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[haydenssweetheart]

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[hotchreiid]

⋆.˚ Dancing On My Own

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

i'm right over here, why can't you see me?

Spencer finally makes his move after watching you dance with another man at the bar, and it goes better than he ever could have expected.

ellie talks- my god this got out of hand, i hope you enjoy because i really loved writing it.

wc- 4.4k

cw- jealous!Spencer, s1!Spencer, unprotected p in v, idiots in love

The flashing neon lights of the crowded bar did nothing but give Spencer a headache. Statistically, the ambient noise level in the room was somewhere around eighty-five decibels, sustained exposure could cause acoustic trauma. But that wasn’t why his chest felt compressed. No, that was all you. The thumping bass vibrated straight through the floorboards, but he couldn’t feel it, he was completely numb. Slouched in the corner of a booth, Hotch and Morgan conversing from either side of him, each word spoken falling onto deaf, ringing ears. His forgotten drink sat sweating in front of him, the condensation forming a pool around the bottom of the glass. His eyes, usually so bright and animated when explaining a new theory, were fixed entirely on the center of the flashing strobe lights. On you.

You were out on the floor with Penelope, the two of you laughing, spinning and carelessly screaming the lyrics to each other. To anyone else, you looked like you were having the time of your life, but every few seconds, under the guise of tossing your hair, or turning to the rhythm, your eyes did a subconscious sweep of the room. You were looking for the only person in the bar wearing a cardigan, one that never matched his socks, and the prettiest brown eyes you’d ever seen. When you found him, your heart squeezed in the most familiar way.  Every time you laughed, Spencer’s chest tightened with an agonizing ache. He had loved you in silence for months, entirely paralyzed by his own insecurity. The conversation around him stopped, Morgan waving a hand in front of his face to bring him back to the moment. Spencer blinked, his cheeks flushing as he glanced at Morgan before focusing back on his drink as if it could save him from the upcoming topic of conversation. 

“If you stare any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole through the back of her shirt. Go. Over. There.” 

Spencer swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he adjusted his collar. “Statistically, invading someone’s personal space while they are engaged in an enjoyable activity reduces the likelihood of a positive reception. I can’t just interrupt her when she’s dancing with someone else.” 

Hotch set his drink down at Spencer’s other side, the glass clunking against the table. His face was a mask of deadpan seriousness. “Sure you can. It’s only Garcia.”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard. “Hotch, that’s a violation of social-”

“Watch.” Morgan interrupted with a grin, shooting Spencer a wink before sliding out of the booth. He strolled onto the dance floor with an easy, unbothered confidence. With a smooth laugh, Morgan slid right between you and Penelope, spinning her into his arms and pulling her into a dramatic, laughing dip. She shrieked with delight, completely distracted and leaving you standing alone in the center of the crowd. You laughed, your bright, brilliant laugh, as you watched Morgan spin Penelope away. 

Spencer’s heart leaped into his throat as he watched you scan the crowd, he could practically see the cogs in your brain turning, wondering whether to stay, to get another drink, to retreat entirely. Your eyes caught his, and you gave a smile and a small wave. For a second, you held your breath, silently begging him to just come over. You had been nursing a massive crush on him for months, tired of the stolen glances over case files and the lingering touches when handing off coffee cups. You wanted him here, with you. Before he could slide out of the booth, a tall, broad-shouldered man, a local detective from the precinct they had spent the week working with, stepped into the void Morgan had left. 

“Mind if I steal a dance?” the detective asked over the music, flashing a handsome, easy smile. A sudden spark of defiant annoyance flaring up in your chest. If Spencer was going to stay glued to that booth forever, you weren’t going to spend your night waiting around.

“Not at all,” you said, returning the smile. You stepped closer to him, intentionally leaning into the heavy rhythm of the song. As the detective’s hand came to rest firmly on the small of your back, your eyes drifted back to the booth, one last lingering glance at Spencer before the detective leaned down to talk over the music again.

Spencer froze, his breath hitching. 

