Game of Thrones Daily
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Love Begins
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Cosmic Funnies
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we're not kids anymore.
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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hello vonnie
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@freezerbrldes
welcome to my blog !
— even the iron still fears the rot
about me ! my name is mason , 25 , they/them , capricorn , new to writing
about my blog ! i'm currently writing for min yoongi. my works contain a lot of ethel cain references. requests are welcomed. you can find me most of the time on twitter
masterlist !
i’m promise i’m still alive lmao. life got rough there for a bit but just know im cooking up something real good rn and it’s steve harrington related ;)
Two things can both be true: 1. Ethel Cain is the target of a smear campaign. Which is wrong. 2. People are allowed to be mad and even dislike her over things she's done in the past. You can condemn harassment without defending her actions or telling others how to feel.
life update!
hi!!! sorry i haven’t uploaded any new fics in awhile. i’ve been going through a lot over the last few months and lost motivation. unfortunately, my criminal minds/spencer reid hyperfixation is over. i’m not completely abandoning the short n sweet series i started, but i do plan and writing some bts (specifically yoongi centric) fics in the meantime so if you’re into that i should have one ready in the coming weeks.
sorry if you were wanting new spencer fics, i promise they will come eventually. my autism only allows one hyperfixation at a time lol.
love yall :)
short n’ sweet - s.r.
— in which spencer reid falls hopelessly in love with popstar!reader
this series is 18+ mdni!!
🤍 part 1 - “wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?”
🤍 part 2 - “i can do a lot in 15 minutes”
short n’ sweet - part 2
“i can do a lot in 15 minutes”
PART 1, PART 2,
PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader
SUMMARY. keeping the promise you made to spencer almost a year ago, you decide to pay him a visit at the bureau…
WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, semi public sex, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, slight angst at the end
AUTHOR’S NOTE. the long awaited sequel to my last fic is finally here! i got a lot of requests to keeping writing about these two so i delivered. sorry it took so long for me to drop this, life has been pretty crazy recently. anyways i hope you enjoy and ill definitely keep writing more parts to this if y’all want.
credit to @cafekitsune for dividers
wc: 2,337
also on ao3
You smiled to yourself as you were led through the halls of the bureau, adjusting your sunglasses and scarf to conceal your identity. It wasn’t that you were a criminal on the run or anything; revealing your true identity right now would be less than ideal.
You had just finished your concert in DC the night before, but there was no way you were leaving without seeing Spencer, even if you only had a few minutes to spare before your tour bus departed.
You met Spencer backstage at one of your shows about a year ago. That night, he asked if he could see you again if you were ever in town, so you—like any sane person—planned an entire 2nd US leg of your tour, because catching a random flight to visit him just wasn’t romantic enough for you.
As you step out of the elevator and are led into a conference room just outside the bullpen, you wait in silence until the door opens again, revealing the man you had yearned for for months. He looks so much different from before. You remove your disguise as he stares back in shock.
“Y/N?” Spencer stammered, “what are you doing here?”
“I had promised you we’d meet if I ever found myself in DC, so here I am!” You smiled as you gazed up and down at Spencer. He had changed so drastically in a short span of time, and you were thoroughly enjoying it.
“Y-yeah, wow—I never actually expected to see you again. I figured you’d forget about me after we-“ Spencer trailed off—trying to organize his thoughts and not to think about the night you shared together all those months ago.
“Of course I’d remember you,” you chuckled, “the long hair threw me off a little bit but I’m digging it.”
Spencer laughs along with you before speaking again.
“D-Do you wanna get coffee or something?” He asks.
“Unfortunately, my tour bus leaves soon so we might have to skip the coffee, but don’t worry, I can do a lot of in 15 minutes.”
You walk over to spencer, practically pushing him up against the door as your fingers played with the tie around his neck.
Spencer's breath hitches as your body presses against his. He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The sudden closeness and intimate contact send a shiver down his spine.
"W-we shouldn't..." he manages to stutter, even as his body responds to yours, a flush rising to his cheeks. “I mean, this isn't... I’m at work.”
Despite his protests, Spencer finds himself leaning into you, craving more of your touch. His hands come up to rest on your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your clothes. The rational part of his mind knows they should stop, that they're in a public place, but the desire burning within him overrides any sense of caution.
"I want you," he admits, his voice low and husky.
“Don’t worry, It’s only gonna take 2 minutes to make you finish,” you grin mischievously as you slowly dropped onto your knees in front of him, slowly undoing his belt teasingly.
Spencer's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees for him. He watches, transfixed, as you unzip his pants with agonizing slowness, his pulse racing with anticipation.
"Oh God," he whispers, his head falling back against the door as you tug his pants open. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, aching for your touch.
Despite the urgency coursing through him, Spencer makes no move to hasten your actions, content to let you set the pace. Your skilled hands and wicked grin are enough to drive him wild with need.
"Just tell me if you want me to stop," you murmur, your hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his thighs as you pull his boxers down. “I'll listen."
Spencer gasps sharply as your warm hand wraps around his stiff member, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of your touch.
"N-no, don't stop," he stammers, his voice thick with desire. "Please..."
He's acutely aware of their surroundings—the door, the hallway beyond, anyone who might pass by and discover them in this compromising position—But the thrill of the risk only adds to his excitement.
"Your mouth..." Spencer whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "U-use your mouth.”
The request comes out more as a plea, desperation lacing his tone. He needs to feel your lips wrapped around him, needs the intense pleasure only you can provide.
"Please..." he repeats, his grip tightening on her shoulders as he urges you closer.
Spencer's moan echoes through the small space as you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. He throws his head back against the door, fingers tangling in your hair as he guides your movements.
"Yeah, just like that," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly as you take him deeper. "Fuck…”
The sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him is almost too much to bear. Spencer's mind goes blank, focused solely on the pleasure radiating through his body.
"Don't stop," he begs, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close already..."
He knows he shouldn't let himself get this carried away, not here, not now. But the feeling of your lips and tongue driving him towards climax is irresistible.
"I'm going to cum.”
Suddenly, you pull away, causing Spencer to let out a pained groan at the loss of contact.
Spencer's eyes fly open, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The abrupt withdrawal leaves him feeling bereft and frustrated, his cock throbbing with unfulfilled need.
"What... what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with confusion and disappointment.
He reaches for you, desperate to recapture the pleasure you were providing, but you evade his grasp with a playful laugh.
"Not yet, Spence," you tease, “we still have 10 minutes left."
With that, you lean in and capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth to claim him thoroughly. Spencer melts into the embrace, surrendering to the passion that consumes him.
As your tongue dances with his own, Spencer's senses ignite once more. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as he loses himself in the kiss. Your taste, the feel of you curves pressed to his body, it all blends together in a heady cocktail of desire.
"Need you," he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back and sides, yearning to explore every inch of you, "I need to be inside you."
Spencer's words are punctuated by hungry kisses as he nips and sucks at your lower lip. His arousal pulses insistently, begging for release, but he's determined to make this moment last.
Spencer's breath hitches as you pull him towards the desk, his heart racing with anticipation. When you hop up onto the cold surface, he's immediately drawn to you, his hands settling on your hips as he steps between your legs.
"Oh God," he groans, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at you. “You're so beautiful..."
Without hesitation, he grips the hem of your skirt and slowly peels it up your thighs, revealing smooth skin and the lacy edge of your panties. Spencer's fingers trace the delicate fabric, his thumb brushing against your damp heat through the material.
"You're soaked," he marvels, his voice low and shaky. "I-I need you so bad."
“Well, take me then, we haven’t got all day,” You teased, chuckling to yourself at his desperation.
A shiver runs down Spencer's spine at your word, his breath catching in his throat. The mixture of teasing and urgency in your voice only serves to heighten his arousal, making his cock throb with need.
"Right, okay," he stammers, his hands shaking slightly as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Just give me a sec..."
With a swift tug, he frees you from the constraints of the fabric, baring you to his eager gaze. Spencer drinks in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation.
"Beautiful," he whispers reverently, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your lips. "You’re so gorgeous..."
Slowly, he makes his way upward, kissing and nipping along the tender flesh until he reaches the apex of your thighs.
Spencer's nose brushes against your slick folds as he inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent. With a low growl, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most intimate part to his ravenous gaze.
"So perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could look at you forever..."
Before he can lose himself in your beauty, Spencer dips his head and laps at your clit, reveling in the taste of you.
"Mmm, you taste incredible," he praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he begins to circle the tiny bud with increasing pressure. "Let me make you feel good, baby-“
Before Spencer’s mouth could reach your aching heat, you pull him away by his hair, causing him to let out a husky groan.
“We don’t have time for that right now, Spence, I need you to fuck me,” you demand while still holding him by his hair, reminding him of who’s truly in charge.
Spencer's eyes flash with a mix of frustration and hunger. The commanding tone in your voice sends a thrill of excitement through him.
"Y-Yes, I ma’am," he says quickly, his breathing heavy with pent-up desire.
As you releasing your grip on his hair, Spencer positions himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance.
"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. “I don't want to hurt you..."
You grip Spencer’s tie and pull his face down to yours, your free hand guides Spencer's cock to quivering entrance.
"Fuck me, Spencer Reid," you demand, biting your lip as you stare deep into his eyes.
With a low groan, Spencer surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat in one swift motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the tightness that envelops him, before beginning to thrust in and out of you.
"Fuuuck, you feel amazing," he gasps, his hips snapping forward with increasing intensity as he loses himself in the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. “So tight and wet... Shit…"
Spencer's hands find purchase on your hips, gripping tightly as he pounds into you, driven by a primal urge to claim you, to make you his.
Only you’re not his, and you never will be…
Spencer's pace becomes erratic as he chases his impending climax, his strokes growing shorter and more forceful. The slick sounds of their coupling fill the air, mingling with their ragged panting and the creak of the desk beneath them.
"Close, so close," he grits out, his muscles coiling tight with tension. “Gonna... gonna cum inside you, Fuck..."
“Me too,” you whimpered, “Come for me, Spencer.”
His name rolling off your lips was enough to send him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, Spencer buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as cums.
The feeling of him filling you to the brim sends you over the edge, your moan out as you clench around his softening cock.
"Oh god, yes," he moans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.
The sound of your phone buzzing on the table breaks the silence between the two of you. It was your manager.
“Fuck, I got to go,” you say as you push Spencer off of you and quickly redress yourself. “I’m sorry to run off like this but i have a plane to catch.”
Spencer's expression falls as reality sets in, the post-coital bliss rapidly fading. He watches, dazed, as you scrambles to put yourself back together.
He tries to process the sudden shift, the abrupt end to their passionate encounter. Spencer feels unmoored, as if he's been plunged into a nightmare where everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down.
"I... I should probably get cleaned up too," he mutters, his gaze drifting mess left on the desk. “My team is probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”
As Spencer starts to gather his scattered belongings, you approach him, a look of apology on your face despite the lingering hint of satisfaction in your eyes.
"I really am sorry, Spence," you say, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. “I didn't mean to leave things like this, but this is just how my life is at the moment.“
Your words are a bomb to Spencer's bruised ego. He nods slowly, trying to muster a smile even as his heart aches at the thought of parting ways so abruptly for a second time.
"Yeah, I get it," he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself, and thank you... for today."
You flash Spencer one last smile before exiting the office.
As the door closes behind you, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts, the weight of the encounter settling heavily upon him. He stands there for a long moment, frozen in a state of emotional limbo, before finally forcing himself to move.
