im so speechless. the way that nothing changes and everything changes. it doesn't matter but it so extremely does matter. it's the most normal thing in the world, and the biggest deal ever. you know.
Normalize talking about actors like the real people they are and not speculating about their feelings
….whaaaat who said that?
I hate how often this needs to be repeated and said in different ways because so many fans (of various shows/movies/actors) are too dense to actually learn the lesson. It’s like talking to a fucking wall but it still needs to be said.
Press interviews are not an invitation to make assumptions about their personal lives, then harass actors about said assumptions.
You know it’s REALLY bad when Adam is the one who tells you what you needed to hear
He’s still a shitty father and both boys are better off without him, but Jeremiah needs some sort of family right now and he’s not gonna want it from Laurel…so I guess it’s Adam for now…the last resort. And Connie really does need to give everyone space. Including himself.
Not even just emotionally. I know she’s in denial, but (not so) deep down she knows what the tension is like between her and Conrad when they’re alone together. Conrad shouldn’t be the only one trying to put distance between them. Maybe I’m giving Belly too much credit, by assuming she knows how she feels about the situation of spending time with Conrad. But we have heard her thoughts about always loving him (at Christmas) and the charged moments they had recently (peaches and the surfing accident).
Belly needs to be honest with herself and I need her friends or her brother to help get her there. I’ve heard that Annika is the one to do it in the books, and I really need that to happen sooner than later. Especially when we know, from the season trailer, that Taylor is still firmly team jellyfish and is gonna tell Conrad to back off. I’ve loved Taylor as Belly’s best friend so far this season, but I have a feeling I’m really gonna hate her for a bit while she pushes for the wedding to happen.
I tried to let you go. But then this summer... being around you again and—and talking the way we used to and you looking at me the way that... you used to.
Ik none of us care what’s going on with Lucinda. I don’t even care that she got wasted because Taylor was mean to her. But it’s pretty genius to have her there for Steven to take care of. And we needed to see him taking care of her throughout the season for it to work. Well played Jenny, well played.
I’m still a Staylor fan, but I wouldn’t be mad if she and Steven went on a date or two. Or in a perfect world, Denise and him are friends and business partners and he gets back together with Taylor. I’d rather see Steven find success working with someone like Denise than get stuck working for Adam.
People have called their relationship cheesy and cringe. To me it feels like some part of Belly feels the need to be performative. Like she needs to soothe Jeremiah’s insecurities by projecting how much fun she’s having. She’ll stay quiet when he does something she doesn’t agree with (like ordering the expensive meal) because he can’t handle criticism. And there’s probably a high chance that he’ll take it the wrong way.
But when she’s with Conrad…
Belly is free to feel and act however she’s feeling around him. What people perceive as her being less annoying when she’s with Conrad is the way they can just comfortably exist in the same space together. She will call him out on his shit and vice versa because they understand each other. The miscommunication they have is usually because they’re literally not talking to each other. Not because the other person isn’t listening.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: Hurt/comfort, smut 18+ MDNI
Summary: After a few near death experiences during a case, Spencer muses on your mortality, and decides to take advantage of everyone’s state of unconsciousness by showing his love for you right there on the jet.
Content: 3.4k words, established relationship, they're sooo in love, mentions of alcohol, talk of death, addiction and typical CM violence, s3 post addiction Spencer, reader wears a skirt and is described as shorter than Spencer, semi-public unprotected p in v (in the jet bathroom), crying during sex, creampie.
a/n: I’m back :> Spencer Reid girlies ik ur still here, please move the ouija board!!!!!! Proofread by my love @mggslover. Thanks for the request anon, I’m sorry I missed your ovulation period but I think this can be enjoyed at any point in time.
You’re not one to believe in miracles, but even this disbelief is not immune to contention. Events from the most recently wrapped case has made you rethink your stance on miracles—your plummet down an unseen ravine resulted in no broken bones (simply a split lip and a handful of nasty bruises blooming across your skin), a bullet narrowly missed your temple because of a coincidental, life altering head turn (Spencer had called for you in an attempt to stop your headfirst pursuit of the armed unsub), and, arguably the most miraculous of all, Spencer isn’t rambling in your ear and saying I told you to be careful.
