Hey! Just wondering what happened to all your old fics before 2020. I loved those. Hope you're having a nice day! :)
soooooo, i started making my posts private because i wanted to make everything private and then unprivate the fics but i realised too late you can't "unprivate" anything, once you make something private, you have to repost the fic again so i might just do that tbh. whenever i have the time i'll go through the stuff i have made private and repost them (probably fix some of the fics too lol).
also, quick question, how did you notice? do you go back and read some of my old fics or?
Remember when I said if you had a tattoo Spencer would mindlessly doodle your tattoo from memory on pieces of paper while working because it helps him think…. Yeahhhh. Yeah I remember that
in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni)
tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.
word count: 5.7k
a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!
Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.
Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.
Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.
You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.
However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.
And then he was free.
From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.
But he was free.
And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.
Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.
"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.
"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."
"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.
Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.
"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.
"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"
"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.
"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"
"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"
"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."
"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."
To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.
Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.
There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.
Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.
"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.
"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"
Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."
"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."
"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.
"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."
"Oh."
Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.
"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."
"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."
"I think I want to."
Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."
"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."
"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.
"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."
"Do you want to hurt me?"
"No."
"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."
"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."
"Not funny."
"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.
"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.
"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."
"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.
"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"
You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.
You couldn't complain.
It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.
"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.
"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.
"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.
"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.
"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.
"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.
"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."
"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."
"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.
You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.
Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.
"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.
"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."
"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.
"Nope. Forget I said anything."
"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."
"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.
"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."
"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."
"Yes, but how?"
"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."
"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.
"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.
"Lots of people say oral," he defended.
"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."
"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."
Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.
Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."
"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.
"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.
He nipped at your nose. "It is."
"Can we compromise?"
"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.
In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.
"Head," you corrected. "And no."
He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"
"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.
"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."
You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."
"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"
"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.
"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.
Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.
Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.
Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.
A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.
The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.
He liked to hear you.
Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).
"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.
"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"
"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"
"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.
"What? Why?"
"Do I need a reason?"
You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.
"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"
"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."
"I know," you replied.
"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."
You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."
"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."
Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."
"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"
Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.
"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.
"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.
You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.
And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.
Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.
Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.
Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.
"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.
"Touch myself?"
"Mhm."
"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."
"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"
"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."
"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"
You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.
"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.
He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.
"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.
"Hm?"
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.
"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.
In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.
So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.
Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.
"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.
A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.
Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.
Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.
Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.
"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.
"Please don't stop."
"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.
Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.
His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.
The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.
His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.
"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.
"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.
"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.
"Yes."
"Good."
Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.
"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.
"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"
"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.
A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.
"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.
"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.
"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).
His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.
A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.
"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."
"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.
Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."
"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."
"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.
A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).
Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.
"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.
"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"
"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."
"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."
Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.
Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.
His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.
There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.
"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.
"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"
"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.
"Good."
"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.
"Help?"
Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.
Thankfully, you didn't have to.
He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.
"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.
"Do you want me to?"
Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."
He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.
"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.
You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.
"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.
Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.
"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.
"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."
You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"
"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."
"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.
"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."
"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."
"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."
"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."
"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."
Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.
"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.
request: could you do something with softdom!spencer and fem reader, and they are testing new waters?(spencer being rougher and more demanding etc?)
a/n: hey! so i hope this was what you meantttt. lmk if you enjoyed it!
warnings: smut obv, harsh sex, oral!female receiving
word count: 2817
"Spence..." you said in a sing song voice.
He dropped his book and you could see the dread and curiosity on his face. "Hey!" you said, furrowing your brows.
"What? I haven't said anything." he smiled, setting aside his book and giving you his whole focus.
"Neither have I, so drop that look on your face." you sat up, setting your own book aside. Spencer was sat across the room on his favourite seat in the living room, you had both been doing your nightly reading routine.
"Okay, okay. So, what is it?" he leaned forward.
"Well, I was reading something and... I want to try something out." you shrug, looking around the room, at the floor, anywhere but him.
"Oh, God." he drags a hand down his face. "I love that you read, really I do, it's one of the things I love about you, but do you have to read these..." he looked around trying to find a word. "Disturbing books?"
