bright as sunlight in her eye.
But you pause at the end of the street. Billy catches it in his rearview. You pause, twirl on your heel, and stare back at the Cadillac. Your arms come up – something of a signal, a prompt. He should have the engine running by now. He should be on his way to the meeting spot.
Billy thinks, if he’s half the man he’s spent his entire life trying to be, that he owes it to himself not to turn the key. To get back out of the car, and never watch for the shadow of you ever again.
He knows he’s not half the man he should be. And why the fuck would he be, anyway? He ain’t exactly got a decent lineup of role models to choose from. A seed planted in shit can grow into as tall a tree as it wants – the roots will always be steeped in shit.
Sod it.
The engine rumbles to life, and so does he.
Billy pulls the Cadillac in to the usual spot. A couple blocks from your street, the place is perpetually deserted – save for a couple stumbling teenagers last week and a meddling raccoon the week before.
You’re loitering beneath the cover of some trees, avoiding the splotches of amber streetlight. Hands in your pockets; shoulders bunched. Almost a month of sneaking around and still, each time, he almost mistakes you for some other ghost on the street.
The door whips open. You sink into the passenger seat.
“Don’t tell me you almost got cold feet.”
His eyebrows quirk. “That sound like me?”
You bite down on a cheeky grin. That dimple of yours makes itself at home. “Thought you were about to bail on me. Car trouble? Couldn’t get it to start?”
“Hm,” Billy pinches your chin, “That don’t sound like me either.”
He could swear he feels you nuzzle into his grasp; could swear your gaze softens just a little. But it’s dark outside, even darker in here, and he’d do well to remember exactly who you are, and exactly who he is.
Selfish, careless, irresponsible. A right cunt. Broken from the inside out, a black chasm which splits the four chambers of his heart. It’s in his bones, in his blood.
The kind of man who flirts with the neighbor, who meets her in a backstreet and fucks her in his car. The kind of man who goes home afterwards and showers her perfume from his skin; who plays with himself until he’s hard all over again just from the memory.
The kind of man whose wife reckons the new couple look happy. Honeymoon phase, she’ll say, and then drift off into some other corner of the house.
Billy lets his hand drop. “Come on, then,” he says, putting the car into park. “Ain’t got all night.”
He’s never bored of it.
Never bored of the smutty smirk on your face, or the way you skip around to the backseat. Never bored of that first touch, the heat on his skin that meets your frozen fingertips. Never bored of the way you melt into him, the need pouring from your body as soon as Billy pulls you into his lap.
There’s a thrill to it. A kind of ecstasy he hasn’t felt in years. For the sliver of night that you share together, he can be exactly who he wants to be.
It just so happens to be who you want, too.
He lifts the tee from your shoulders, teeth dragging between your collarbones. Across red lace and strap, pausing only to suck a delicate mark into the plush of your chest.
You giggle, throwing your head back. “No proof,” you pull his jaw away, “He’ll see that, you know he will.”
Billy nips at your bottom lip. “Tell ‘im he left it.”
“Ha,” you roll your eyes, “Good one.”
He toys with the lace on your hips, slipping a hand between your legs. “Poor baby,” he pouts, “Ain’t got no one to touch her at home.”
Your spine curls when he cups your mound. Tongue pokes at the corner of your mouth, eyes flood black; a wild animal eyeing her next meal.
He swirls his middle finger, teasing your clit over your underwear. “Make a mess in ‘em, sweetheart, just for me.”
“They’re already a mess for you,” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders. You grind into his palm, hips stuttering. “They’re – always – a mess – for you.”
He can feel it – the damp material at his fingertips, the warm wet on the inside of your thighs. You need this as much as he does. And that’s all this is, right? Helping each other out, being neighborly. A favor asked and answered inside of an hour.
Lend me some milk, water my houseplants. Fuck me until I can’t fucking think straight.
His cock strains against his jeans. Any longer and he’ll be making a mess in his own fucking underwear.
He kisses along the ridge of your jaw, sliding a hand up your spine to unhook your bra.
You shake the lingerie from your body, fucking perfect tits jiggling between your arms. Bare on top of him now – nothing but a scrap of lace over your hips and a sinful smile on your lips.
You fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, writhing still with the pressure he’s quickly building between your hips. Grinding into him, hungrier and hungrier.
“Stupid fucking shirt,” you groan, ripping the floral pattern from his shoulders. Your hands find the plain of his chest; solid, dappled with dark hair, chain catching the streetlight and reflecting it in your eyes.
Billy laughs to himself. He pulls his hand from between your legs, sucks the tease of slick from his fingers, and guides your lips down to his. “Come here.”