(Perhaps to most people, one of these things is not like the other, but if you’re being honest, you weigh Spencer’s concern—and Spencer’s opinions, Spencer’s love, Spencer’s everything, really—with as much value as your own life. Maybe you should talk to someone about that.)
The silence is perplexing. Your boyfriend is known for his non stop rambling. Even the incident with Tobias Hankel had done nothing to stop it, only momentarily soured his words and his tone, diluted the vivacity in his amber eyes without ever extinguishing the spark. But tonight, on the flight back to Quantico, his silence persists, mingling with the remnants of Hotch and Gideon’s whiskey as it evaporates and colors the air inside the jet with something smoky and vinous.
He leaves for the bathroom. You follow when nine minutes pass, too much time for regular bathroom activities, especially for Spencer. With the door slightly ajar, the sounds of running water drift to your ears. Spencer’s bent over the sink when you open the door, shoulders slumped in a way that suggests defeat, hands steady under the spray.
You push the door open, uninvited.
“Baby, I know you’re a germaphobe, but isn’t this a little bit of an overkill?” you approach the way you’re used to, mild jokes unrelated to the issue. Something frilly, harmless. “You know you’ve probably used up half of this jet’s water supply, right?”
He doesn’t respond, only closes the tap. You never thought silence could feel oppressive until right now.
“Talk to me,” it’s not a plea. Not yet—you’d do that too, if that’s what it takes to break this impassive facade he’s erected between the two of you. “I already apologized earlier, Spence, you can’t keep holding me at arms length like this.” Not again. Not after everything. Not when the thing I need is to be in your arms.
Is it unfair to expect immediate forgiveness? Is it unreasonable to expect him to assuage the weight of those near death experiences instead of ignoring you?
He angles his body to you, head cocked in a way that shows off the perfect planes of his face. The air seems to shift, as if the very oxygen you breathe is lighter, brightened by the mere fact that he’s occupying a space closer to you. It’s fine. You’ll take what you can get. Even the slightest hint of acknowledgement gives you enough to persist.
“Are you mad?” The words slip out soft as a feather and drift the same way, aimless and unhurried, stilling in the air and fizzling out into a silence that stretches so long you’re afraid he hadn’t heard. Or worse, is still pointedly ignoring you. “Spence…”
“I'm not,” he replies finally, two simple words that ease the painful clenching in your chest. “I couldn't be, not really. Frustrated, maybe. Everything in his profile pointed to violence when provoked and you still—” he shakes his head, “But that's done now.”
“You're frustrated,” You repeat, mind already turning over and attempting to find solutions to this. Part of you knows you can't force that feeling away, can't bulldoze his very valid reaction with the sheer weight of your love and will. But you crave some form of comfort, not this stoic introspection. The words feel useless, but you say them anyway, “I'm sorry.”
He turns to look at you, face warm and vulnerable and sad.
“Stop. You already said that,” He murmurs, “There's nothing to forgive, angel, but it's—I was terrified. You were a few meters ahead of me and then you were gone, falling, you could've broken your neck—”
“I didn't.” Your insistence feels childish, insignificant against the magnitude of his fear. His concern. His love.
“I know,” the distance between you dissipates with one long stride. He joins you right at the threshold of the bathroom, and pulls you into him. You thank whatever gods are listening for the miracle that is being in his arms, “I know, it just seemed too close, too out of my control—”
“Too reckless.” You finish for him.
“Don’t—I don’t want to reprimand you.”
“You should,” You mumble, words muffled by his suit as you bury your face in his chest, “Maybe you need to get it out of your system and we’ll be okay again.”
“Do you think we’re not okay?” there's a rising panic in his voice.
“Well, you have been shutting me out.”
“I’m sorry.”
You laugh. “I’m supposed to be the one apologizing.”
“No, you have nothing to apologize for. I, however, wasn’t intending to shut you out, and I’m sorry that I inadvertently did.” He replies, hands slipping under your blouse, palm spread on the expanse of your back to remind himself that you’re here, you’re fine, you’re his. “I was—I thought I lost you, angel. It felt like I did, for a brief moment, and that’s the most terrifying thought to cross my mind.”