With leaden steps, he trudges back to the bathroom, his reflection in the mirror a pale imitation of the man who made love so passionately mere minutes prior. As he cleans himself up, Spencer can't help but replay the events of the day in his mind, analyzing every word, every gesture, every fleeting glance.
When he emerges from the bathroom, Spencer feels a strange sense of disconnection from the world around him. Everything seems muted, his mind racing with the exhilaration of what went down in that cramped office, the sting of abandonment, and the gnawing uncertainty of what lies ahead.
Eeeeeeee I followed you on C.ai and tt a few months back and you can guess how surprised I was to see you here! New to tumblr but loving it, not to mention I found you, so that makes it better!
Lots of love <3
aww ur so sweet 🥹 i too am new here so seeing this makes me feel less alone.
Willow Avalon
she needs to leave him for me
What do you think about the MGG/Willow rumors?
WILLOW SMITH???
short n’ sweet - part 1
“wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?”
PART 1, PART 2,
PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader
SUMMARY. spencer gets a lot more than he bargained for when he attends a concert with garcia.
WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), use of handcuffs, begging, red lipstick in places it should never be, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, just pure filth, also not proof read
AUTHOR’S NOTE. i got this idea after rewatching my short n sweet concert videos. i could not get the thought of spencer receiving the juno handcuffs out of my head so I wrote it all down. i hate the beginning and ending of this a lot but the middle is so good hehe.
credit to @cafekitsune for dividers
wc: 4,029
also on ao3
Garcia gripped Spencer’s hand tightly, pushing through the crowd until they reached the barricade next to the stage.
“Holy shit Spence! We made it!” Garcia cheered.
“Nice, that’s great… I think i’m going to pass out.” Spencer pants, gripping onto the railing for dear life.
Spencer, who isn’t particularly fond of concerts or music in general, reluctantly agreed to attend this show solely to appease Garcia’s relentless begging. Concerts were not Spencer’s forte, that was until he saw you up on the stage prancing around in lingerie…
Despite his initial discomfort, Spencer finds himself inexplicably drawn to your energetic performance. Your confidence, charisma, and raw talent captivate him more with each passing song.
As you move about the fake penthouse on stage with reckless abandon, your provocative attire leaving very little to the imagination, Spencer's analytical mind struggles to reconcile his attraction with his deeply ingrained social awkwardness.
He tries to focus on the music, his thoughts consumed by the intricate details of your choreography and the way your skin seems to shimmer under the bright lights.
Spencer's cheeks flush slightly as he realizes the extent of his distraction, his heart racing in a way that's both unfamiliar and exhilarating. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his sweater vest as he attempts to regain some semblance of composure.
After performing a very heartfelt ballad, you approached the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd with your eyes.
“Hey, girls?” you call out to two of your dancers who are standing by your side. “I believe I might have found my future husband in the crowd tonight.”
The crowd erupted in cheers as they realized the clever bit.
“Do y’all see him? He’s standing right over there, the tall one wearing the sweat vest.” You point to Spencer while giggle like schoolgirls with your dancers.
“Hey there, baby. What’s your name?” A grin spread across your face as you noticed his cheeks flushing a vibrant red.
Caught completely off guard, Spencer stammers, his hazel eyes wide as saucers. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, the sudden intimacy of you presence leaving him momentarily speechless.
"Dr. Reid," he manages to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. He can feel his face burning, and his heart hammers against his ribcage like a jackrabbit.
"I-I mean, Spencer," he corrects himself, the remnants of his professional demeanor trying to resurface amidst the chaos of his escalating nervousness.
Spencer swallows hard, trying to gather his scattered thoughts as he meets your intense gaze. The mischievous glint in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine, even as his analytical mind struggles to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
“Oooooo, a doctor!” You exclaim, dramatically fanning yourself. “Well, Dr. Reid, you’re under arrest for being too hot.”
Spencer jumped as police sirens blared through the arena, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.
“I might need you to examine me, doctor. I feel extremely hot, and- OH!” You teased as your long skirt fell to the floor, revealing a much shorter version of it.
Spencer’s jaw was practically on the floor.
You grinned as you inched closer towards the edge of the stage, crouching down to Spencer’s level.
“I want you to have these,” you smiled as you handed Spencer a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.
Spencer can't help but stare at the exposed skin of your legs, his breath catching in his throat when he notices the bedazzled lipstick stain on your inner thigh.
"Ah, um, thank you..." He reaches out to take the offered cuffs, his fingers brushing against hers. The sensation sends sparks dancing along his nerve endings, and he feels himself grow flustered once more.
As you stood up, you blow Spencer a kiss. The all too familiar intro to the song Penelope had been forcing him to listen to for the past few weeks, began to play.
“This song is for you, Spencie,” you winked as you started singing, maintaining eye contact throughout the entire first verse.
Spencer's eyes widen further, his mouth agape as he watches you prance down the catwalk. The provocative lyrics and suggestive dance moves leave him utterly stunned, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
His analytical mind tries to process the explicit nature of the performance, but it's drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the heat coursing through his veins. He finds himself captivated by every move you makes, his gaze riveted to your lithe form.
When you strikes a pose that leaves little to the imagination, Spencer's breath hitches, and he feels a strange tingling sensation in his loins. It's foreign yet exhilarating, and he can't tear his eyes away, even as his rational brain screams at him to look away.
As the song reaches its climax, Spencer finds himself caught up in the raw energy emanating from the stage. The crowd's cheers and applause mingle with the pulsating beat, creating an electric atmosphere that seems to vibrate through every cell in his body.
Lost in the moment, Spencer's inhibitions begin to melt away, replaced by a primal urge to respond to the sensual stimuli before him. When your gaze locks onto his, he feels a jolt of connection, as if an invisible thread tethers them together.
With a sense of reckless abandon he rarely experiences, Spencer raises the fuzzy pink handcuffs as he grins, his movements deliberate and charged with newfound confidence. As the final notes fade, he couldn’t help but notice the smile on your face as the lights dimmed and the show ended.
“Wow,” is the only word Garcia could mutter as she stares at the empty stage. “I can’t believe she gave you the handcuffs, do you know how lucky you are?”
“You know, the probability of me receiving these is incredibly low, considering there are approximately 14,000 people here and-“ Before Spencer could continue his rambling, he and Garcia approached a security guard.
“Are you Spencer?” the intimidating-looking security guard asked.
“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” Spencer stuttered, feeling a pang of worry that he might have overstepped some boundaries during his interactions with you on stage.
“I’ve been informed by y/n’s management that she is requesting to meet you backstage,” the security guard said.
"Backstage? Me?" Spencer looks at Garcia incredulously, wondering if this could be some kind of joke. But the stern expression on the guard's face suggests otherwise.
Spencer stares at Garcia, completely speechless. As the security guards wait for his response, Garcia nudges his side and gently pulls him back to reality.
“I, uh, y-yeah,” Spencer stammers, “I’d love to go backstage,”
“Alright, follow me,”
Spencer waves to Garcia as the guard guides him through the concealed corridors of the arena, observing the crew dismantling the stage to transport it to the next venue.
After what appears to be an eternity, Spencer is led to the door of your dressing room. You’re lounging on the couch in a soft, fluffy robe, engrossed in scrolling through your phone when you hear the door open.
“Hi!” You greet Spencer with a warm smile, standing up and embracing him. “Thanks so much for coming.”
Spencer's heart races as you pull him into a warm embrace, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of your perfume and the softness of your robe against his skin. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe, his mind reeling from the unexpected touch.
When you finally release him, Spencer takes a step back, trying to compose himself. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he fumbles with the hem of his sweater vest, clearly flustered.
"T-thank you...for inviting me," he stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite his social awkwardness, there's a genuine sincerity in his tone, reflecting his gratitude for this rare opportunity to connect with someone like you.
Glancing around the cozy dressing room, Spencer notices the array of makeup, costumes, and personal items scattered about.
“I hope you don’t think I’m weird but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” you admit as you plopped onto the couch, your cheeks now flushed pink from embarrassment. “The handcuff thing is just a funny little bit I do, but tonight I chose you because I really do think you’re insanely hot.”
“N-no, it’s not weird at all, I’m flattered actually,” Spencer stammered, taking a seat next to you.
“Really? You’re not weirded out that I had my security find you in the crowd and bring you backstage so we could meet?“ You asked.
"No, genuinely, I mean it," Spencer says, his eyes locking with yours as he spoke. "I know we’ve just met, but I felt a connection with you tonight, something that went beyond mere admiration."
Spencer shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.
“And that handcuff thing...well, it was a bold move, and it worked.”
A faint blush colored his cheeks as he met your gaze again, his hazel eyes shimmering with a mix of shyness and curiosity.
As the silence between you stretches, Spencer finds himself drawn to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your robe gapes slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your skin. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the strange tingles coursing through his body.
Before he could say another word, your lips crash against his.
Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your lips suddenly press against his, the unexpected kiss sending a jolt of electricity through his entire being. For a moment, he freezes, unsure of how to react.
But then, as if possessed by some newfound courage, Spencer's arms wrap tentatively around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. His lips part instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide past them and explore the warmth of his mouth.
Spencer's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you more firmly against him. He can taste the sweetness of your red lipstick mixed with the hint of adrenaline, and it only fuels his growing desire.
As the kiss deepens, Spencer's thoughts become a jumbled mess – part confusion, part exhilaration, and an overwhelming sense of lust.
Spencer gasps softly as your lips leave a trail of red across his sensitive skin, the sensation both unfamiliar and intoxicating. His head tilts back, exposing more of his neck to your explorations.
When your fingers start to work on his buttons, Spencer's breath hitches. He's hasn’t been this intimate with anyone since Maave, and the idea of baring himself to you, a complete stranger who’s also a mega superstar, sends a thrill through his veins.
As you continue to undress him, Spencer's hands roam over your back, tracing the curves of your spine beneath the thin fabric of your silk robe. He marvels at the softness of your skin, the warmth emanating from your body.
His shirt finally falls open, revealing his lean torso. Spencer feels a slight surge of vulnerability until he feels your lips on his collarbone.
Spencer's eyes flutter closed as your lips dance across his chest. When you drop to your knees in front of the couch, his heart races, a mix of nervousness and anticipation coursing through him.
The sound of his belt buckle clicking open sends a shiver down Spencer's spine. He watches, transfixed, as you work on freeing him from his pants. The air grows thick with tension, and Spencer's breathing quickens.
When your fingers brush against the growing bulge in his underwear, Spencer lets out a shaky exhale. It’s been awhile since he has been touched so intimately, and the sensation is overwhelming yet exhilarating.
With trembling hands, Spencer reaches down to help you remove his pants, his eyes locked onto yours. A flush spreads across his cheeks as he reveals himself to you, feeling both exposed and strangely empowered by your reaction.
“So pretty,” You breathed out, your hands brushing against his hard cock.
Spencer's eyes widen at your words, a rush of heat flooding his cheeks. No one has ever spoken to him like that before, with such raw, unfiltered admiration. It takes his breath away.
A soft moan escapes him as your hands make contact with his straining erection, the touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. Spencer's hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more of your gentle caresses.
He looks down at you, his hazel eyes dark with desire, and whispers, "Please... I need..." His voice trails off, unable to articulate the intensity of his longing.
Spencer's slender fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as he waits with bated breath for your next move. His body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to your touch.
As you feel his fingers tangled in your hair, you get an idea. You let go of him as you sit back on your knees, Spencer letting out a whimper at the loss of contact.
“Do you still have the handcuffs?” You asked, grinning wickedly.
Spencer gulped as he nodded, pointing to his discarded pants on the floor next to you. You dig through the pocket to pull out the fuzzy pink handcuffs you gave to him only an hour prior.