No, he’s not a weak man. He’s been a fighter his entire life. Fists that have broken bone, words that have crumbled foes to dust. If you ain’t already a cunt, the world will make a cunt of you, yeah?
But here, now, you – undoing his belt, tossing it to the footwell; pushing the denim from his hips. You, giggling when he bucks you up to rid himself of his underwear, and your head hits the roof of the car.
You, taking his stiff cock in both hands, biting down on a moan when you feel the weight of him –
You might just be the thing that breaks him.
He thrusts up into your grip. “Drivin’ me off my head, you are,” he groans, burying his face in your chest when you squeeze.
“Good,” you reply, spitting into your palm. “’s what you do to me, anyway.”
You drag warm saliva over his length, slipping lower to massage his balls. So big and heavy in your hand, though Billy knows you’re being gentle.
Everything about you is gentle. Even while breaking your most solemn vow – the bullshit promises you made to that cunt at the altar – you’re so sweet with it. A favor, sure – but you want to make him feel good. You still want to pretend it’s real.
Only – there’s not enough time. Your husband will be home any minute, Billy’s wife has probably already noticed he’s gone. There are only so many excuses that an hour can allow, and the longer he spends admiring the way you caress his ball sack, the more of those excuses are written off.
For now, the back of his Cadillac behind a dilapidated Burger King will have to do.
“Alright,” Billy croaks, pausing your movements with a light hand on your wrist. “Gotta let me fuck you now, sweetheart. Been waiting all day for it, haven’t I?”
You chew on your lip, guiding his cock to your entrance.
His tip notches at your hole, so warm and snug just for him. He can feel how tight you still are, even after a month of him. Still not used to the size, the way he punches the air straight out of your lungs with that first thrust.
He wonders if you’re still having sex with your husband. Stupid question, maybe, but he does. He wonders whether, when the bloke slips inside, you feel yourself aching around him. Feel your cunt needing more, needing him.
The thought drains his head of any blood and sends it straight to his dick. He leans back against the headrest and pulls your cunt down over him.
The sound you make is almost enough to send him over already. A tiny squeak, a yelp which shatters into the most beautiful sound he’s heard all day. Need. Need and want, laced up and tied into the form of a pretty girl on his cock.
Need and want, which happens to push the word over her tongue just as he goes to ask for it.
“Daddy,” you whine, head rolling across Billy’s shoulder. Your hips are still, split open on top of him as your cunt adjusts to the intrusion.
“There she is,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, smirking. “’s my girl, let Daddy open her up a little.”
So fucking tight, it almost hurts. He can’t remember the last time he was inside someone who gripped him this much. Like you don’t want him to move at all, just stay put between your walls and let you call the shots.
“That feel okay, darlin’?” Billy asks, helping you straighten.
You look down to where your bodies connect – the dark trail of hair on his groin meeting yours. The twist of lace, underwear warped to make room for the width of his cock.
You brace yourself with two hands on his stomach, and push up. Only an inch, barely enough for any relief, but when you drop down on him again, you wince.
“She’ll get there,” he says, slipping a hand around the small of your back. He cradles you in the crook of his arm, kisses the hinge of your jaw. “Just gotta give her a little bit a’ time, don’t we?”
“Yeah, Daddy,” you reply, in a bottled voice. You link your own arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.
He lifts his hips, gently bucking until your whimpers quieten. Until the crease between your brow smooths, replaced with creases at the corners of your lips. A smile, a satisfied thing – her daddy always makes her feel better, doesn’t he?
Always blurs the edges of her pain. The relief after a long, shitty day; the escape from a long, shitty marriage. The need met; the want fulfilled. The hunger satiated, until eight p.m. the following night when you pull your hood up and go for another one of your walks.
You chant it to him, like with each syllable you’re turning the pain into pleasure. Daddy Daddy Daddy. Each one higher than the last, each one more desperate.
Your walls squeeze around him. You grind down against the thick hair at his base; clit swollen and soaked with your wet and his.
Billy’s eyes roll closed. He slips his fingers through yours, feels the cold brush of your wedding ring on his skin.
A good man would snap out of it. A good man would glance down at the strip of gold around his own finger, and call the whole thing off. Stuff himself back into his pants, drive the both of you home. Never look the road you’re on again, never look at another woman who isn’t his wife.
But his wife’s not here. Hasn’t been here, for longer than Billy would like to admit.
You’re here. Dove of a girl, soft coos from her lips and little fluttering movements. Good girl, right in his lap, begging him to tear her apart.
And thank fuck he’s not a good man.
He grits his teeth, jaw clenching around a pathetic moan. “Daddy’s gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill her right up.”