“You can’t mean that.” With the amount of horror you face on the daily, you could imagine so much worse things.
“Oh, I do.” His breath ruffles your hair, warm and shaky, “I absolutely do. I wouldn’t know what to do if you had—” he chokes, and it rumbles deep in his chest, his body rejecting even the mere idea of losing you.
You feel his lips on your temple. Firm kisses from soft lips, a contradiction just like him. His arms tighten, and your body slots into his with ease that came from practice, from learning after hundreds of trial and error. Everything about your relationship had taken work, incessant effort from two individuals intent on making their differences be a source for more empathy and love, rather than becoming a breeding ground for resentment.
“I don’t want you to think I’m being overprotective,” he continues, trying a different angle. A hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, keeps you safe and tucked in his arms, “You’re an amazing agent, but we can’t take chances like that, just going off on your own. You remember what happened when JJ and I split up.”
Your stomach churns at the reminder, that dark traumatic spot that had put a strain on certain relationships. You’d gotten resentful with JJ, an admittedly unfair projection of blame. Your mind had been consumed by anger, eager to point fingers when you found out about Spencer’s abduction, and then again at his subsequent addiction. JJ had been your unlucky target, although you’ve all resolved it now.
However, those feelings come rushing back—the fear, the inexplicable hollow in your chest when you found out. Spencer’s going through those motions right now, and guilt sinks its ugly claws in the pit of your stomach.
“I know. God, Spencer, I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time,” you whisper into his shoulder. A vow spoken in the skies has to mean something, right? It’s resolute, sober, “I won’t run after unsubs by myself when we’re in unfamiliar terrain anymore.”
“You promise?” his breath is right at your ear, warm, tingly.
“I promise.”
He hums, kissing your temple again, one kiss for each eye, your nose, and you giggle, looking up at him with hopeful, honeyed eyes.
“So we’re okay?” you ask, fingers clutching the collar of his blazer.
“We weren’t fighting,” he chuckles, bending down to kiss your jaw, “I was, admittedly, having a moment, but yes, we’re okay.”
“Okay.” your brain is empty, save for the sweet familiarity of relief, “We—oh!”
Teeth find the soft skin of your neck and you have just enough wherewithal to clamp your mouth shut. On the seat just a few paces away, Emily snores loud enough to fill the jet, stirs to a more comfortable position, ultimately remains asleep, but Spencer does not give you any chance for relief. Tongue replaces teeth, drawing a sodden line down your throat, along your exposed collarbone, where his teeth once again make contact with your skin.
“Spence,” half hiss, half moan, volume low, restrained, but it does nothing to disguise the desire in your voice. Pinched and pitiful, you whisper, “Don’t.”
His stop is immediate. “Sorry.” He rests his head on your shoulder, body contorted and tucked to fit your shorter frame. He respects your wishes, but every singular cell in his body is incapable of leaving your space at this moment.
“No, don’t apologize.” you manage a shaky laugh, running your thumb over his cheekbone, “I just don’t want to get worked up.”
“Were you?”
“What?”
“Getting worked up?” he sounds smug and you almost want to kiss it away. It’d be easy; you’d done it countless times prior (it isn’t countless—Spencer knows the exact amount of times you’ve weaponized the softness of your lips against his incessant rambling. It’s exactly two hundred and thirty nine times, eighty two of which had led to more.) “Over a few kisses?”
“Shut up.” You squirm in his arms, a complete contradiction to your denial.
He notices, pounces on it the same way he does when you play chess and he sees a weak spot. “Don’t deny it.”
“It’s—I just don’t want to be, you know, indecent. They’re right there.” you tilt your head to the rest of the jet, the distance between you and the closest person (Emily, in this case) could be crossed by a few footsteps.
“Yeah… But they’re asleep.”
“Spence.”
His laughter is music to your ears. “Sorry,” he holds his lips to your jaw, not initiating anything further and you relish his warmth like a cat on a sunny day.
“You’re apologizing again.” You grumble, fingers tangling into his hair. Nails drag through his scalp, second nature at this point. “We both have to work on that.”