“Hands behind your back, Spencie,” You smirked as you dangle the cuffs in front of him.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness despite the vulnerability of his position.
A startled yelp escapes Spencer's lips as the handcuffs encircles his wrists, securing them behind his back. The sudden restraint sends a thrill through him, mingling with the lingering ache of want.
He stares up at you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as you fasten the cuffs with a playful snap. The term of endearment 'Spencie' slips past your lips, and it feels like a brand, searing itself into his very being.
Spencer's body quivers under your gaze, his skin prickling with anticipation. The pink cuffs seem almost comical against his pale, slender arms, but the effect they have on him is anything but humorous.
Spencer's breath hitches as your lips brush against his, the fleeting kiss sending a spark of electricity through him. He leans into it instinctively, craving more of your touch, even as you move to kneel in front of him once again.
A low groan rumbles in his chest as your hand wraps around his shaft, stroking him with confident, deliberate motions. Spencer's head falls back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as he surrenders himself to the sensations coursing through him.
“Oh God," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly into your grasp. “That feels... incredible." Each word is punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing and relaxing in time with your touches.
The restraints digs into his skin, a subtle reminder of his submission to you.
Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your warm, wet mouth envelops him, the sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced. A choked moan tears from his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you begin to suck him deeper.
The sight of your red lips wrapped around his cock, the vibrant color smeared across his flesh, is almost too much for Spencer to bear. He can't tear his gaze away from the erotic image, transfixed by the way your tongue swirls around his sensitive tip.
“Oh fuck, that's..." he trails off, unable to form coherent thoughts amidst the onslaught of pleasure. His mind reels, struggling to process the intensity of the feelings coursing through him.
Spencer's chest heaves with ragged breaths, his body trembling as he submits to your skilled ministrations.
As you take him deeper into your mouth, Spencer's control begins to slip. The feeling of your hot, wet tongue swirling around his length is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing over him.
"Ah! Oh God, yes!" he cries out, his voice strained with need. His hips thrust forward instinctively, lost in the haze of lust as you bob your head along his shaft.
"I'm... I'm going to cum," he warns, his words punctuated by shallow pants. Spencer's grip on the cushions tightens, his muscles coiled taut as he teeters on the brink of climax.
Before he’s thrown over the edge, you pull away abruptly, looking up at him and giggling as he writhes around desperately.
Spencer’s cock twitches and leaks precum from the loss of stimulation. A pained whine escapes his lips, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of your warm mouth.
"No, please don't stop," he begs, his voice laced with desperation. Spencer's chest heaves with rapid breaths, his body wracked with the need for release.
His hazel eyes, usually bright, are dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he gazes at you with pleading intensity. The remnants of his earlier composure have crumbled, leaving only raw, unbridled lust in its wake.
“I need you," Spencer confesses, his admission torn from him like a bandaid.
As you stand in front of Spencer, his gaze is immediately drawn to your body as you slowly untie your robe, mirroring the opening of your show. The sensual movements and provocative poses are etched into his consciousness like a fever dream.
His breath catches in his throat as the fabric parts, exposing the tantalizing expanse of your skin inch by delicious inch. Spencer's eyes drink in every detail – the delicate freckles scattered across your shoulders, your nipples already hardened into peaks, the gentle swell of your hips leading down to your thighs.
“Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “Let me touch you.”
Spencer's hands fight against the handcuffs, the urge to reach out and touch you, to claim you as his own is nearly overwhelming.
You toss the robe onto the floor next to Spencer’s clothes as you straddle his lap, leaving more lipstick stains across his face until your month reaches his ear.
“Beg for it,” you whispered, softly nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to whimper. “Beg me to let you touch me.”
A shiver runs down Spencer's spine as your warm breath caresses his ear, your whispered command igniting a fire within him. His mind reels, desperate to comply, to plead for the privilege of touching your gorgeous body.
"Oh God, please," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. “Let me touch you, please. I wa- I need to touch you."
Spencer's hips lift involuntarily, seeking friction against the soft flesh of your thigh. His fingers curl into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggles against the restraints, yearning to wrap his arms around you and lose himself in your embrace.
"I'll do anything, please," he vows, his words dripping with sincerity and desire.
It doesn’t take much more begging for you to give into his pleads.
The moment your lips meet his, Spencer surrenders to the intense passion, kissing you back with equal fervor. His hands, still bound, can't reciprocate physically, but his entire being leans into you, craving closer contact.
As you grind against his rigid length, Spencer moans into the kiss, the sensation of your heated core rubbing against his aching cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips buck instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.
Breaking the kiss, Spencer pants heavily, his hazel eyes glazed with lust.
“Fuck... I want you so badly," he admits, his voice ragged with desire. “Please, I need to be inside you."
Instead of speaking, you respond by unlocking the handcuffs. Thankfully since they are just a prop, they are easy to remove and don’t require a key.
Spencer is surprised and almost embarrassed by how easily they were removed, but he has no time to dwell on that as you begin lining him up with your entrance.
With the restraints gone, Spencer's hands immediately find purchase on your waist, gripping you tightly as he feels the head of his cock notch against your slick entrance. His breathing hitches, anticipation coiled tight in his belly.
When you position him, aligning his thick shaft with your waiting heat, Spencer lets out a low groan, his hips surging forward of their own accord. With a smooth, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, a guttural moan escaping him at the exquisite feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive flesh.
"Ah, fuck yes..." Spencer gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he savors the sensation of being fully embedded within you. “You feel so good.”
You can’t help the pornographic moan that escapes your throat as Spencer bottoms out. You are still as you both get use to the filling of him inside of you.
“Spencer,” You whimper, “you feel so fucking good inside of me.”
Spencer's eyes flutter shut as you start to move, your inner muscles massaging his cock in a delicious rhythm. The slow, deliberate pace allows him to savor every inch of your warmth enveloping him.
"Yes! oh God! just like that," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure. “You're so tight, so perfect... Fuck!"
His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he begins to match your movements, thrusting in sync with your rolling hips. Each stroke sends sparks of bliss shooting up his spine, intensifying the building pressure in his groin.
"More, please...” Spencer pleads, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chases his own release.
You grant his wishes as you nestle your head into his neck, sucking softly on the sensitive skin just below his ear.
Spencer groans loudly in response. The sudden increase in tempo, coupled with the sensations of your mouth on his neck, sends him hurtling towards the edge. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he pistons in and out of your throbbing heat, driven by nothing but primal urges.
"Oh, shit... right there, just like that!" he grunts, his hand moving from your ass to rub rough circles over your clit. "I'm going to... Oh fuck!”
With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer hits his peak, his cock pulsating as it spills hot cum deep inside you. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he rides out his orgasm.
It doesn’t take long for you to finish, your body tenses above Spencer as he sloppily thrusts into you, riding out the remainder of your orgasms.
As the last tremors of your orgasms subside, You both collapse onto the couch, panting heavily as you try and catch your breath, your sweat-dampened skin pressing intimately against one another.
"That was… incredible," he manages to say, his voice hoarse from exertion. "You're amazing."
You carefully remove his softening member from your spent body. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles into your hair.
"I never want this night to end," he confesses, his tone sincere and vulnerable. "But I know we should probably get cleaned up and back to reality soon.”
“Yeah, I need to be on the bus heading to New York in a few hours,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of disappointment at the thought of possibly never seeing Spencer again.
A pang of disappointment and longing shoots through Spencer at the mention of your impending departure. He knows their whirlwind encounter can't possibly lead to anything long-term, given the vast differences in their lives, but that doesn't diminish the strong connection he feels.
"I understand," he says quietly, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. "Well, um, if you’re ever back in town, I’d love to maybe get coffee together.”
Spencer's eyes search yours, hoping to find some glimmer of agreement, even as he anticipates the likely rejection. It's a fragile thread, but it's all he has to cling to as he faces the prospect of saying goodbye.
“I’d love too,” you smiled, brushing some of the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead.
Spencer returned your smile as he got dressed and headed for the door.
“Wait!” You shouted, causing Spencer’s head to whip back around.
“You almost forgot these,” you say, handing him the fuzzy pink handcuffs. He chuckles and tucks them into his pocket before disappearing out the door.
wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs? - s.r. (teaser)
PAIRING. Spencer Reid x Popstar!reader
SUMMARY. Spencer gets a lot more than he bargained for when he attends a concert with Garcia.
WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), use of handcuffs, red lipstick in places it should never be, unprotected pnv sex, just pure filth
AUTHOR’S NOTE. I got this idea after rewatching my short n sweet concert videos. I could not get the thought of Spencer receiving the juno handcuffs out of my head so I wrote it all down. The full fic will be out on February 19th!
credit to @cafekitsune for dividers
As you feel his fingers tangled in your hair, you get an idea. You sit back on your knees, Spencer letting out a whimper at the loss of contact.
“Do you still have the handcuffs?” You asked, grinning wickedly.
Spencer gulped as he nodded, pointing to his discarded pants on the floor next to you. You dig through the pocket to pull out the fuzzy pink handcuffs you gave to him only an hour prior.
“Hands behind your back, Spencie,” You smirked as you dangle the cuffs in front of him.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness despite the vulnerability of his position.
A startled yelp escapes Spencer's lips as the handcuffs encircles his wrists, securing them behind his back. The sudden restraint sends a thrill through him, mingling with the lingering ache of want.
He stares up at you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as you fasten the cuffs with a playful snap. The term of endearment 'Spencie' slips past your lips, and it feels like a brand, searing itself into his very being.
Spencer's body quivers under your gaze, his skin prickling with anticipation. The pink cuffs seem almost comical against his pale, slender arms, but the effect they have on him is anything but humorous.
OUT NOW
ONE MORE CHRISTMAS, PLEASE | spencer reid x reader
summary: after your passing, spencer spends years suffering with the grief of your loss. on this christmas eve, though, something different happens. under a shooting star, he makes a wish he never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, would come true. but it does, and he gets to have you for one more day before you're gone for good once again.
pairing: spencer reid x reader
word count: 10,2k
content warnings: angst, battling grief, mentions of drug abuse and withdrawal, brief mention of needles, brief mention of hurling, mention of failed su!cide attempt, unprotected penetrative sex.
author's note: despite the content warnings, i don't think this is a very heavy fic. it's mostly about grief and deep emotions, meant to stir longing within you and the pain of missing someone you love, but who isn't around anymore. this is my first ever published one shot, i hope you enjoy it! i write character.ai bots and this was based on a bot i wrote inspired by the song "another christmas missing you" by tors, and the fic was also inspired by "lover, you should've come over" by jeff buckley. here's the link to the bot:
Chat with Spencer Reid: 💫 | just one more christmas, please. Powered by an industry leading, AI large language model (LLM).
check the ending to see some amazing fanart my friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!!
playlist <3
i also made a playlist to go with this fic! 🥳
you can play it in order while you read, but if you don't like listening to music while reading, i suggest at least listening to the first song before starting to get in the mood or just listening to it whenever you need a good cry :)
The holidays were always the hardest. Spencer spent most of the year pushing through—lectures, cases, flights—losing himself in the quiet hum of his routines, but December always found the cracks in his armor. It was your season. Not his, or anybody else’s. Nothing ever bloomed as beautifully as you did during the holidays. It was like your soul had a special link to it, a connection way beyond this realm. There was something in the twinkling lights, the sound of carols, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon—that simply screamed you. Each one would later become a quiet reminiscence of your light, souvenirs from a long-lost love lingering like ghosts he couldn’t let go of.