The detective leaned down, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he shouted a joke over the bass, and you threw your head back and laughed. You let your hands rest lightly on the detective’s chest, moving fluidly with him under the flashing strobe lights. Every time the strobe light cut through the darkness, it illuminated the agonizingly small distance between your body, and this other man’s. Seeing you move so easily with someone else, seeing your hands on another man’s chest, snapped something inside Spencer. A heavy wave of jealousy, entirely foreign to his gentle nature, flooded his veins. The suffocating anxiety vanished, replaced by a sudden, reckless confidence driven by sheer desperation. He couldn’t just sit here and analyze his own heartbreak anymore, or he was going to lose you. 

Hotch’s eyes lifted as Spencer stood from the booth, following him up, for once not slouching to minimize his lanky frame. “Atta boy.” He muttered into his glass as he took a sip. 

He didn’t hesitate, pushing his way through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, still muttering apologies to everyone he bumped into until he reached you. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise as Spencer stepped directly into your space. “Excuse me.” He said, the words were aimed at the detective, but his eyes didn’t leave your face. His voice wasn’t frantic, it was low and steady, carrying an unexpected authority that made the detective blink in confusion. 

“Spen-”

His hands, usually so careful, so hesitant to initiate physical contact, lifted to your face, cupping your head between his hands, cutting you off by bringing his mouth down to yours before he could think twice. The kiss knocked the wind right out of you, it was frantic, needy, and fuelled by a desperate jealousy that poured straight from his soul to yours. The music faded around you, becoming nothing but a vibration under your feet. You let out a soft whimper against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull your body flush against his. One of his hands moved to the small of your back, lifting you slightly as he anchored you against him. 

Behind you, the detective opened his mouth to protest, but a quick, warning glance from Morgan over the top of Penelope’s head made him think twice. He raised his hands in defeat, disappearing into the crowd, muttering under his breath.

When Spencer finally pulled back, just a fraction of an inch, both of your breaths came in ragged gasps as his forehead rested against yours. “Don’t do that to me again,” Spencer murmured against your lips, his voice thick with a quiet confidence that made you shiver. “Don’t make me watch you dance with anyone else.”

You smiled against his lips, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ask me before anyone else does then.” 

He laughed breathlessly, pulling his lip into his mouth as he shook his head gently. “You’re dancing with me now.” He said, bumping his nose against yours gently. 

“Oh yeah?” You teased, laughing softly as he nodded, his eyes dropping to your mouth as his hands moved to your waist, his thumbs brushing your hips through your clothes. “I think I might be done dancing…” You said, your hands brushing against his forearms as you tilted your head. “Wanna get out of here?” 

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh,” he murmured, a wave of disappointment flooding his face as his thoughts rushed through his brain, wondering why as soon as he wanted to dance with you, your mind changed- “Oh.” He repeated once the penny dropped, his eyebrows raising in realisation, the look of amusement on your face making his cheeks flush pink. “Um.. yeah- yes.” He nodded, 

“Yeah,” you hummed, your hand finding his on your waist and lacing your fingers through his, pulling him away from the dance floor. Hotch and Morgan shared a look of amusement as Spencer stumbled after you as you made your way to the exit. The cold air hit you both like a wall, the scent of petrichor surrounding you as the sheets of rain fell over the sidewalk. 

“The hotel is exactly point-four miles away,” Spencer said, a breathless, boyish grin breaking through his previous intensity. “It would take approxim-”

“Shut up and run!” you laughed, squeezing his hand as you took off into the pouring rain. You both were instantly soaked, the warm summer rain drenching your clothes and flattening Spencer’s hair against his forehead. You ran down the slippery pavement, your shared laughter echoing off the brick buildings. Spencer’s long legs easily kept pace, his fingers locking tightly around yours. The sheer, chaotic joy of sprinting through a rainstorm with you made his chest feel like it was bursting. 

By the time you burst through the heavy glass doors of the hotel lobby, you were both completely breathless, dripping wet, and giggling like children. You stopped near the front desk, puddles already forming around your shoes as Spencer’s hand lifted to your jaw again, his eyes softening as the remnants of laughter lingered in the creases around his eyes. He leaned down, his lips ghosting yours, only to freeze at the sound of a gravelly clearing of someone’s throat, the noise cutting through the private bubble around you like a knife. 