“Mhm,” he nods in response, winding his arms tight around your waist. With your face pressed into his sweater, your senses are flooded with the earthy, warm scent of his cologne. It sends a shudder through you, unsuppressed.
He notices. Of course he does. Nothing you do escapes him. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Angel,” he murmurs, “Let me take care of you.”
You still in his arms, feeling lightheaded and unearthed. “But the team—”
“Are asleep.” he reminds you, “And we have an empty bathroom all to ourselves; I say the more you protest,” his teeth sink into your earlobe playfully, “The less time we have to take advantage of this.”
He’s right, of course he’s right. And you’re well past the point of being able to ignore the burning in your belly; your fingers are shaking from holding back. So you nod, looking up at Spencer with a small smile, and he backs the two of you into the bathroom.
The door closes with a click louder than you would have liked, but there had been no way to gauge the volume because Spencer had been the one to pin you to the door and cause the sound. His lips run over your neck again, one hand hiking up your skirt, the other fumbling with the lock on the door. The team may be asleep, but neither of you are taking any chances.
It’s messy, graceless. You’re half convinced Spencer is too tall to be doing this in such a limited space, limbs bent awkwardly as he kisses you fervently while trying to find that scrap of fabric beneath your skirt. Your boyfriend isn’t known for his multitasking or his physical prowess, but somehow he manages to do both with enough skill to elicit soft whimpers from your mouth.
It turns into a low, indulgent moan when you feel fingers slip past lace and run over your core.
“Shush, angel,” he chuckles, a gentle reproach, but two fingers slide into your entrance and you’re decidedly unable to shush.
“Mhm, more,” you gasp, hips canting forward, walls squeezing his fingers desperately. Your own hands are lost in his hair, tangled deep in the strands and tugging as you whine, “Please, Spencer.”
“Baby, you have to be quiet,” He sucks at your bottom lip, and you can’t fathom why he keeps telling you to be quiet while committing acts that he knows are bound to make you mewl. His fingers curl, withdraw, before plunging back in at a better angle, knuckle deep and soaked with your arousal. Spencer anticipates your next moan and swallows it with a deep kiss, tongue pushing past your lips to explore your mouth. He groans at the taste of you, kissing to pour out his love, his relief that his time with you isn’t yet cut short.
You melt, white-hot and velvet soft, into his body as he works both fingers and tongue at opposite ends, the combination leaving you reeling.
Spencer fingers you like he’s trying to commit the very shape of your walls to the skin of his fingers, reaching deep inside you to eliminate any edges of him and you as individual entities.
You almost collapse from the intensity, knees buckling. You don’t even get the chance—his arm is wound tightly around your waist, his body pinning you to the door.
“You’re so wet for me,” he says like it’s a thing of marvel, and not a normal biological reaction to the heat knotting low in your belly from his ministrations, “God, I love you so much.”
He withdraws his fingers. Your whine of protest is free to tumble from your lips now that he’s pulled away slightly. “If you love me so much, then won't stop.” you pout.
As a response, Spencer hoists you up and settles you precariously on the sink. His voice is low, ragged with desire when he replies, “Oh, I’m not stopping, angel.”
Your panties are pulled off with deft fingers, disappearing into one of the pockets of his slacks. Under normal circumstances, you’d tease him for that and watch with pride as his cheeks bloom pink. Right now, you’re too busy trying to take those pants off, or at least enough to free him.
“Need you,” you gasp as he’s finally exposed to your sight, a hand wrapping around his base and squeezing lightly. The familiar girth has you nearly drooling, breaths shaky as you stroke through his length once, twice, each movement pulling the prettiest, neediest whimpers from his lips. Eyes glinting with mischief peek up from long lashes, meeting his own honeyed ones. You grin, saccharine and mocking, “Shush, Spencer.”
He glares, but it’s so half hearted you can’t help but laugh. “We’re gonna get in trouble.” he murmurs, angling himself to line up the tip of his cock to your entrance.
“If they find out,” you reply, “Besides, I almost died, remember, I think Hotch would be a bit more—agh!” the sentence dies, morphs into something more raw and unrestrained, as he stretches your slick entrance. “Oh, god.”