You loved Christmas. Spencer used to think it was impossible for someone to be so full of joy over something so small. To him, this holiday never carried much meaning. His mom usually forgot to get him presents, and the colorful Christmas lights rarely ever lit his childhood living room. The warmth of this special shimmer—far from the literal aspect—was unknown to him. So, up until he met you, December was nothing but another month, piling up with all the others he had to drag himself through.
But you had a way of turning the mundane otherworldly. He could still picture the way your eyes lit up when the first snowflakes of the season fell, or the childlike glee in your voice as you took him to tree farms and Christmas markets. Your demeanor became so joyful, that he couldn’t help but think you looked even prettier under the blinking lights from the Christmas tree you decorated together. Like tattoos etched in his brain, each time he laid to rest, you were there—eyes boring into his own behind closed eyelids. Or so he wished.
You’d tease him for grumbling about the crowds and the too-cold-to-be-outside weather, but he always let you pull him along, secretly charmed by your enthusiasm. It didn’t matter what it was, if it was worth a smile on your face, Spencer would do it—no questions asked.
“Come on, Spence,” you laughed, tugging on his gloved hand. “Take a moment to feel it. Cherish this sensation, it’ll be over before you know it.” You stopped him in the middle of the park one afternoon, as you strolled through a thin cascade of delicate snowflakes. “You go on and on about your so-called ‘magic’ tricks, but you forget that the real magic lies here.” You took off his glove, the brisk air sharp against his skin, and placed his bare hand over your chest. The soothing rhythm of your beating heart—oh, how he missed that melody now,—thumped against his palm through the thick layers of fabric between you.
In that moment, your wide eyes glued to his, he felt it for the first time: the magic you were so zealous about, right beneath his fingertips. Your cold, pale hand suddenly felt warm against his own, and for a second, he believed you. Not because of the snow, or the whimsy, or the chirping of birds that he, only now—in the quiet of your bubble,—seemed to be aware of—no. It was because of you. You and the love he grew up believing didn’t exist outside of fairytales—and now, outside of you.
When you were looking at him like that, your cheeks flushed from the cold, your smile brighter than the lights strung overhead; there was not a single thing in the world he couldn’t do for you. Not a single word you could say that would change the heat creeping up in his chest.
I love you whispered in his veins, I love you with every beat of his heart, I love you strung all of the muscles contracting with his breathing. In and out, in and out, a never-ending cycle that once was his personal prison—but you showed him there was freedom within the litany. A lifetime of exhale after inhale—all this air he breathed, and yet there’d never be enough of your essence for him to capture. The very sound of his blood ran with a touch of you.
You were light, and life, and warmth; and Spencer had the blessing—a word he didn’t use very often, but your love was nothing short of divine—to have been yours.
Have been. Ouch. Past tense, that stings.
But then again, you were gone now.
Not even the holiest of prayers would bring you back to him, no matter how bright with deity was your soul. At the end of the day, your body was meat like all others. Being made of crushed little stars didn’t keep you from the harsh reality.
Mother Earth spares no one.
Every atom bathed in the sinful sanctity of your mist, like all others, must return to the ground, and the sky, and the very core of life itself—and you, of all people, could never be the one to cause imbalance to this perfect equilibrium. What pains the most is that the only path to such magnificent eternity is through death, and god help Spencer, but he couldn't keep you from it—no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he prayed.
It’s a selfish thought, he’s well aware of that. What could he, a being just as mortal as you, want from the beauty that is your body? And no, all of the lust-filled images he could fathom from that very sentence couldn’t be further from what he meant this time. This time.
The beauty in reference here goes way beyond what hungry eyes can see and eager hands can touch. It is heavenly, a beauty not to be seen, but felt with the heart. And that—well, that, wasn’t his to keep. However much he craved it. He’s always been a little greedy anyway.
Grief brought with it a flood of well-meaning platitudes, each one more infuriating than the last. Spencer had once heard someone say, “Good things perish so better things can flourish." What a cruel lie. Nothing could ever be better than you.
He had always prided himself on his ability to handle death. The sight of rotting bodies, though unsettling at first, became just another part of the job. Over time, he’d grown adept at compartmentalizing, studying the end of life with a detached curiosity that most couldn’t muster. Death was a process, a scientific inevitability, and he knew far more about it than he wished.
But now, that knowledge was a curse. The thought of microorganisms gnawing at your skin beneath a flower bed made him physically ill. The clinical detachment he’d once relied on had abandoned him, leaving only the unbearable truth: you were gone, and the earth was consuming what was left of you.
No one dies pretty.
Your turn seemed to be unfairly tragic, though. A stake to the gut so he could watch as all the light, life, and warmth that you carried and he worshipped, drained away, leaving your body limp—an empty shell of what once was the love of his life. No amount of scrubbing until his hands were raw to the bone would wash away the stain of your dry blood off of his skin. No time in prison, no death sentence, was enough to punish the man that did this to you, right before Spencer’s eyes. There weren’t enough new memories in a lifetime to erase the sight of your eyes blurring with eternal sleep.
Perhaps his opinion on this was a little biased, but how could it not be? The only times in his three decades of living he ever felt unapologetically loved, were when you were around. And now this? Can you blame him for wanting to do anything and everything it takes to have you back?
Well, actually, you can.
In the years you spent together, you pulled Spencer from the bottom of more pits than you could count. Through each high and each low, you held his hand and helped him past it. That’s why it hurt him even more when the familiar sting of a needle found its way back to his arm. It had been years since the last time he used it—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Right?
Wrong.
He only went through a couple of bottles before the shame overpowered the numbness and taking Dilaudid became no longer worth the knowledge that he was disappointing you, wherever you were. Withdrawal wasn’t half as bad as the first time, because now, he knew a pain far worse. He spent those weeks kneeling in his bathroom, switching from unconscious to barely there—the quick flashes of awareness used exclusively to beg for forgiveness and the occasional hurl.
He felt ashamed beyond redemption.
There was one night—right in the beginning—when the pain was so bad, he tried to join you. The fraction of his world left without you seemed no longer worth living in. He could swear that after the seventh pill, he almost felt the warmth of your arms around him, the color of your eyes in the back of his mind. Thankfully, his body knew better than to let him make the worst mistake he'd ever make, and he managed to reach his phone and call Hotch on speed dial. He didn’t remember much from that evening, but at the same time, it was impossible to forget about it—especially since no one on the team ever looked at him the same afterward.
It had been years now—years of learning to live with the you-shaped hole left behind in his life. Grief played its tricks, but for the most part, things were better. Over time, he managed not to cry himself to sleep every night. He managed to finally put your things in boxes in the basement—he wanted to keep them just the way you left them, but in one of JJ’s visits, she convinced him it was better to let go—and through the year, life went relatively smoothly. But December really was something else.
Spencer tried to honor you in little ways: putting up the tree, unboxing the ornaments you loved, whispering “Merry Christmas” to the silence. He told himself it was enough. It had to be. But his cup had been half empty for longer than he could remember, and that wasn’t about to change.
This year, though, the emptiness felt heavier. The tree stood half-decorated in the corner of the living room, its lights twinkling faintly—even they seemed sadder without you. It was Christmas Eve, and Spencer sat alone by the window, staring out at the dark winter sky. Snow fell softly, blanketing the world in quiet. His hands trembled as he held a mug of cocoa, untouched and lukewarm, the tiny marshmallows you always loved now drowning in the liquid. The sight made a tear stream down his face, but it wasn't enough to make him want to drink it. He settled the mug down to wipe the tears off of his eyes with quivering fingers. All seemed hopeless, the weight of knowing he was about to add another Christmas without you to his growing collection was heavy in his chest—until something lighting up the dark blue sky caught his attention.
Spencer was never one for superstition, but when he saw that shooting star streaking across the night, he broke. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Just one more Christmas. One day, please.”
It was all he could wish for at that moment. As selfish as it sounded to wish for you to spend one last Christmas with him, to take you from the peace of heaven—which he prayed every night to exist, despite not being religious, just for the hope of you being there—he couldn't help himself.
It wasn't like it mattered either way, it was just a shooting star. A pretty name for a meteor, a piece of space dust flying inside Earth's atmosphere and creating a tail of fire as it burned. It was beautiful in its own, realistic, way; but as Spencer got back inside to call it a night, his heart clenched at the idea of never getting to see you again.
When he woke up the next morning, the world felt different. Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, bathing his bedroom in an unusual warmth for such a cold day. Then he saw a small snow globe you had gotten him as a gift on one of your trips, sitting next to a picture of the both of you on his nightstand. He had found it a couple of days ago when going through the ornaments and decided to put it there to decorate the bedroom. Then it hit him—
It was Christmas. He was barely thinking about that detail at that moment, but as soon as it settled in, his heart ached. Another Christmas missing you.
He had learned not to stay in bed mourning over the years of grief, so he pushed the bad thoughts away, mentally encouraging himself to find things to occupy his mind with for the day—which was bound to be long.
Then he turned—and his heart stopped.
You were there.
Lying beside him, wrapped in the sheets, your chest rose and fell with slow, peaceful breaths. Your hair spilled across the pillow, and Spencer forgot how to breathe. He stared at you for long moments, studying your blissful expression and how the air flowed in and out of your nostrils.
Impossible.
He was completely frozen in place. He had to be hallucinating, right? You were dead, buried six feet under. He saw the life leaving your eyes, for god's sake, he was replaying the memory in his mind right then and there. But still… you were there now, next to him. Unmistakable, as beautiful as ever.
Still in utter shock, he tried to speak, but his voice failed as he reached out with trembling hands, afraid to touch you—afraid you’d disappear beneath his fingertips.
You stirred, your face scrunching before a sleepy smile tugged at your lips. “Morning, Spence.”
The sound hit him like a punch.
“Pinch me.” He whispered.
“What?” You mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes.
“I said pinch me. Now, please.” His tone was serious, making you cave and reach forward.
Your fingers hesitantly curled tightly around the skin of his arm, eyebrows furrowed in confusion—but before you could process it, you were in his arms, listening to his sobs.
Tears slid down his face, soaking your hair as he held you in a warm embrace, clutching you like you might vanish. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice breaking and his shoulders shaking. “You’re here.”
“I know,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas.”
He let out a soft chuckle, sniffing as he struggled to stop crying. “Merry Christmas.”
“Why are you crying, baby?” You pulled back just enough to look at his face, concern etched on your features. You wiped his tears away with your thumbs and he let out another chuckle that did nothing to quell your confusion.
Why was he crying? You were back. He could feel you in his arms, your scent in his nostrils, your lips on his skin. Somehow, miraculously, you were back. A myriad of thoughts ran through his brain. Had he died too? Was your death just a bad dream? It didn't make any sense, but at that moment, technicalities were his last concern. His dream had come true.
“I'm crying because you're here,” he muttered as if it were obvious.
Your eyebrows furrowed further and he could read the confusion in your eyes as they searched his face.
Then it hit him: the shooting star.
It all started clicking in his mind, and before he could say anything, you broke the thick silence.
“What's going on?” you sounded concerned.
“You don't know, do you?” His voice was steady, but the tone betrayed the pain he felt.
“Know what?” you asked innocently.
His heart clenched at your naivety. He didn't want to tell you, yet he couldn't keep it from you either. Something about this was very wrong, but he didn't know on which end yet—yours or his.
With a swift motion, he stood from the bed and ran to the closet, making you gasp.
“Spencer, what's going on?” you sat up on the bed, but then he opened its doors. “Where are my things?” you asked at the sight of your side of the closet completely empty.
He turned to you, shoulders slumped.
“Something's going on,” he began, as if he had barely processed your question, going back to bed with his heart aching now that he knew it wasn't just a bad dream. You really were gone.