"Disturbing?" you scoffed. "Some of your favourite things I do come from these "disturbing" books." you give him a look.
"You do bring up a good point." he nods to himself and sits up, walking towards you. "Fine. What is it you want to try?" he asks when he's right in front of you.
You look up, he's so tall you have to lean back, and suddenly feel shy.
"Well..." you bite your lip.
"Oh, come on now, you can't get all shy now." he teases, leaning down and resting his hands on your armchairs, caging you in.
"Read this." you reach for your book, pressing yourself against him, knowing it drives him wild.
He reaches for the open book in your hand. "The whole book or just the chapter?" he asks.
"Oh, right. Well I was just gonna say the page but the book is fine too." you laugh.
He makes his way back to his favourite chair and this time you follow him, perching yourself on his armrest. You look over his shoulder as he quickly reads through your book; you're not sure why you do this because he's too quick for you to understand anything but you do it either way.
Even though you can't see his full face, you see the side of his face as his eyes widen in shock. He gasps, raises his brows, lowers them, laughs, smiles, smirks. You watch as all the emotions pass through his face.
He finally closes the book. He opens his mouths, furrows his brows, and then closes it, relaxing his face. Spencer places the book on his lap and turns to face you.
"Alright." he says, standing up.
"Alright?" you repeat, you weren't sure what you were expecting but he agreed way too fast. He's standing in front of you now, you're looking up at him, blinking stupidly at his expression.
You can tell he's trying to hide a grin. Is he liking how flustered you are? You expected him to act how you're acting; blushing, shy, not sure what to say.
Spencer reaches his hand out and you take it. He pulls you up and you squeal, landing in his arms. His expression is much more serious now, he looks into your eyes and then flickers his gaze down to your lips. You stick your tongue out to wet your lips and Spencer chooses that moment to kiss you. Its slow at first, just like his hands that wrap around you.
Then, its fast and harsh. One hand is on the back of you head, gripping you close to him. His other hand is on your thigh, inviting you to jump up. You do so and wrap your legs around his waist.
You groan into the kiss, all shyness long gone, probably kissed out of you by Spencer. He's making his way to the bedroom now but right before entering, he presses you against the wall of the hallway, holding you up with his knee.
You grind against him, pulling away from the kiss to look into his eyes. They're hungry now, pupils blown wide. He kisses your neck, surely feeling how rapidly your heart is beating. You moan his name and run your fingers through his hair, well aware how it drives him crazy.
"You want me to fuck you?" he suddenly whispers.
He's never said anything like that before. "Yes." you reply, your eyes closed and mouth open in pleasure as he makes his way further south.
"You're so pretty." he palms your breasts, reaching for your collar before ripping it open in one quick movement.
You gasp.
"You like that?" he asks, looking at your exposed breasts.
You nodded quickly.
"Use your words, darling." he glances up at you, looking at you through his lashes.
You swallow, feeling a knot form in your throat. You like this new Spencer. "Yes." you stumble over your words, blood rushing into your cheeks.
"Good." he pushes off the wall and takes you into bedroom where, instead of setting you down on the bed, he puts you on your dresser.
He sets you down and takes a step back. You whine, wanting - no, needing - him back. His lips, his hands, his warmth. You reach out for him but he tuts, shaking his head.
"I just want to look at my pretty princess." he takes a step towards you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look so beautiful." his long fingers reach for your ripped shirt, brushing it aside.
His fingers glide over your skin and you arch your back, pushing your chest out.
"Mmm, if you insist." he licks your left breast and rips your shirt even more. It's completely ripped in half now. He pushes it off of your shoulder and reaches behind you to take off your bra with one hand.
"So pretty." he repeats, more to himself than to you.
Your breasts are right in front of him, nipples hard and ready for him. He takes one in his mouth, sucking and biting. You moan at the sensation, hands flying to their familiar spot in his hair. You inch closer to the edge of the dressers, needing to feel him.
You reach down between you, grabbing his bulge through his pants. Without taking his mouth off of you, Spencer grabs your hand and pulls it away. You complain, wanting to make him feel as good as he's making you feel but he keeps his tight grip on your wrist.