“I know, I know,” his thumb finds your clit, drawing soft circles onto the sensitive bud to help lessen your tension, “You have to relax, baby.”
Truthfully, the semi-public tryst has you feeling anxious, tensing more than usual as he pushes inch after slow inch. But with the stimulation to your clit, you ease up enough until he’s sheathed to the hilt. A pause. Your walls flutter and adjust as he rains kisses along your jaw and neck, patient and gentle even though you can feel every needy throb of his shaft inside you.
“You can move.” you say, the words featherlight. You’re dizzy from the fullness, but hungry for more. For everything.
He nods, placing both hands on your hips to anchor himself. Your softness is familiar beneath his palms, and he squeezes hard, wanting to commit every inch of you to his memory. Every inch etched into his very being, your sweet sounds and expressions tucked in his brain and the exquisite feel of you imprinted on his skin.
His pace is slow, shallow, barely pulling out, before slamming back into you, like he’s his goal is simply to be inside you for the most possible amount of time and nothing would stop him, not even a good rhythm. Any apprehension you may have of this lacking any real pleasure for him is silenced by the look on his face—bottom lip ravaged by his own teeth as he tries to contain every potential sound, brows furrowed, eyes burning into yours with an intensity that steals your breath.
“Feels so good,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours, his pace growing rapid, more desperate, “Can’t believe I almost lost you.” Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips, and another whimper escapes your lips, fills the cramped space, the reality of your very close call with death dawning upon you the moment he thrusts and hits that sensitive spot deep inside your body.
You wrap your arms around his neck, urging him as close as he can get, legs haphazardly thrown around his hips and locked right above his ass. An irrational part of you is completely unwilling to let go, not after your very real escape from death. “I’m here,” you gasp, voice wavering with overwhelming emotion, “I’m here, Spencer, I’m okay.”
He can barely move now, bound to your body like something cursed. “I love you,” one hand cups your face, thumb catching the tear that slips from your eye, “I love you so much, angel, don’t cry.”
The sincerity in his voice brings another wave of tears, and he leans in to kiss them away, lips gently running over your cheeks as he continues to roll his hips against yours. “I love you,” Spencer repeats, kissing down until he finds your lips.
You taste your tears on him, salt on plush lips, and you push yourself further into his arms, on the precipice of something he’s all too acquainted with. He kisses you harder, leans his body over yours until your back presses up against the smooth glass behind you, and then begins to move. The sudden rapidity has you groaning, squeezing around his length as he pistons in and out with singleminded, relentless focus.
“Come on,” he groans, stifled by your lips and your teeth which are currently clamped on his bottom lip, “That’s it, you’re close, baby, I can feel you, please, please, come for me.”
“I love you,” you sob, thighs quivering around his hips. He hoists your legs up higher, finding an angle that hits you perfectly, and you’re burying your face into his shoulder with a cry, walls tightening around him as your orgasm ripples through your limbs. “I love you, Spencer—”
It’s broken by a gasp as he continues to rock into you, his lips on your temple and blowing heavy puffs of warm air against your skin. “I know, you’re all mine, you’re all mine, I love you so much.” he repeats the sentiment like prayers on rosary beads, lulling into a soft chant dedicated only for your ears. I love you.
You feel it everywhere, his love. In the slickness of the sweat you’ve exchanged, in the ache between your thighs, the tacky warmth that fills your body and seeps out of your slit as he slowly pulls out. He takes you in, so beautiful even in ruin, and smiles.
“You okay?” he smooths down your hair, tucks a wayward strand behind your ear, before his hands rest on your waist.
You nod, returning his soft smile with one of your own, teeth bared, lips stretched so comically wide it makes him chuckle.
“Can’t talk?” soft, balmy lips land on your forehead, “Was it that good?”
“Don’t get smug,” you grumble, before nuzzling into his neck.
He holds you tightly for a moment, and allows himself to relish the afterglow. “You love it,” he murmurs, “You love me.”