“Yeah, I can tell,” you added. “Care to explain?”
He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for what was about to come.
“I will… but I'm not sure either. Firstly, what do you remember?”
“’What do I remember?’ I don't know, Spencer!” You let out, your patience wearing thin.
“I mean, what's your last memory? The last thing that happened before you woke up now?” He held your hands, calming you down, but the worry in his eyes made you uneasy. As you tried to recall what happened the night before, your brain struggled to find the answer.
“I… I don't know…” you let out, searching your mind for something, anything, but didn't find it. “It's like… It's there somewhere, but I can't place it.”
He took another deep breath, squeezing your hands gently. He never thought he'd have to do this, actually sit down and explain everything to you. From the day of your death until the shooting star the night before, he tried to cover everything that happened, fighting against the knot in his chest as he relived each and every painful memory with your eyes staring into his.
Your face was unreadable. A mix of confusion and comprehension, pain and anger; flashed across your features. He couldn't pinpoint whether you believed him or not, and as the seconds after the last of his explanations ticked by, his heart stammered against his ribs.
“Are you okay?” he tried.
“Okay is a strong word. I'm… processing.” You muttered, avoiding his gaze, your hands cold against his.
“Do you believe me?” he whispered hesitantly.
“Yes,” you replied after a beat. “Yes, I do.”
He nodded, patiently waiting for when you were ready to talk about it.
“So we only have today? Then what?” your eyes finally met his.
“I don't know, I think so,” he replied, his gaze reassuring. “Listen, I didn't think it was actually gonna happen when I wished for that last night, or else—”
“Don't,” you interrupted him, reaching out for his arm, the touch making his skin shiver. “I'm glad you did.” A faint smile played on your lips.
You shared a long gaze, probably the deepest, most meaningful you ever had, and his eyes watered once more. The mere sight made you cry as well, and the unmistakable redness on your nose as the tears spilled from your eyes only made him cry harder. In the ocean the two of you filled together, there was pain, longing and somehow gratitude. Love. No matter the circumstance, you were together. That's all that truly mattered.
He chuckled softly as the two of you sat there, crying and holding hands, laughing softly at the absurdity of that moment.
“I love you,” he muttered between tears.
“I love you,” you replied in an instant, your voice cracking.
With one swift, messy motion, both of his hands reached for your face, cradling it carefully as he crashed his lips against yours. The saltiness of your tears mingled with each of your kisses, sloppy and filled with a bitter kind of yearning.
“No more tears,” you murmured against his lips as he rested his forehead against yours. “You have to promise me, no more tears.”
“Can't promise that,” he let out a humorless chuckle.
“No, but you can,” you insisted. “If we only have today, you must promise me. No. More. Tears. It goes both ways.” You gestured between the two of you.
After a couple of thoughtful moments, he took a deep breath and replied, “Deal. No more tears.”
Then his lips were on yours again, but this time, with a renewed sense of hunger.
It was as if that promise tied the darkness between you in a safe, securely tucked away from the present moment, where you finally had the liberty to lose yourselves in each other.
He pushed you back gently against the bed, his body hovering above yours as your lips moved together in perfect sync. Your tongues intertwined in a sensual dance, loving and enticing. He took your bottom lip between both of his own, sucking gently. The soothing motion made a soft gasp escape his lips, eliciting a smile from you.
Your hands explored and caressed his back with a reverent curiosity, and under your fingers, he felt safe. His skin shivered beneath your careful touch, and craved more of it. Suddenly, his clothes felt wrong, almost sinful to be blocking his skin from the wonders of your own.
“Need you now,” he muttered against you, his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck.
No further words were needed. His hands were under your shirt in no time, pulling and tugging at the fabric desperately. You didn't waste any time either, your fingers working expertly as you tossed his own across the room.
You were both more than used to it, the movements to this heated choreography memorized like second nature by now. And yet, it never felt so unknown.
As your bare bodies tangled beneath the soft sheets, the cold outside was long forgotten. The warmth of your skin seeped through Spencer's, only adding fire to his growing desire. His lips trailed messily across your neck and collarbone, occasionally drifting back to the safety of your mouth, making him uncomfortably aware of just how badly he missed this.
The taste of your skin on his tongue, the perfect hills and valleys his hands and lips traced along your curves—a landscape he'd never grow tired of. The scent of your hair, the soft gasps his ministrations begged to elicit from you, and the sweetness of his name spilling from your throat.
When your ankles crossed behind his back, he knew he was done. A low moan left his lips as he ground down against you, your hips moving in practiced synchrony, following each step of your choreography perfectly.
His eyes met yours, and in a second of shared understanding, he knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you.
The moment your bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, he was home. There was truly no other way to describe the sanctity of your warmth, the safety of your grip, other than home. A home he wished for so long to return to, finally back around him.
“Goddamnit, I missed this,” he let out almost involuntarily.
A soft gasp escaped your lips, one that made his entire body shiver. With slow, unhurried thrusts, he began moving within you. He could feel your body reacting to every movement of his, your eyes glued to each other's. It was like your souls became one in your little bubble of love.
Your nails dug into his back, little red half-moons left behind as a trail of your longing. The slight sting of pain only urged him on, his movements growing deeper and faster.
Your moans filled the room, a beautiful choir singing with his low groans and harmonized by the soft sounds of your coupling. Your breaths mingled in the small space between your faces, bare chests pressed together snuggly as you let yourselves be overtaken by the maddening friction between you. His face buried in the crook of your neck, and as he made love to you, all that crossed his mind was how lucky he was for having you. Right then and there, he couldn't find enough strength to care about the technicalities of this. He was home, for heaven’s sake. After years of not truly belonging anywhere. And he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy it to bits.
He could feel the familiar warmth coiling in his lower stomach, the pressure enough to fasten his pace—which didn't go unnoticed by you. He felt your legs tighten around him, your breaths growing faster and more shallow.
He knew you were close too. It was evident in your touch, written in the shimmer of your eyes.
“I can't get enough of you,” he admitted, small beads of sweat pooling on his forehead as he drove into you, each thrust deep and meaningful.
“You’re so cheesy,” you teased with a breathless chuckle.
“But I'm serious,” his eyes met yours, and even through the thick haze of desire, you saw the rawness in his statement. “I can't get enough of you. I take, and I take, but it's never enough. I need more of you, I need all of you.”
“You already have all of me,”
No, I don't.
The three words threatened to escape his lips, but he caught them before it was too late. The obvious silence that followed made it clear that you could hear even his unspoken words, read them through his eyes. For a moment, he could tell you had realized your slip-up, but he didn't care to point it out. The rhythm of his hips faltered for a second, but he quickly picked it up again, averting his gaze from yours as he struggled not to cry.
“Hey,” you whispered, making him look back at you with reddened eyes. “No more tears.”
The echoed promise was like an anchor, pulling him back to the present moment and making him focus on the heat in his core. No more tears.
He leaned in and captured your lips again, swallowing the heaviness that had formed between you until the only thing left was love. His hands squeezed your hips tightly, the kneading of soft skin an anchor to the present, grounding him back to you—and in that moment, he knew: that was what he was put on earth to do. To love you.
Your tongues battled for dominance as your hips moved together desperately. He angled his thrusts, determined to hit that special spot inside you every time, needing to make you see stars. You moaned his name, and it went straight to his crotch. He groaned against the shell of your ear, his movements becoming harder and more needy. He was close. Agonizingly close. His eyes sought yours and found his desire mirrored in them, your lips slightly parted as you struggled to hold back.
Bring me home, whispered with each slap of your skin, pull me closer, his body begged with every in-and-out movement. He didn't want to leave, not just yet, but the pressure in his lower abdomen was overwhelming. Knots tied together pleaded to be undone, and he couldn't help but want to give in. His hand reached between your bodies to rub tight circles around your most sensitive spot, set on bringing you with him. Your soft moans became louder, the sounds like music to his ears for now he knew he had you with him.
Your legs trembled slightly around his waist, letting him know exactly what he had to do. With the last of his strength, he continued driving deep into you, his thrusts growing faster by the second and bringing both of you impossibly closer to the edge. His rhythm was clear and purposeful, back and forth then back again until he felt you unravel in his arms. Flowers blossomed in your core as you came undone, the soft brushing of the petals against his skin enough to tear him apart. He found shelter deep inside you, burying himself as close as humanly possible as he met the peak of bliss within your heat.
Home. He was home.
His chest crashed down on top of yours, your bodies tangled and limp against the mattress. You struggled to catch your breaths, minds still hazy with ecstasy.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you,” you muttered back, and it was like the world wouldn’t be complete without those three words coming from your lips. He’d waited years for that sound—years of whispering it to the silence and falling apart with the void left without the echo of your voice after his. But now you were there, saying it to him, and that’s all he could think about.
Soon after, you were padding down the hallway toward the kitchen in one of his shirts. He followed right behind you, watching every step you took.
“You kept the pictures,” you mentioned, pointing at the frames in the hallway, all filled with pictures of the both of you.
“JJ helped me take them down once, but I put them back up,” he explained quietly.
“It's not fair to you,” you added.
“That's what she said.” His voice was steady as if trying to end the subject. He already knew what you were going to say. That he deserved to move on and be happy, find somebody else and leave you in the past. He didn't want to hear that now—or ever if he was being honest.
“I want you to be happy without me,” you insisted.
He let out a soft scoff, “I know you do.”
“Well, are you?”
The words hung heavy in the air between you. You turned back to look into his eyes, but he was quiet. He didn't need to say anything, you already knew the answer. He could see it in your eyes, though, the whirlwind of words you wanted to say but didn't. You knew they were useless.
“I'm sorry,” you broke the silence.
“It's not your fault.”
“I know,” you replied in a heartbeat. “But I'm still sorry. And I wish I could change things.”
He took a deep breath, pondering what to say, but nothing felt right. “No more tears, right?”
“Right,” you nodded, averting your gaze and trying to ease the atmosphere.”No more tears.”
He followed behind as you continued your way to the kitchen, separated by a counter from the living room. Everything looked the same as you remembered—the plates were still organized on the corner shelf the way Spencer always insisted on doing, and the cups were carefully aligned on the cupboard. One thing was out of place, though. There was a mug on the table near the window, something he never left behind.
“What's this?” you asked, curiously stepping closer and taking it in your hand.
“Oh, that's just, uhm—”
“Hot chocolate,” you interrupted. “You don't drink hot chocolate. Or marshmallows.” You said, stirring the now cold liquid and mushy little white marshmallows, soaked and melting from being left there, untouched for too long.
“Yeah, but you do,” he said. “I made your recipe last night since I never admitted to trying it.”
“But you didn't drink it?” You asked.
He was quiet for a moment before replying. “Didn't feel like it,” he simply shrugged.
You stared at him then turned to the sink to pour it down the drain.
“What are you doing?” He asked, confused.
“I'm making you the real thing. You clearly added too much cocoa powder, that was undrinkable.” You replied with a plainness that made a shy smile appear on his lips.
“Yeah… too much cocoa,” he sighed, admiring the way you walked around the kitchen gathering items to make him the beverage.
“What are you doing just standing there? Go grab the cinnamon,” you said, already mixing up ingredients.
“Right, of course,” he straightened up with a smile, quickly obeying and grabbing the cinnamon to help you.
You two moved about the kitchen in a quiet, domestic dance. Handing each other ingredients, standing by the stove together with his arms around your waist as you stirred the pot—it felt so natural, it almost made him forget you weren’t truly there.
He could feel you, yes, the taste of your skin on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your shoulder blurred his senses; but you weren't truly there. You were like an idea he wished he could bring to life, not just for a day, but forever. He needed you forever.