"Please, Spence."
"No." he pulls away from your tit and you groan. "Tonight is about you, baby." he runs a finger down your jaw, stopping in front of you lips.
You part them for him and he places two fingers inside of your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You open wide for him, staring straight into his eyes.
He raises his brow, a silent command. You do as you're told and suck on his fingers, closing your eyes and imagining its something else.
You roll your hips against the dresser, one of your hands goes between your legs to relieve some of the tension but Spencer stops you once more.
"That's my job." he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away.
Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth and you watch as he hooks his fingers under the band of your pants. You lift your hips, letting him take them off completely.
"You're already so wet for me." he sighs as he presses his fingers against you. You moan as he starts drawing small circles against you.
Just like his kisses, they're slow at first. You rock your hips, matching his movements. He seems to like that because he speeds up. Just when you feel that tension build up, he stops.
You frown at him but he doesn't give you enough time to complain before his lips are on you once more. He's kissing you harshly, biting your lower lip and tugging on it. You barely notice when he lifts up once more and plops you down on the bed.
Spencer pulls away from you, leaving you staring at the ceiling and you feel like screaming. Why does he keep stopping? You're about to ask him when you feel another sharp tug. He's taking off your underwear.
You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he kneels down in front of the bed. He tugs you further down and, without warning, presses his mouth against you. You feel his sigh as he starts tasting you.
"Fuck, you taste so good, baby." he moans against you.
You bite your lip, threading your fingers through his soft hair to guide him though he does not need it. He's hitting all the correct spots, going at just the perfect speed, perfect pressure, perfect everything.
You fall back, relaxing against the bed. Spencer places your legs over his shoulders, giving him better access.
"You taste so good." he says as he inserts two fingers into you.
"Fuck, Spence!" you moan.
"Is that good?" he asks.
"Yes! Fuck, that's good."
He slips another finger into you and you nearly cum right there. He hooks his fingers into you, reaching deeper and deeper. You arch your back, feeling close to the edge. It's when he presses his mouth back against your aching cunt that you completely fall over it.
You orgasm against his mouth, riding his face as the pleasure washes over you. You see a combination of stars and fireworks behind your eyes and dig the heel of your feet into his back.
Spencer says nothing as you ride out your orgasms, keeping his mouth on you at all times. Once you're finally done, he pulls away. You're panting on the bed, your chest rapidly falling and rising.
You see him stand up and undo his tie, keeping it hanging around his neck.
"That felt so good, Spence." you say, half-laughing.
"Yeah? You did so well for me."
You feel the bed dip as he climbs over you. His mouth is wet and you can taste yourself on his lips when he begins to kiss you. He lets his entire weight crush you, pressing his hips against your naked cunt. He's hard, you roll your hips against him as he kisses you, wanting him to feel some sort of release.
In one quick movement, he rolls you over. You smile into the kiss, excited for whatever comes next. Spencer sits both of you up, moving you to the edge of the bed.
He pulls back and brushes his hair over your shoulder, exposing your chest. He kisses the top of your breast, sucking the soft skin until surely a hickey starts to form. You roll your hips against him, reeling in how good the material of his trousers feel against you.
"You want me to feel good?" he asks, looking up at you.
"Yeah." you say as you ride him.
Spencer nods and you put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. He smiles, crossing his arms behind his head and watching you roll your hips.
You move to get off him so you can suck his dick but he stops you.
"No." is all he says.
"No?" you ask.
He shakes his head.
You smile, liking a challenge. You place your hand flat against your stomach, slowly guiding it upwards until your left tit is in your hand, you squeeze it, giving him a good show. He arches an eyebrow and you wink.
Your other hand goes to his stomach, using it to hold yourself up as you continue to ride him. You glance down and see a wet patch in his pants form from were your cunt has been.
"You're gonna have to wash these pants." you laugh.
"Have to?" he asks.
You glance up at him and blush.
"I want you to come using only my leg." he suddenly says.
"What?" your hips freeze in response to his words.