“Daddy,” you pant, “Daddy, I’m – I’m ovulating, please –”
“Good,” he grunts, slamming in again, “Means you’ll take it all then, won’tcha?”
You slur something of a laugh into his chest. Your thighs clench around his waist, rutting begins to falter. You dig your nails into his shoulders and, with a sobbing moan, you come hard around his cock.
“Oh, my God – Billy,” you gasp, hands grabbing the hair at the base of his skull. You give it a sharp tug and tilt his head skyward.
Billy comes with a guttural moan, a sound that tears from the base of his throat and echoes into your mouth. His cock pulses inside you, emptying into your little cunt.
Nothing has ever felt so fucking right, he realizes, than this cramped backseat. A tight squeeze, all of it – the sweet pinch of your pussy around his cock, the sweat and sex coating the windows in a hazy film.
The stars in his vision spatter, fading into the dull car. He settles back with a sigh.
You giggle, swaying to and fro in his lap. When you slip off, his cock settles heavy and soaked on his groin.
“Hold it,” Billy says, snapping your underwear back into place. “You hold it all in there.”
“Okay,” you smile, wrapping your arms around one of his, “Okay, Daddy.”
He closes his eyes. For a moment, he allows himself to fade out of this stifling backseat and to somewhere fresher, cleaner. Unbroken and untainted. No vows or golden rings suffocating either of you.
For a moment, he could almost believe it.
At his side, he hears the ruffling of denim. The flick of a lighter, once, twice, and then the soft crackling of a cigarette burning. The thick stench of tobacco fills the car.
“You wanna know something?”
You ask it quietly, timidly.
Billy snaps back to the Cadillac. His eyes flutter open. “What?”
You twirl the cig between your fingers, watching the snaking smoke bend and twist. “This is all I have. The only time I feel like I’m above the waves. Everything else is just…fucking…”
“…drowning,” he says.
You hum an agreement and lift the cigarette to his lips. “Isn’t that awful? I mean, we’re fucking awful people, aren’t we?”
Billy takes a long drag. The question fills his lungs, sour as smoke. “Not you,” he says, lifting his chin to exhale over your head. “Not you.”
“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “How come you get to be the cunt, and I don’t?”
He answers with an empty shrug, another cloud of smoke obscuring you from his vision.
“What would we do if you got me pregnant?” you ask, wafting the air.
He scoffs. “You’re askin’ if we’d pretend it was his?”
You shrug. “Sure. Would we?”
He rests his chin on your head. “S’pose we’d have to,” he utters, watching the blur of headlights soar by the parking lot. “You want to admit this is what you’re up to every fuckin’ night?”
“No.”
“No,” he repeats.
“It would be a shitstorm, though,” you snicker. The cherry glows again as you suck on the end.
And if I say Hughie is the only person since Becca who can control and pull him back and butcher looks at Hughie like a lost puppy suddenly I’m the crazy one
AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.
Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.
MINORS DNI Below the cut
"I'm not wearing any underwear."
The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.
This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.
Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).
This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.
So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.
Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.
You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.
Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.
So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.
And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.
"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"
You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."
Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"
"You wear panties?"
He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.
"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"
You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).
The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.
The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.
"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"
You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.
You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.
He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.
Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"
You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"
"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."
You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.
"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.
"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.
Why was this happening?
You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.
"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.
He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.
Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.
A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.
"Miss, look at you," he cooed.
Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.
"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.
"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.
She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."
Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."
The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.
So you back-peddled.
You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.
She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.
Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.
You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.
"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.
When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.
"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.
"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."
He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.
A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.
"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.
Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.
You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.
It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.
When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.
But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"
And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.
"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.
"Ew, no."
He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"
You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.
Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"
You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."
He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.
Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.
So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.
But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.
"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.
You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.
"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.
But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."
Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"
Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."
"What?" You frowned.
Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."
"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."
Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."
"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.
Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."
"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.
He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.
"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.
"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.
"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.
Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.
"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.
"In here!?" you whispered tightly.
Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.
"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.
Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.
Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.
Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.
"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.
"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.
"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.
The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.
"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.
The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.
"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.
Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."
You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.
A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."
The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.
"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."
"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.
You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."
And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.
The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.
The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.
You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.
Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.
"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."
He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.
"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.
Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.
You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.
Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."
You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.
"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.
You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."
He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.
A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.
"N-no," you mumbled. "No."
He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.
"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.
A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.
"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."
"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.
"No."
"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.
A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.
"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.
Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.
His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.
When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.
"Butcher, please," you begged.
"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."
You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.
He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.
"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.
"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.
"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.
He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."
You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.
Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.
"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"
You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.
The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.
"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."
You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.
He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.
He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.
The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.
He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.
"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.
"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.
"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."
He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.
He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.
"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.