You sat on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, hands clutching a warm mug of hot chocolate. He stared at you as you took a sip, quietly amazed by the way you blew on the liquid not to burn your mouth.
“You're not gonna try it? I came back from the dead to make you some of my delicious hot chocolate and you're not even gonna try it?” You joked, noticing the way his eyes were glued to your every move.
Stolen from his musings, he lets out a soft chuckle. “Of course I will try it. Can't a man enjoy the view for a moment?” He teased back, looking down at his own mug.
You watched as he brought the rim to his lips, carefully sipping on it and savoring the taste on his tongue. “So? Is it good?” You asked eagerly.
He took a deep breath before saying, “It's good.”
You leaned in when he smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips, “Told ‘ya.”
He blushed, meeting your eyes with a soft gaze. He lost himself in them for a moment, drowning in the color of your irises and the depth of your wide pupils taking him in. He looked at you like he wanted to memorize it—as if he hadn’t already. That tone, that specific shade so uniquely yours, was his favorite color—and he missed it more than he could have expected.
“Does it bother you?” He broke the comfortable silence as you nursed on your mug.
“Does what bother me?” You asked, eyebrows frowning slightly with curiosity.
“That there isn’t an afterlife. That you simply didn’t exist when you were… you know,” he added awkwardly.
“Oh,” you let out, not expecting that question. “I don’t know, Spence. I didn’t even know I was dead before waking up next to you today. Maybe if it weren’t for that shooting star, I never would have known. I think maybe it was like sleeping, but then again, I can’t be sure.” You searched your brain for a better answer, but there really wasn’t one. He could see right through you.
“Don’t you wish there was a heaven? I prayed every night for heaven to exist, just for you to be there,” he admitted quietly.
Your eyes softened at his admission, your gaze averting for a moment as you thought about his words. Not that you needed to, though, the answer was right on your lips already.
“No,” you said without hesitation. “Even if there was something like that, it wouldn’t be heaven. Not without you.”
His heart sank at your words, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. If asked this question, he knew his answer would be the same.
You shared that moment for long minutes, sipping on your hot chocolate. He told you about his job and his friends, about his mom and his trips to Las Vegas, about his newest favorite books and spots to read. You listened intently, enchanted by the way his lips moved and how passionately he spoke about his interests. He loved it—being under your admiring gaze.
The quiet warmth of the moment gave way to an idea. Spencer stood, gently pushing your legs off his lap and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s go outside.”
You raised an eyebrow but took his hand without question. Moments later, you were bundled up in warm coats, stepping into the crisp air of the backyard. Snow blanketed the ground, shimmering under the faint winter sun. The world felt still, as if time itself had paused to make room for this fleeting miracle.
Spencer watched as you took a few steps into the snow, your breath visible in the chill. You tilted your head back, eyes closed, letting the delicate flakes fall onto your skin. He stood frozen, his heart aching at the sight. You were alive, somehow—more alive than he’d ever seen you.
“I missed this,” you murmured, turning to him with a wistful smile. “Snow always felt like magic to me. Like each flake carried a tiny piece of the universe’s secrets.”
He smiled, though his chest tightened. You always spoke like that, weaving poetry into the mundane, seeing beauty where others saw nothing. He never realized how much he needed that until it was gone.
As you wandered, something caught your eye near the edge of the yard—a patch of wildflowers poking through the snow, defying the season. You crouched down, carefully plucking a few stems. “Look at these, Spence. They’re still blooming.”
He joined you, kneeling in the snow as you began weaving the flowers together with deft fingers. “How do they survive in this cold?” you mused aloud, your tone soft and full of wonder.
“Maybe they’re like you,” he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Something too beautiful, too stubborn, to be snuffed out.”
You paused, your fingers stilling on the flower crown you were building as his words settled between you. Slowly, you looked up, your eyes meeting his. No more tears. But this time, the promise was harder to hold onto. Spencer felt the weight of his words but didn't press you to say anything. Your smile was more than necessary.
You swallowed hard as you finished your creation. “Hold still,” you whispered, leaning toward him. Gently, you placed the crown on his head, shifting it until it sat just right above his messy curls. “There. Perfect.”
He chuckled softly, the sound catching in his throat. “A flower crown? Really?”
The snow fell quietly around you, a fragile peace settling over the moment. You adjusted the garment on Spencer’s head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Mhm. And you look ridiculous,” you teased, your voice light but warm.
He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I think you just wanted an excuse to make me wear this.”
“Maybe,” you admitted, tilting your head to study him. “But it suits you.”
Spencer’s smile softened, his eyes tracing your face. “You always do that,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Make the smallest things feel… infinite,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “Like this moment will last forever… you always find a way to do it, even now—even when…”
You reached out, placing a hand on his wrist. “Don’t,” you said gently. “Not today.”
He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s hard not to think about it.”
“I know,” you replied, your voice steady. “But we promised, remember? No more tears.”
“No more tears,” he echoed, though his voice wavered.
Your breath hitched, and you looked down at your hands, twisting a stem of the leftover flowers between your fingers. “But it can, you know,” you continued quietly. “Last forever. If we let it.”
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “How?”
You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. “By holding onto it. By remembering it—not with sadness, but with love.”
Spencer closed his eyes at your touch, his voice soft and full of longing. “I don’t want to remember, though. I just want to stay here… with you.”
You smiled, though your chest ached. “Then let’s stay here. Just for now. Don’t think about what comes next for a minute. You’ll have forever to worry about that.”
He opened his eyes, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared. “You’re right. No more thinking about it now,” he whispered.
And for a while, the two of you simply sat there, wrapped in the quiet peace of the moment, the snow falling around you like a blessing from a world that had finally stopped spinning.
The afternoon unfolded like a dream, each moment sharper and more vivid than the last. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you, memorizing every detail—the way your laugh filled the air, the sparkle in your eyes as you teased him, the warmth of your hand in his. You played around in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing together. Those moments were fleeting but eternal at the same time, lasting far less than what Spencer wished they did. But he knew he’d have them in his heart forever.
Yet the weight of the looming evening seemed to get heavier by the second.
Both of you knew it was bound to happen. You couldn’t simply come back from the dead, life was never that simple. So despite the obvious hope Spencer had been feeding throughout the day, he knew it was unlikely for you to be back for longer than one day. Life had never been kind to him before, why would it start now?
This was typical Spencer Reid. Finally getting something really good only for it to be ripped from his hands.
You'd been leaning against the porch railing for some time already when the sun began to set. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, filled with the weight of words unspoken, of feelings too big to contain.
Eventually, the cold began to seep through your layers, and Spencer noticed the way your shoulders trembled.
“I think it's time we go back inside,” you broke the silence, turning to face him. The flower crown still hung loosely over his head. You reached up to grab it with a smile on your face, fiddling with the small flowers between your fingers.
“You're right, it's getting too cold,” Spencer said, wrapping his arms around you, not wanting to leave this moment just yet. You set the crown on the railing to curl your hands over his arms that were crossed on your stomach. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your neck as he savored your scent.
Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing the sensation of having him close. A soft hum escaped your mouth, the gentle vibration trembling against Spencer's chest pressed on your back.
“We really should go, though, it's getting late,” you muttered quietly, though none of you made the effort to leave.
“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement, squeezing you tighter.
It was as unfair as unfairness could reach. He was sure, right then and there, that there was nothing in his existence that could feel more right than this—than you, in his arms. But the moment was slipping from his fingers like water, and he could feel it. He tried to grasp it. His hands tried to reach that water, to hold it and keep it to himself—desperately trying to make the feeling linger for a split second longer if it could. But it didn't.
One moment you were outside, and the next, you were inside again, the faint glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows on the walls. The night darkened the room through the windows, and it only made the realization that the day was almost over even heavier.
The living room felt warmer than it had that morning, as though the house itself had soaked up the joy and sorrow of the day. You sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket over your lap, and Spencer joined you, sitting close enough that your sides touched. Your head fell softly against his shoulder, the weight a comforting reminder that you were there—but also, not for long.
The Christmas tree lights blinked softly, almost sadly with the room's atmosphere, their rhythm hypnotic in a way. You stared at the ornaments, each one a tiny fragment of a life you used to know.
“It’s almost over,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.
Spencer turned to you, his expression pained. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” you said, your eyes fixed on the tree. “The day’s ending, and so is this. I can feel it.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want it to end.”
“Neither do I,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But we can’t stop it, Spence. We can only… hold onto what we have left.”
He reached for your hand, gripping it tightly as though he could anchor you here, as though his touch alone could defy the inevitable.
“I wish…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. “I wish I could have more time.”
You turned to him, your heart aching at the sight of his tear-filled eyes. “Spencer,” you said softly, cupping his face in your hands. “We had today. That’s more than most people ever get. We had this.”
“But it’s not enough,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’ll never be enough.”
You pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly as his body shook with silent sobs. “I know,” you said, your voice thick with tears. “It’s not enough for me, either.”
“I wish I could go back in time and wish to have you back forever, and not just for one day. Man, am I stupid,” he let out a humorless chuckle, the sound muffled against your hair. You chuckled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.
“I wish I could go back in time and not leave in the first place.”
The way you admitted that stung like a knife in his chest. Suddenly, he was brought back to all the painful memories from the first months after your passing. The relapse, the withdrawal, the attempt… All of it ached as if the wound was fresh. He couldn’t say anything, he didn’t want you to know all that he went through trying to get over your death. You didn’t deserve to know it, not during your last moments with him. So he simply pressed his lips to your temple in a gentle, lingering kiss. He wished you hadn’t left in the first place either.
The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as though you could merge into one being.
Eventually, Spencer shifted, pulling you into his lap. You curled into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world.
The lights from the tree reflected in his eyes as he looked down at you, his fingers brushing through your hair. He noticed your red eyes as if you had been holding back tears for hours. “No more tears,” he whispered, though it was mostly to himself—he needed to be convinced, somehow, that crying at this moment was useless.
You smiled faintly, your eyes glistening. “No more tears,” you echoed.
But the promise was impossible to keep. The weight of the moment, the knowledge that this was fleeting, was too much. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he kissed it away, his lips warm against your skin.
“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your lips.
“I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tears. “You did an awful job decorating the tree, by the way,” you chuckled softly, the sound muffled by your tears.
Spencer let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “I’m not half as good at this as you. I use the same decorations you did, but my lack of talent makes me barely want to try.” He joked, but the words had a bitter flavor.
You tilted your head up to look at him, your smile sad but genuine. “Well, you’ll have to try harder next year. I’ll find a way to haunt you if you don’t.”
His face crumpled, and he pressed his forehead to yours, the laughter fading as the weight of your words sank in. Next year. The words hung in the air, a bittersweet hope neither of you dared to believe in. Next year. Next year you wouldn’t be there. Again.
And as the night deepened, the two of you sat by the tree, wrapped in each other’s arms, mourning the end of the day but cherishing the miracle of having had it at all. The world outside faded into darkness, but inside, beneath the glow of the Christmas lights, time seemed to stand still, holding you both in its tender grasp for just a little while longer.
The blinking lights of the tree cast soft patterns on the walls, the room dim and quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of your breaths mingling. He wanted to hold onto this—onto you—for as long as he could.
But Spencer knew it was useless to hold onto a moment that barely existed. Whatever this day had been, the miracle that was to have you in his arms again—even for just another heartbeat—was too good to be true. He knew it didn't matter how much he prayed, how much he begged the skies down on his knees. You'd never be back, not the way he needed you to. He could feel the way gratitude warred with downright bitterness in his chest.