"Did I say stop?" he asks, one of his hands going to your hips to coax you into moving. "No. I said I want you to come using only my leg."
You lick your lips and nod. Sure, you can do that. You roll your hips once and gasp at the sensation. You do it again, closing your eyes and throwing your head back. You squeeze your breast before releasing it. You reach down to the first button of his shirt and carefully undo it.
Shyly, you glance up at him, asking for permission to continue. Spencer gives it to you with a quick nod. You undo his shirt, exposing his chest and stomach. You place both hands on Spencer's bare stomach and lean forward, resting your bodyweight on him.
You open your eyes and stare into his as you begin to roll your hips. His trousers are the perfect friction against your cunt. You can already tell you're close. You imagine the satisfaction of feeling him inside of you.
"And after, you'll fuck me?" you ask him.
"Yes, of course, you've been so good. So so good, I'll just have to fuck you." he's just lying there, staring up at you, gaze flickering from your bouncing tits to your desperate face.
You feel yourself tighten around nothing and, forgetting his words, you reach down to push yourself over the edge. It's quick, two strokes of your index and middle finger and your orgasm overtakes your body. You keep rubbing yourself against him.
However, you're quickly pulled out of your orgasm as Spencer flips you over. You feel so dazed, you can do nothing but whimper as he grabs your hands and pulls them behind you. You vaguely feel as he wraps something around your wrists, constraining you. It's soft and silky - his tie.
You're still confused when he pulls your hips up, your bare ass right in front of him. It's his cock slamming into you that finally snaps you out of your daze.
"Fuck!" you yell, pulling on the constraint, wanting to place a hand before you.
He surprises you once more with a sharp sting on your ass.
"I said only my leg." he growls. "You little slut, did I say you could use your fingers?"
He slams into you once more, pushing you further into the mattress and drowning whatever you were going to say. You open your mouth, spit pooling on the sheets, and let moan after moan spill out of you. You're so sensitive you can feel your next orgasm ready to bubble over. He lifts your ass further and smacks it again.
You hiss at the sensation, wondering what he's using to smack you. Though the loud slap of skin on skin is filling the room, you can hear his groans as he slams into you repeatedly. He's fucking you harder than he's even fucked you before. His left hand tightly grips your waist, holding you up because you can barely do that yourself.
"Answer me! Did I say you could use your fingers?" he slams into you.
"No, no." you stutter, your vision is clouding with pleasure.
"Then why did you?" he smacks you again.
It then that you realise it's his belt he's using to smack your ass.
The thought alone pushes you into your third orgasm. You clench around him and bite down on your lower lip.
He drops the belt and reaches between you, his fingers quickly drawing circles on your clit. You're shaking as you reach your peak, barely able to get a single word out. Spencer cums in you soon after, slamming into you once, twice, until he collapses on top of you.
Your mind is still cloudy as he rolls off of you and takes off the constraint. He pulls you close to him and kisses you as you come down from your high. You press yourself into him and gently kiss his chest, wrapping yourself around him so you're locked together like two pieces of a puzzle.
"Hey." he says, pulling away just enough to see you.
"Hi." you hazily smile up at him.
"Was that good?" his voice is much softer now and he even looks a bit shy, maybe even unsure.
"Yeah, yeah." you pull away wanting to asure him. "It was perfect. I, well, I honestly didn't know you had it in you." you wink at him, poking his cheek.
"Shut up." he rolls his eyes and laughs.
"It was hot, Dr. Reid." you feel his cock twitch at the sound of his title. "Oh?" you glance down between you and look up at him, grinning.
"Shush." he repeats, burying his head in your hair.
"If there's something you need to tell me, Dr. Reid, you can tell me." you're just teasing but the way he looks up at you makes your legs clench.
spencer shares details of a case with you - with a hands-on learning approach
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: smut (18+ mdni)
content warnings: case information from 10x17 "breath play", erotic asphyxiation, choking, fingering, praise kink, aftercare, explicit consent, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, dacryphilia (ish), established relationship dl;dr.
word count: 1.74k
a/n: im no longer afraid of being perceived on the internet (lie) and will begin writing whatever i want (truth). including this.