“That I do. Very much.”
thank you for reading!!! pls reblog or i'll cry jk
Summary: Spencer never takes his mismatched socks off. Not even in bed.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) penetrative sex, reverse cowgirl position
Author’s Note: Just a fun little drabble because sex sometimes can be a little goofy (:
Word count: 500
Masterlist
Spencer was deep inside you as you rocked your hips against his, trying to adjust the angle to reach your climax. He was lying on his back, staring up at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes as you rode him with motions so precise it almost drove him insane.
Leaning back, you tried but failed to get the right amount of pressure against your sweet spot.
“You okay?” Spencer breathed as his palms brushed over your hips.
Your movements came to halt as you softly spoke, “Is it okay if I turn around? I think that angle would feel better for me.”
“Of course,” he cooed.
You smirked at him as you noticed how much he had to hold back from infodumping about the advantages of the reverse cowgirl position. Silently you thanked him for not taking you out of your current headspace. Leaning down, you placed one last soft kiss on his lips before you lifted your hips to turn around on top of him.
“I hope you enjoy the view,” you snickered as you felt his hands caressing the curve of your backside.
“God, you’re absolutely perfect,” he sighed as he squeezed your soft flesh.
With closed eyes you sank down on him again, slightly leaning back until you finally had the angle you were longing for. Slowly, you rocked your hips against his as the pressure inside you built in the best way possible.
Then, you opened your eyes just long enough to realize you didn’t have the same kind of view your boyfriend currently enjoyed.
Seeing Spencer’s mismatched socks, one purple with colorful dinosaur shapes on them and the other blue with dark anchors, let a genuine laugh escape your throat. Your own giggles took you out of the moment, so you stopped moving.
“What is it?” Spencer asked with a breathy voice.
You turned your head until you could see his face from the corner of your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that you never take your socks off. They are so silly.”
Spencer wiggled his toes for a moment. “Why would I take them off? They bring me good luck!”
“You’re already inside of me, how much more luck do you need?” You snickered.
You felt his cock twitch inside you. “That only proves my point,” he chuckled.
After a moment of silence, he said, “I can take them off if it bothers you.”
“No it’s fine. I just usually don’t directly look at them during sex.”
“Maybe I should get socks that are sexy instead of silly,” Spencer joked.
His words made you laugh again. “You’ll definitely need luck with that.”
Slowly, you started moving again. It only took a few more moments until your bantering was replaced by sighs and moans falling from your lips as you chased that delicious high. When you finally fell over the edge, Spencer followed you into the sensation of pure bliss - proving yet again how lucky he was (even though his socks probably had nothing to do with that).
Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment if you want me to keep writing more stories!
Summary: Y/N face-fucks Spencer with a strap-on for the first time. Based on this request by anon and then backed up by @pumpkin-goob
Warnings: Smut. Slight offence towards BDSM (Fuck you, Rebecca)
Words: 2,035
A/N: Neither Reader nor I have a problem with any form of BDSM or anything, its just Rebecca (boring bitch). Now, I hope you’re ready for a ✨piece of garbage ✨
Master List Permanent Tag List
A stood in front of the full-length mirror, examining yourself. The black lace bra cupped your breast beautifully, holding them together and pushing them up in the perfect way. Your chest looked amazing and you couldn’t help but trace the supple flesh with the tips of your fingers. If it wasn’t for the strap-on resting on your thigh, your breasts would be the focus of attention.
The black harness sat snuggly on you, the six-inch dildo attached securely and adding an unexpectedly enjoyable weight to your lower body. You run your hand over the soft plastic, your fingers following the veins of the realistic cock.
Standing in your black stockings and heels, which your strap-on attached and in your hands, you couldn’t help but feel good. As a woman, you felt strong and powerful but with a faux penis attached to your body… you understood why people enjoyed strap-ons so much. It didn’t take away you’re your femininity at all, it seemed to add…something to it, if that were possible. You could admit it to yourself, you looked amazing and you felt it too.
You left the bathroom and went to the bedroom, mindful of the heels which you could easily fall over in. You took a deep breath before pushing the door open, nerves tickling up your back as you entered the room.