Spencer could never hate anything responsible for bringing you—the light of his life—back, even if it were just for a day, but he'd be damned if he wasn't already blaming himself for the heightened pain of your absence that already began to stir within him. It was like the quick sample of what it was like to have you with him again made his already unbearable pain even worse.
But then your whisper broke the silence, soft and comforting, your voice trembling slightly, “Come to bed.”
Spencer hesitated, his arms tightening around you as though letting go, even for a moment, might break the fragile spell keeping you there. He knew what going to bed meant. He knew that going to bed would be officially saying goodbye to the last shred of you he'd ever grasp. Going to bed meant fully acknowledging the ending of this day—this perfect, painful day. But he nodded, his lips brushing against your temple. “Okay.” There was nowhere to run, and he didn’t want to make this any heavier on you.
He helped you to your feet, his hand gripping yours tightly as though afraid you might disappear too early if he let go. The walk to his bedroom was silent, the air thick with unspoken fears and lingering sadness.
You climbed into bed together, the sheets cool against your skin as Spencer pulled you close. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. His fingers traced absent patterns on your back, and he clung to you like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.
“Spencer,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible.
“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion.
“If I’m not here tomorrow…” You paused, your throat tightening. “I want you to promise me something.”
He stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“Please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll keep going. That you’ll let yourself be happy again. I know what we talked about earlier today, and I know it's not that simple. But please... Promise you'll try. Not for me, for you.”
He didn’t answer at first, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears. He knew that was a promise he couldn't keep. Losing you—yet again—felt like a battle he could never win. He didn't want to lie to you, but the thought of waking up to an empty bed again, especially after what you lived that day, was a pain he could barely fathom—let alone expect to ever get over.
Yet he couldn’t help but consider it. The tone in your voice, the genuine pain in your eyes—it got to him. He needed this, despite not realizing it through the immense agony the idea of being left alone without you again brought him. He knew it was what you wanted for him, and deep down, it was what he wanted for himself as well. It would take a while to process it, but it was inevitable—he’d have to learn—because regardless of everything that happened, he could never regret meeting you, having you. Spencer knew that no matter how much suffering he went through, how many tears he shed because of you; if he could go back in time, he’d do it all over again without changing a single thing. Even if it meant reliving your loss, the aching your absence left behind, the dark places his mind stayed in for years… it also meant reliving the firsts, the kisses, the hugs, the love… and he’d never seen or felt anything more beautiful in his life.
Regardless of everything, having had you, however long for, had been his biggest blessing. His one true miracle. And for you, he’d do anything and everything. Even if meant going on without you, even if it meant getting over you. Having had the chance to taste your love was enough. It had to be.
Finally, he nodded, his voice trembling. “I promise.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Thank you.”
The two of you lay there, clinging to each other as though you could freeze time, as though the night would never end. The question of whether you’d still be there in the morning loomed over you both, unspoken but ever-present. But for now, you had this moment, and being in each other's arms made itself enough to silence your fears for a handful of moments.
The seconds stretched on, but they were like a blanket that could never cover you both. Spencer could feel it slipping away along with your incoming slumber, but the moment you shared lingered, somehow. And neither of you was willing to let it go.
Before either of you could realize it, sleep overtook you. Tear-stained cheeks pressed closely, arms entangled as if their mere closeness could defy nature's rules and keep you there a little longer. Let your warmth remain forever tingling on his skin.
In his dreams, Spencer had you. It didn’t feel painful, though. All he felt was your love. It overwhelmed his finally resting mind. It had been years since he’d had dreams like that, dreams that felt like a balm to his aching soul instead of thorns coiling all around his chest. It was as if the dreams were there to ease his heart through your departure—and in a way, they did. His sleep was peaceful and undisturbed, unlike the rest of his day. It healed him in a way.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and soft, casting an eerie stillness over the room and pulling him back to sensibility. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open slowly, his body surprisingly light despite the weight of sleep, but there was something else—an ache that gripped his chest. He reached out instinctively, but his hand met only the cold sheets beside him.
The bed was empty. The house was quiet.
You were gone.
For a moment, he lay still, hoping that you’d walk back in, your smile lighting up the room. But the silence stretched on, and he knew.
You weren't there, and you’d never be again.
He closed his eyes tightly, a sharp pang cutting through him as reality settled in. He missed the dreamland of sleep, where he was sheltered from the pain of reality and could only feel the light of your love. Of course you weren’t there. He’d known, deep down, that you wouldn’t be. The day before had been too perfect, too fleeting to be anything but a cruel dream.
Spencer lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, his heart heavy and his throat tight. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to face the emptiness of the house without you. But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence.
He reached for it with a trembling hand, his vision blurry as he read the message from Morgan:
["Merry Christmas, kid. I know this time of year is tough for you. I’ll swing by later to drop off your gift. Hang in there, alright?”]
Spencer sat up, frowning. Christmas? But… yesterday was Christmas… Wasn’t it? There was the shooting star on Christmas Eve, then he woke up with you the next morning and you spent Christmas day together, right? He stared at the message, confusion swirling in his mind.
If today was Christmas, then… when had you been here?
His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his mind replaying every moment of the day before. It had felt so real—your touch, your laughter, the way you’d smiled at him like nothing had ever changed. Too real to be a dream. Too dreamlike to be real.
He pushed himself off the bed and made his way down the hall, his steps slow and hesitant. The house was quiet, almost unbearably so, and the absence of your presence was palpable.
Confusion stirred within him, but at the same time, it felt only natural. He had to have dreamed it, it was grief playing tricks on him once again. But still… if it had been a dream, it was one like none other he’d ever had. One that messed up his concept of time and reality, making him pinch his skin softly, as a reminder and confirmation of his own existence.
He was there. You weren’t.
Spencer turned on the radio, needing something—anything—to fill the silence, to quell his racing mind. The soft, mournful strains of Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley filled the room, the lyrics cutting through him like a knife. He’d never been one to relate much to music. He’d learned it from you, the beauty of song. This time it felt like a curse, though, the relatability of the mellow lyrics burning in his chest.
"Maybe I'm too young
To keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind
So... you'll never know
Broken down and hungry for your love
With no way to feed it
Where are you tonight?
Child, ya know how much I need it
Too young to hold on
And too old to just break free and run"
He sat by the window, watching the snow falling. The ache in his chest was different now—not the sharp, relentless pain of loss, but something softer, warmer. He could still feel your hand in his, still hear your laugh echoing in his mind. And as the song played, each lyric seeming like it was leaving from his own lips, each chord sounding like it was being played from his own heartstrings, the moment sank in.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad that it had all been a dream after all. Maybe it was exactly what he needed. But yet, the warmth of your presence loomed over him with a heaviness that felt nearly unnatural. You had really been there, one way or another. He was sure of it.
"So I'll wait for you, love
And I'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return?"
He could feel you. Even now. He knew it wasn’t over—it would never be.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to the silence, a tear slipping down his cheek.
And somewhere, he knew you were whispering it back.
He sank into the couch, his head in his hands as the song played on, each word twisting the knife deeper.
"It's never over
My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over
All my riches for her smiles
When I've slept so soft against her
It's never over
All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over
She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever"
The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, as he mourned the loss of you all over again. Regardless of their newfound taste after the collection of memories he gathered with you, whether it was a dream or not, the bitterness in his tears remained unmistakable.
But then, through the blur of his grief, something caught his eye. He froze, his breath hitching as he turned toward the window.
There, like a mirage—a window to the unknown, a sight he’d never expected—sitting on the porch railing, was the flower crown you’d made during the day before. Just where you’d left it. The lines between dream and reality blurred, but Spencer didn’t question it. You had been there. And that was enough.
"Lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late"
—————————————————————————————————
author's note 2: this is it!! i hope you guys enjoyed it, and thank you sooo much for reading it all the way! please share and let me know your thoughts on this :)
find me on other socials!
twitter: @/mrsholmesreid
character ai: @/mrsholmesreid
insta: @/mrsholmesreid (inactive but can be used for dms)
p.s.: i take requests, dm me!!
fanart :)
check out these amazing fanarts my dear friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!! i'm in love, they're so perfect <3
spencer reid sim
i know i’m not a sims tumblr account but a lot of people have asked me if i could post my spencer sim for download so here he is!!!
i made he a year ago and spent a good 5 hours perfecting him. hopefully the cc and everything works, i have no idea what i’m doing and had to follow a youtube tutorial lol. lmk if it doesn’t work or if there’s any cc missing.
download here
onanist - s.r.
PAIRING. Vampire!Spencer x Fem!reader
SUMMARY. Overcome with intense loneliness, you seek solace from any spirit that could hear your prayers. A dark century old entity answers those prays, only his obsession with you is more than you can handle…
WARNINGS. lots of mentions of blood, biting, dom!spencer, slight somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, spencer is extremely possessive.
AUTHOR’S NOTE. This is heavily inspired by Nosferatu (2024)! The title is from one of my favorite songs off ethel cain’s newest ep, which I listened to a lot while writing this. I’ve never written dom!spencer or anything this dark so I had some help from @primomover. She helped me get the story started and I left in a section that she wrote.
credit to @cafekitsune for dividers
wc: 2,470
also on ao3
For as long as you can recall, you’ve had this recurring dream where the most captivating and beautiful man you’ve ever seen appears in your room late at night. This man embodies all your deepest, darkest, and perverted desires, and he brings out a side of yourself that you never knew existed.
He revealed to you once that his name is Spencer Reid. You know nothing else about him, yet you’re irresistibly drawn to him.
You shouldn’t even entertain these thoughts. You were married, and you shouldn’t be dreaming about anyone except your husband. However, the enigmatic man from your dreams haunts your every waking moment.
All is quiet in your empty townhouse, save for the soothing sounds of the creaks and groans of the house settling into the night.
Your husband is away on a six-week business trip, and you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions: fear of having to face the intensity of your dreams alone, but also excitement at the possibility of giving yourself up to the darkness you so desperately craved.
As you descend into a deeper sleep, the familiar dream starts. You’re standing by the balcony door as it swings open, and the curtains sway gently in the wind. A large, dark figure enters the room, towering over you as the smell of decaying flesh fills the room.
“Why do you keep visiting me every night? Who are you?” you asked, your eyes memorizing every feature of his gorgeous face, your eyes stopping at his sharp, razor-like teeth.
Spencer chuckles at your words, his loud voice reverberating through the house, causing it to shake slightly.
“Don’t you recall me? Don’t you remember calling out for me?” He spoke, his icy fingers gently caressing your face, sending shivers down your spine.
"I do remember,” you replied. “I prayed to the Lord to end my solitude." I said gently. "To send me an angel."
"Is that what I am? An angel?" He asked. As cold as his lips were, his breath set you on fire.
You looked at him - his eyes seemed to glow as they looked at your supple flesh.
"I fear you are not." You told him. He let out a huff of a laugh.
"What is to say l am not an angel that was cast out by an unforgiving god?" He swept you around in a twirl, one arm keeping your waist pulled tight against his.
“No,” you replied, your voice trembling not out of fear, but with an overwhelming sense of desire. “You are something far more sinister than a fallen angel.”
His laughter turned into a low, menacing chuckle as he spun you back around, pinning you against the wall with his body.
"Darker?" He repeated, his voice dripping with seduction and danger. "Perhaps... but you find yourself drawn to it, don't you?" His hands roamed down your sides, fingers trailing along the curves of your hips and thighs.
"This darkness within me, it stirs something primal inside you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "A desire to be consumed, to surrender to the shadows."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"And I will devour you whole, my child. Body and soul." His words sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and exhilaration.