“How was work?” You asked hesitantly, looking across the couch to where Spencer was sitting. He was lost in thought, although, you supposed if you had just returned from Wisconsin, you’d feel relatively similar.
Spencer hummed absentmindedly in response while flipping through the pages of the file he brought home with him. “The UnSub certainly had a unique signature,” he answered, dragging his thumb across his lower lip in thought.
You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, “Oh, yeah?” It wasn’t often that Spencer shared details of cases with you, usually because the information he’d be divulging was privileged, but you shuffled over a cushion in hopes that he’d share with you. “What was it?”
He reached over and ruffled your hair affectionately, “He had a particular affinity for erotic asphyxiation. Each of his victims had read this book, Bare Reflections, and that’s how he found them – through sexual fantasies.”
Furrowing your brows, you rested your face in your hand, “So like… sex choking?”
“Yes, love. Like sex choking,” Spencer said, not without humor, before getting up and going to the kitchen, asking you if you needed anything as he did.
When he returned, sitting down on the couch and flipping the file back open, you leaned to the side and said, “I never got the whole choking thing. Not being able to breathe never seemed very sexy to me.”
At that, Spencer closed the file he was scribbling in and set it on the coffee table, “It’s not meant to fully restrict your breathing. At least, not if you’re doing it properly.”
“And you know how to do it properly?” You challenged, raising a single brow at your boyfriend.
He laughed breathily at your test, “I know human anatomy well enough to know not to press on your trachea.”
You fail to hide the way your eyes widen when he speaks to you, his use of the words ‘your trachea’ implying that he is now thinking about choking you. “Cool,” you responded, your brain spinning as you began to think about Spencer’s hand on your throat.
“Come here,” Spencer spoke up, already grabbing your waist and sliding you across the worn leather of the couch. He carefully guided your body over his own until you’re straddling him – one knee on either side of his hips. “You’re a kinesthetic learner, you’ll do better with a hands-on approach.”
Letting a shuddered breath loose, you met Spencer’s eyes, “Hi,” you whispered, keeping your voice low as if you were sharing a secret in a crowded room. Without waiting for him to move, you ducked your head and pressed your lips to his. Quickly, Spencer’s lips coaxed yours open, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.
Spencer’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing your chest to his so that you could feel the buttons of his work shirt through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. You were severely underdressed compared to him, lounging in just a t-shirt and underwear while he was wearing his work attire – it just added to the power dynamic you were navigating.
Gently, Spencer tugged at your lower lip, taking the flesh between his teeth before pulling away from the kiss. “Do you trust me?” He asked, loosening his hold on you, and instead running his hands down your arms in a soothing manner.
Straightening up, you nodded, “Yes,” you responded, reaching a hand up and grabbing a fistful of his shirt.
Lifting his dominant hand to your neck, your breathing faltered as he put his hand at the front of your neck, the thumb on one side and the remainder of his fingers on the opposite. “Is this alright?” He murmured, using his free hand to trace small circles on your inner thigh, leaving you wishing you could press your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction.
“Yes,” you repeated yourself, taking the inside of your cheek between your molars and sighing when he moved his hand from your leg.
Nodding assuredly, Spencer brushed your hair from your face, his dominant hand never straying from its newfound home on your throat. “Good, I’m going to keep asking because we’ve never talked about this before,” he informed you. “I won’t fully restrict your airway. If you need me to stop at any point, just tap my arm three times.”
His words led you to relax. The two of you left almost everything on the table, and you were usually good about discussing things ahead of time. You were sure he’d start doing things he knows you like in order to put you at ease. “Thank you,” you whispered, studying his golden irises.
“Such good manners for me, angel,” he praised you, noting the way your back straightens up when he does so. “When I squeeze the sides of your throat like this,” he said, keeping his voice gentle as his hand tightened around your neck, “I’m stopping some of the air from getting to your brain, which makes you feel lightheaded, and when I let go,” he released his firm hold, “You feel a release of dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins that make your head spin.”
As Spencer guided you through the process, you felt yourself getting needier. Humming lowly as you came down from the high, you noticed Spencer’s hand back between your thighs – you couldn’t tell when he had moved his hand, you were too preoccupied.