Spencer sat at the end of the bed, naked, watching as you entered. His eyes travelled over you, widening as they took in the strap-on. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tore his eyes away, forcing them to meet yours. You could see the nerves in his eyes but also the curiosity and, maybe, a hint of excitement.
You and Spencer had spoken for weeks before taking this step. While on a case with his team, Spencer had gotten a deeper looking into what some may consider the ‘darker’ side of sex. And by some, you meant your friend Rebecca.
You had never considered your sex life with Spencer to be boring, though, you admit, it was rather vanilla. So, when Spencer came home and asked if you would be willing to try new things in the bedroom, you had been all for it. ‘Try everything once’ was a motto you stuck by.
You had tried some new things already. Handcuffs, ropes, a flogger and a Wartenberg pinwheel. You both tried each of the items, both being mutual curious about giving and receiving the pleasure they could achieve.
Something Spencer was curious about was blowjobs. Spencer was a genius and he was interested in knowing things. Which lead to his curiosity of what it was like to give a blowjob. Neither of you were ready to think about bringing a third person into your bedroom, even if just for a night.
Which was what led you to this moment, standing before him wearing a realistic strap-on penis.
“Did you known, in Roman times, a person could be punished for breaking the law by having to perform a blowjob on the person they wronged” Spencer said. “Rome was a patriarchal society, so men were considered to be giving and the person who performed oral was actually receiving.”
You smiled gently at your boyfriend and crouched in front of his. You cradled his face in your palm, stroking your thumb over his prominent cheekbone. He looked so sweet, so innocent, and your heart filled with love for him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked him softly, making sure to keep eye contact with him. “We don’t have to do this. I’ve explained to you what it’s like, you’ve read books… you don’t actually have to do this.”
“No-no. I-I-I want to” he assured you.
Your head tilted to the side as you studied him, trying to determine whether his stutter was due to his hesitation or anticipation. Finally, you nodded. “Okay, but we can stop at any time.”
You stood back up to your full height and took several steps back. Keep eye contact with Spencer, you spat in your hand and brought it back to the strap on. His eyes flickered down to watch as you spread your spit of the dildo, his Adam’s apple bobbing again as he swallowed. He forced in eyes back to your again.
“On your knees” you ordered him.
Though your voice was hard, Spencer could detect the softness behind the words. Though to an outside it would appear that you were in charge, in reality, Spencer had all the power in the relationship. All he needed to do was say ‘Rocket’, or tap the back of your calf twice, and it would be over.
Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you. Your eyes took in the sight of him on his knees before you, his cock semi-hard between his legs. Spencer Reid, powerful FBI agent and accomplished profiler, was, in a sense, at your mercy. The thought made you giddy.
“You look so pretty on your knees, Spence” you tell him, your thumb pulling at his bottom lip. “Are you gonna be a good boy and open your mouth for me?”
In your time of experimentation, you had found that Spencer quite liked to be praised. The first time you had praised him, he had involuntarily thrusted up to you and moaned lowly. The unauthorised movement and vocalisation had warranted a punishment in the form of an orgasm denial which lasted maybe a little too long, but it was a lesson learned for future use.
Spencer sat on his knees, his hands on the back of your legs, with his mouth open and waiting for you. Grasping the base of the dildo, you brought it up to his mouth. You traced his bottom lip with the tip of the cock.
Hmm, you thought to yourself, could you consider it your cock?
As the tip traced his lips, his tongue darted out to taste it. Though you had ensured to properly wash the toy, the taste of plastic was still present and made his nose scrunch up slightly. You couldn’t help but smirk as you watched him.
Your left hand threaded into the hair at the back of his head and you took a firm grasp, pulling his head back. His moaned at the force, looking at you through his long eyelashes. Spencer Reid really was a pretty boy.
You slowly pushed into his mouth, allowing him a few inches before pulling out. Your eyebrow raised at him, but Spencer tapped the back of your leg once, telling you to continue. You pushed back into his mouth, giving him a smile of approval when he hollowed his cheeks, sucking as you pulled out again.
You watched, your own arousal growing, as he circled his tongue around the tip of the cock before you plunged quickly back into his mouth. He moaned at the change of speed, his hands squeezing you, and his eyebrows lifting.