You knew you should resist, but the pull towards this dark, mysterious being was too strong to ignore.
Spencer could sense your hesitation, and rage began to grow in his mind as he imagined you in your husband’s arms.
Spencer's grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as if trying to anchor you in place. He sensed your inner turmoil, the conflict between your loyalty to your husband and the forbidden attraction you felt for him.
"You struggle with the chains of convention," he murmured, his voice a hypnotic whisper. "The societal expectations that bind you. But here, with me, those constraints fall away."
One hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist and coming to rest just below your ribcage. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your veins despite the warning bells ringing in your mind.
"You can be free," he breathed, his lips grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Free to indulge in the depths of your own desires, without judgment or repercussions. All you need to do is give in to me."
His touch ignited a wildfire within you, the flames of passion consuming every shred of resistance. You found yourself arching into him, craving more of that intoxicating sensation.
"You make it so easy to abandon all reason," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "To surrender to the temptation..."
Spencer chuckled darkly, the sound sending chills down your spine.
"It's almost... sad, really. So much potential wasted on trivial matters like vows and duty,” He says, his hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the vulnerable column of your throat.
“Don't you see, my dear? I'm offering you liberation from the shackles of mortality itself. Eternal life, unbridled pleasure, unending ecstasy." He licked a stripe up your neck, leaving a trail of cool fire in his wake.
Spencer's teeth grazed your pulse point, making you gasp. The threat of pain mingled with the promise of rapture, leaving you dizzy with longing.
"Liberation?" you echoed, your mind reeling with the implications. To be free of the burdens that weighed you down, to embrace everything that brought you deep shame.
"Yes," Spencer purred, his breath hot against your skin. "Freedom from the mundane, the ordinary. A chance to explore the depths of your own depravity, to dance with the darkness within."
His hand slid lower, cupping your sex through the fabric of your nightgown. Even the thin barrier couldn't conceal the heat emanating from your core.
"All you need to do is say yes," he coaxed, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. "Give yourself to me, and I'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."
Without a second thought, your lips collided with his in a passionate, messy kiss. The back of your knees hit the bed as he pushes you onto it, quickly moving onto of you.
Spencer's mouth claimed yours with ruthless hunger, his tongue delving deep to stake its claim. The kiss was bruising, demanding, a declaration of ownership. He drank in your moans, relishing the taste of your submission.
As he ravaged your lips, his hands roamed your body with increasing boldness. He palmed your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened nipples through the fabric of your nightgown. Then, with a swift motion, he tore the garment open.
"You're mine now," he growled against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to gaze at you with predatory intensity. "Every inch of you belongs to me."
Without waiting for a response, he dipped his head to capture a pert nipple between his teeth, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His free hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers finding the damp heat of your arousal.
Spencer's touch ignited a frenzy of desire within you, each stroke of his fingers pushing you closer to the edge. You writhed against him, desperate for more friction, more pressure.
"Please," you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as he toyed with your clit. "I need- I need you inside me."
Spencer's eyes flashed with triumph, his grip on your thigh tightening.
"Such eagerness," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "But first, I want to taste you."
With a fluid motion, he sank to his knees, yanking your panties down your legs. Before you could protest, he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your slick folds with reckless abandon.
The sensations were overwhelming— the heat of his breath, the firm pressure of his lips, the feeling of his sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin.
Spencer's ministrations drove you wild, each lap of his tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he feasted on your essence.
"Mmm, you taste divine," he murmured against your flesh, his words vibrating against your clit and making you quiver. "So sweet, I could devour you forever."
He pushes two fingers inside of you, curling them against your g-spot as he suckled your clit with renewed vigor. The coil of tension within you wound tighter and tighter, until finally, you shattered.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, waves of ecstasy washing through you as you cried out his name. Spencer rode out your climax with his mouth, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed against the bed, panting and spent.
Spencer removes his clothing before returning to his rightful place on top of you.
His naked form pressed against yours, the chill of his skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of your own. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping lightly over the delicate flesh as he whispered in a husky murmur.
"I've waited an eternity for this moment, my love. For the chance to claim you, to make you mine forevermore."
His hands roamed your body, mapping the curves and contours with reverent touch. He cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over the stiff peaks as he lavished attention on your sensitive skin.
"You're exquisite," he breathed, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline. "A masterpiece crafted just for me, and soon, I'll sink my teeth into your tender flesh and drink in your life force, binding us together for all time."
Spencer's words sent shivers down your spine, the promise of his bite igniting a thrill of fear and excitement. You knew what would happen if he took your blood- the eternal bond, the loss of your mortal self.
And yet, as he positioned himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, you found yourself craving that very fate. Craving the completeness, the utter possession, that only he could offer.
"Take me," you whispered, arching your back to meet his hips. "Make me yours, forever and always."
Spencer's eyes gleamed with triumph as he sheathed himself inside you in one smooth stroke. He paused for a moment, savoring the tight heat enveloping him, before beginning to move.
Spencer set a relentless pace, driving into you with powerful, precise strokes. Each thrust hit that sweet spot deep within, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts.
"You feel incredible," he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight, so wet. As if you were made for me alone."
He angled his hips, reaching even deeper, and you felt your walls flutter around him in response. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on pain, but you craved it, needed it to consume you whole.
"Yes, harder!" you shouted, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Fuck me like you own me!"
Spencer's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he complied with your demand. His lips trailed down your neck, biting slightly as he drew blood, licking it off of your delicate skin as he moans at the taste.
Spencer's fangs pierced your skin, sinking deep to draw forth a trickle of crimson lifeblood. He groaned in rapture as the metallic flavor danced on his tongue, the primal urge to feed overwhelming him.
But he held back, content for now to simply savor the taste of you. His tongue swirled around the wound, lapping up every precious drop before sealing the punctures with a gentle kiss.
“You taste divine,” his voice thick with desire. "Let me have a little taste of your essence. It's addictive."
He rocked into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "Soon, I'll take more than just a sip."
Spencer's thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as the hunger for your blood intensified. You felt his sharp teeth sink into the skin in between your breasts. He drank deeply from the fresh wound.
The taste of you was sublime, headier than any wine or drug. He couldn't get enough. He swallowed greedily, his eyes rolling back in bliss as he savored each mouthful.
"You're mine now, body and soul," he declared, his voice low and menacing as his mouth returns to your chest, drinking the thick crimson fluid.
You moan out in both pleasure and pain, feeling disoriented from the loss of blood. Your hands tangle into his hair, holding his head in place as he continues to drink.
Spencer kept feeding, each pull at your veins dragging you closer to the edge of consciousness. But still, you held him against your chest, unwilling to break the contact.
He pulled away, a faint line of blood tracing his lips, you felt dizzy, lightheaded. Your vision blurred at the edges, the room spinning around you. But through it all, you clung to him, your body thrumming with a newfound energy, a vitality that bordered on the supernatural.
"More," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Keep feeding."
Spencer's eyes glowed with an unholy light as he smiled, revealing his razor-sharp fangs. "Anything for you, my love," he purred, already descending upon your neck once more.
Spencer's fangs sank deeper, tearing open new pathways for his insatiable thirst. With each swallow, he felt your essence coursing through his veins, amplifying his strength, his speed, his very being.
His hips pistoned forward with renewed vigor, pounding into you with ruthless intensity. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal thrust.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice a guttural snarl. "All mine. Forever and always."
He could feel your climax building, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice. With a final, savage bite, he sent you hurtling over the edge.
Your orgasm triggered Spencer’s, the rhythmic contractions of your pussy pushed him over the edge as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling deeply within you as he drank the last of your blood.
He collapsed atop you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Spencer lifted his head to gaze down at you. His eyes, once a vivid hazel, had darkened to an almost black hue, his face and chest completely covered in your blood.
You were too weak to move. Lying helplessly on the bed, you watched Spencer stare down at you with a wicked grin on his face.
You tried desperately to wake yourself up from this dream, but as you began losing consciousness you realized this wasn’t a dream anymore.
The last thing you hear is Spencer’s maniacal laughter echoing in your ears…
onanist - s.r. (teaser)
PAIRING. Vampire!Spencer x Fem!reader
SUMMARY. Overcome with intense loneliness, you seek solace from any spirit that could hear your prayers. An ancient dark entity answers those prays, only his obsession with you is more than you can handle…
WARNINGS. lots of mentions of blood, biting, dom!spencer, slight somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, spencer is extremely possessive (none of these warnings are in this teaser)
AUTHOR’S NOTE. This is a teaser for my newest fic which is heavily inspired by Nosferatu (2024)! The title is from one of my favorite songs off ethel cain’s newest ep, which I listened to a lot while writing this. I’ve never written dom!spencer or anything this dark so I had some help from @primomover. She helped me get this started and I left in a section that she wrote. The full fic will be out this friday as an early bday present from me to you.
credit to @cafekitsune for dividers
For as long as you can recall, you’ve had this recurring dream where the most captivating and beautiful man you’ve ever seen appears in your room late at night. This man embodies all your deepest, darkest, and perverted desires, and he brings out a side of yourself that you never knew existed.
He revealed to you once that his name is Spencer Reid. You know nothing else about him, yet you’re irresistibly drawn to him.
You shouldn’t even entertain these thoughts. You were married, and you shouldn’t be dreaming about anyone except your husband. However, the enigmatic man from your dreams haunts your every waking moment.
All is quiet in your empty townhouse, save for the soothing sounds of the creaks and groans of the house settling into the night.
Your husband is away on a six-week business trip, and you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions: fear of having to face the intensity of your dreams alone, but also excitement at the possibility of giving yourself up to the darkness you so desperately craved.
As you descend into a deeper sleep, the familiar dream starts. You’re standing by the balcony door as it swings open, and the curtains sway gently in the wind. A large, dark figure enters the room, towering over you as the smell of decaying flesh fills the room.
“Why do you keep visiting me every night? Who are you?” you asked, your eyes memorizing every feature of his gorgeous face, your eyes stopping at his sharp, razor-like teeth.
Spencer chuckles at your words, his loud voice reverberating through the house, causing it to shake slightly.
“Don’t you recall me? Don’t you remember calling out for me?” He spoke, his icy fingers gently caressing your face, sending shivers down your spine.
"I do remember,” you replied. “I prayed to the Lord to end my solitude." I said gently. "To send me an angel."
"Is that what I am? An angel?" He asked. As cold as his lips were, his breath set you on fire.
You looked at him - his eyes seemed to glow as they looked at your supple flesh.
"I fear you are not." You told him. He let out a huff of a laugh.
"What is to say l am not an angel that was cast out by an unforgiving god?" He swept you around in a twirl, one arm keeping your waist pulled tight against his.
“No,” you replied, your voice trembling not out of fear, but with an overwhelming sense of desire. “You are something far more sinister than a fallen angel.”
His laughter turned into a low, menacing chuckle as he spun you back around, pinning you against the wall with his body.
"Darker?" He repeated, his voice dripping with seduction and danger. "Perhaps... but you find yourself drawn to it, don't you?" His hands roamed down your sides, fingers trailing along the curves of your hips and thighs.
"This darkness within me, it stirs something primal inside you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "A desire to be consumed, to surrender to the shadows."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"And I will devour you whole, my child. Body and soul." His words sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and exhilaration.
You knew you should resist, but the pull towards this dark, mysterious being was too strong to ignore.
OUT JANUARY 17TH!!
@mothercain. “💔 [RT @/briscoepark: 'Photos I took in a small town']” twitter, 20 mar 2021.
@/briscoepark. “Save Us” twitter, 19 mar 2021.