"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.
Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.
"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.
"Billy, please," you whined softly.
"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.
He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.
When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.
Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.
Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.
"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."
His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.
"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.
"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"
set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)
word count: 4.7k
notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)
You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room.
You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off.
So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.
You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not.
You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night.
That is, until you opened the door.
“Oh,” you said involuntarily.
"There's only one bed,” Spencer said.
“Sure looks that way.”
"At least it's a queen?"
There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time.
"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began.
"I mean, I guess I don't really–"
"–although, JJ did say we got the last–"
"–mind as long as you–"
You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement.
"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."
"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”
It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be.
"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.
"Right."
The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.
"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window.
"No, you're not doing that."
"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.
"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.”
Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.”
God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team.
Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it.
Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep.
Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still.
“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."
You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke.
The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind.
“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.
"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.
You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers.
Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right.
From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that.
He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again.
Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you.
Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together.
Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell.
“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”
You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal.
Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot.
“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation.
You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.”
He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him.
“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.
“Sorry,” you managed.
“For what?”
“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.”
“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.”
Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further.
“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.”
“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!”
“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.”
“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.”
“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.”
“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him.
“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat.
“You just said ass.”
“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.”
“Right, of course. It’s my fault.”
“I knew you’d agree.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed.
Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting.
Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed.
You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep.
But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself.
Eventually, exhaustion won out.
You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what?
You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black.
Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?!
“Hey, you okay?”
“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.”
“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well.
“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.”
You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.
He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated.
“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way.
“You were on my pillow, by the way.”
“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him.
“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.”
“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again.
“That wasn’t me complaining about it.”
“Oh,” was all you could think to say back.
It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest.
“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious.
“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing.
“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?”
“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.”
He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer.
“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.
“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.”
“Don’t profile me.”
“I’m not. I just know you.”
You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.”
“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.”
“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.”
“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.”
You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip.
“And you stuttered when I brought it up.”
“I told you to stop profiling me.”
This time, he just hummed in response.
“And so what if I stuttered?”
“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.”
Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list.
“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–”
“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed.
“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.”
“That all makes total sense.”
“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved.
“Now tell me the rest of it.”
“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well.
You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and–
“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream.
“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent.
It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing.
“Yes.”
You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word.
Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it.
“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.
You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry.
He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–”
“It is.”
“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.”
“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.”
Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back.
Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you.
“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked.
“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.”
“I was not–”
“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.
“Oh, this was such a mistake.”
He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“
“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.”
He laughed, and your cheeks warmed.
“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.”
You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?”
“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.”
Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.”
He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.”
You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.”
“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you.
After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed.
For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside.
You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again.
“Okay, was it just me, or–”
“That was crazy,” you breathed.
“Crazy,” he agreed.
“Spence?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?”
Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?”
“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless.
“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.”
“Well, you kissed me.”
“I did.”
“How were you not nervous?” you breathed.
“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.”
You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.”
“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.”
“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.”
He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist.
“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it.
“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.”
“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer.
You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages.
“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.”
“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“You’re such an ass.”
A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up.
You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you.
Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker.
You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left.
You text back: okay?
Spencer: My crush asked me out last night.
You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face.
You: what did u say?
Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first.
You: i think u should say yes, obviously.
Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.
You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded.
You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt
You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success.
Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night
You: i promise i won’t try to jump you
Spencer: Oh
Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here
You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much
Spencer: That’s rich coming from you
You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you.
You: whatever. wear something sexy ;)
You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh.
“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask.
Shit.
“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat.
Unbelievable.
You: you’re unhinged :*
Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you?
You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep
Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful
You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty
Spencer: Stop flirting with me
You: bc you’re too delicate??
Spencer: Yes
You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace.
You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that
You heard a page turn.
You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed.
“but, daddy, it hurts,” i whined, trying to wriggle off of butcher’s lap.
“s’pposed to. otherwise, it wouldn’t be a punishment now would it?” he said, tightening his grip on me before delivering another stinging slap to my ass.
butcher had tugged my jeans down and hauled me over his lap as soon as we’d gotten back to his room. i’d made the mistake of mouthing off to him during a job, and now i was facing the consequences.
“you’re being mean,” i pouted.
“call it whatever ya’ want, love. m’just keeping you in line. what kind of daddy would i be if i didn’t punish m’girl when she was a brat?”
i only whimpered in reply when he spanked me several more times, causing my pussy to clench painfully around nothing.
my arousal dripped down my legs, creating a stain on butcher’s leg, and i desperately tried humping his thick thigh, needing some sort of relief.
“look at ya’. like a fucking bitch in heat you are. humping my leg like a pathetic, little slut.”