Your hand on the back of his head, you stopped your movement and encouraged him to move on you. You moaned as you watched his head bob, his beautiful brown eyes searching for yours as he worked his mouth over the dildo. You had never thought that watching your boyfriend give a blowjob, even to a toy, would be such a turn on.
And you were turned on, very much so. Your nipples hardened in your bra, pushing against the material. Your hips involuntarily thrusted forward, sending the dildo further into Spencer’s mouth and making him lightly gag on it, his eye twitching.
Your about to freeze, to pull away and apologise but then you hear it. Spencer moans. He liked that.
“You’re doing so well, Spence, your pretty mouth is taking my cock so well” you praise, pushing his hair out of his face. “I just want to fuck your face so hard, make you chock on me.” Spencer moaned in approval and both of your hands trailed into his hair. “Is that what you want, Spencer baby, you want me to fuck your face? Such a good boy.”
Your hands grasping the back of his head, fingers threaded through his hair, you held him still. He moaned again as you began to pull out of his mouth but soon stopped as you thrusted back in. You didn’t stop this time and let your hip continue to thrust against him, the dildo pushing its way to the back of his mouth and most likely touching the lining of his throat.
His eyes were wide and wet, and you watched as a single tear leaked from the corner of his left eye. Then another. The noises he made were beautiful. The wet sound of the dildo entering his mouth, pushing against his tongue.
His right hand leaves your leg and, tilting your head to the side slightly, you watch as he reaches for his own cock. He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it in time with your thrusts, moaning around the dildo in his mouth.
“You like that?” you asked, continuing your thrusts. “Go on, baby, touch yourself for me.”
On his knees before you, tears streaking down his face as you plunge into his mouth with your strap-on, his hand around his cock, he looks beautiful. You want nothing more than to stop, to pull out of his mouth and have him fuck you instead. You don’t though, this is about Spencer, about fulfilling something he was curious about.
It doesn’t take much longer before you watch as his eyes close, his body tensing as he lets out a muffled moan. His left hand squeezes your leg as he orgasms, his cum hitting your stocking covered legs.
In the middle of his euphoria, he looks breath taking. You had seen Spencer cum before, many times, but watching him do it while he was on his knees before you… he looked amazing, beautiful. It was at that moment you envied his memory, wanting to remember this view for the rest of your life.
Your thrusts slow to a stop and you pull the strap-on gently from his mouth. Spencer’s breathing heavy, both from the orgasm and having the toy down his throat. You leave his side for a moment, grabbing the bottle of water from the bedside table and bringing it to him.
“You did so well baby” you praise, stroking his sweaty hair back and kissing his forehead. “How are you feeling, you okay?”
He nods, sipping at the bottle.
“Come on, lets get you into bed” you said, grasping his arm.
Taking hold of him, you pull him to his feet and guide him to the bed. Once he’s sat down, you retrieve a wet washcloth from the bathroom. You gently clean him up before running it over your leg, then throwing it in the hamper.
“Sorry” Spencer apologises, his voice a little scratchy.
“Don’t be” you smile, leaning over to give him a kiss.
Taking your heels off, you unstrapped the harness and pulled it down your legs. You detached the dildo, setting both on the dressing table to be cleaned tomorrow. You took off your bra, throwing it towards the hamper along with the stockings, and grabbed one of Spencer’s old shirts to pull on.
You climbed into bed beside Spencer, snuggling up to him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His hand touched your thigh, tracing delicate patterns. You sighed, closing your eyes happily. His hand moved upwards, dancing over the skin between your upper thighs as it went towards your centre.
“What are you doing?” you asked, reaching down and grabbing hold of his hand.
“You didn’t cum” he replied. “I want you to feel good too.”
“I’m okay” you told him, leaning up to give him a kiss. You chuckled as he moved to protest, “Spencer, seriously, I don’t want you to. Tonight was for you, not for me. I might not have gotten to orgasm but I enjoyed myself either way.”
Meeting your eye, he knew there was no point in arguing. Instead, he sighed and circled his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You smiled happily, closing your eyes and snuggling into him.
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