You held your breath as his hand slipped into your panties, “Hey,” he chided, snapping you out of your anticipation. “Don’t hold your breath,” he says sternly, “I won’t touch you if you hold your breath.”
Pointedly taking a deep breath, it took all of your focus to maintain your breathing as he gently slid a finger between your folds, the wet noise only muffled by the fabric of your underwear. Tentatively, Spencer slipped his finger inside you, swirling it around your inner walls before pulling it out and pushing it back in, squeezing the sides of your throat as he started fingering you at a steady pace.
“Do you feel that?” He asked, continuing the pace he had set, keeping his voice low as he spoke to you. “How when I squeeze your throat your cunt tightens around my finger?”
Reaching a hand up, you gripped his forearm and placed your other hand on his shoulder, trying to steady yourself and desperately needing something to do with your hands. You let out a soft moan as he easily added another finger to his ministrations, your volume growing louder as he released your throat. Your skin flushed as you bit your bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling.
Quickly squeezing your neck, Spencer brought your attention back down to him, “Keep your eyes on me, love.”
You nodded almost imperceptibly in response, blinking rapidly, but leaving your head where Spencer held it – gently forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he started curling his fingers inside of you, pushing his fingertips against your inner walls. “Spence,” you whispered, letting out a low whine as you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly.
“Did you wanna cum? Make a mess all over my hand?” Spencer asked tantalizingly, resuming pressure on your throat before you even had a chance to respond to him. He was enjoying this just as much as you were.
As you maintained eye contact with Spencer, he began to press the heel of his palm against your clit, the pressure only adding to your lightheadedness. With his hand on your neck, your moans come out garbled, forcing their way through your body. “Fuck,” the word came out as a hiss as tears gathered in your lower lash line. Between the pressure on your clit and throat and the continuing ministrations of his digits, your orgasm built up quickly.
In-kind with the pressure on your throat, you squeezed firmly at Spencer’s forearm, and he watched carefully to make sure that you weren’t trying to tap on his arm.
Your tears flooded over the edge, slowly streaming down your cheeks. You blinked to clear your eyes, but you didn’t let your eye contact with Spencer waver.
A small whimper escaped your throat, and Spencer hummed, “There you go, angel.” He said, nodding as his fingers continued working you to your peak, “I know,” he cajoled when you whined again. “I know. Let it go for me,” he murmured, watching as your body shuddered.
Once your orgasm hits its zenith, Spencer released his hold on your neck, moving his hand to your shoulder to keep you upright while your pussy spasmed around his still-thrusting fingers. Endorphins flooded your mind, prolonging your orgasm for god knows how long until he finally withdrew his fingers from your underwear.
While you remembered how to breathe, Spencer moved his hand from your shoulder to your back, gently pressing on your spine and letting your body fall forward. “I knew you’d like that,” he whispered mischievously, and if you had the energy, you would have rolled your eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Groaning, you buried your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, “Jell-O,” you responded simply.
Your eyes were barely open as Spencer reached over for a tissue box, wiping your slick off of his hand before slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your panties. You whined and tried to push his hand away, “I know, baby. I just want to wipe you up a bit.” He told you before gathering your wetness on the tissue, wrapping it up and placing it on the end table.
“Toss it,” you mumbled sleepily, ignorant of the fact that you’re still in his lap.
Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “When you feel like moving, I’ll clean up.” He reached over for a glass of water from the end table, grabbing it from its coaster and trying to hand it to you, “Come on, you need water.”
Sighing, you forced your eyes open, “’m tired,” you told him, reaching a shaky hand up for the glass.
Spencer kept a hand on the glass as you drank from it, setting it back down when you were done and smiling softly at your sleepy nature. “Rehydrating is a nonnegotiable,” he whispered gently, but you were already asleep - or close enough to it that you didn’t respond.
can you do teddyboy Paul McCartney eating gf readers pussy for the first time (a first for both of them) 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 your work is written so well like it’s actually fun to read instead of just reading out of boredom yk like im obsessed
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