Spencer straightened, and both of you turned towards the noise. Standing near the elevators, holding a paper cup of black coffee and a folder of case notes, was Jason Gideon. His expression unreadable, observant and entirely impossible to fool. His sharp eyes scanned the two of you, taking in your tangled hair, Spencer’s crooked collar, and the close proximity of your bodies. “Um.. hi.” Spencer greeted him, his voice tight, “What are you… It’s the- what are you doing down here?”

“I was getting a coffee, Reid.” Gideon answered, calmly taking a slow sip from his cup. His eyes flicked down to your hands, still joined together, and then back up to Spencer’s face, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t stay up too late.” He said, his voice dripping with dry amusement, stepping past you both as your face burned, your fingers loosening on Spencer’s hand, trying to maintain some semblance of professional boundaries, but Spencer actually tightened his grip, refusing to let go. “We have an early flight back to Quantico tomorrow. Both of you.” He said as he patted Spencer’s shoulder and stepped into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed, and Gideon was out of sight, you looked up at Spencer, his wide eyes meeting yours. There was a split second of silence before you both fell into another fit of giggles as you buried your face against his wet shoulder. “Oh my god, I think I just felt my soul die.” 

Spencer laughed, his chin resting on the top of your head for a moment before the second elevator doors opened, and he pulled you inside. The elevator ride up to the fourth floor as a masterclass in agonizing restraint. You were both dripping wet, the elevator’s fluorescent lights reflecting off the damp sheen of Spencer’s skin and the dark hair plastered to his forehead. Every time the elevator jolted, your shoulders brushed, sending a shock of electricity straight down your spine. Spencer’s eyes were fixed on the illuminated floor numbers tracking slowly upward, his hand still tightly wrapped around yours. The doors chimed and slid open on the fourth floor, and you stepped out of the elevator, tripping over your own feet as you tried to keep up with his pace, laughing breathlessly as you fumbled in your bag for the plastic keycard. 

“Spence, wait- I cant find-”

“I got it.” He muttered, his large hand reached into your bag, his fingers brushing yours as he snagged the card. He swiped it against the electronic lock, the little light flashing green with a heavy click. The moment the door swung open, you pulled him inside by the lapel of his cardigan, the door heaving shut behind you, the lock engaging with a snap. The room was pitch black, illuminated only by the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains, but you didn’t need to see. Spencer’s hands caught your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling your damp bodies against each other as his mouth found yours in the dark. 

It was a chaotic, beautiful mess of hands and heat. Neither of you wanted to break the kiss, which made navigating the small entryway completely disastrous. You walked backwards blindly, your heel catching on the edge of the carpet. You stumbled, letting out a sharp gasp, but Spencer’s grip on your waist tightened, his long legs adjusting to keep you both upright. You giggled against his mouth, Spencer’s own breathless laugh catching it as you continued to move. 

You reached for his wet button down, your fingers slipping against the damp fabric as you tried to undo the buttons. Your movements were clumsy, fueled by a desperate need to feel his skin, and you accidentally ripped the third button right off the threads. It hit the carpet with a tiny, unnoticed thump. Spencer groaned into the kiss, his hands moving from your waist to the hem of your wet shirt. He tried to pull it up, but the damp fabric clung stubbornly to your skin. You had to break the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you laughing breathlessly, your arms getting tangled in the fabric as he helped you yank it over your head and toss it blindly into the darkness. 

The moment your skin was free, his hands were back, warm and trembling slightly against your ribs. He backed you up further into the room, his knees bumping against the edge of the heavy wooden nightstand. A stray notepad and a hotel pen rattled loudly, threatening to fall, but neither of you cared. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck again, pulling him down and meeting his lips with an intensity that made your head spin.

Spencer’s hands shifted to your hips, his thumbs digging in gently, guiding your steps until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You collapsed backward onto the bed, the sudden shift pulling Spencer down right on top of you. He caught his weight on his forearms, framing your head, his chest heaving as he looked down at you in the dim light. His wet hair dripped a single, cool drop of rain onto your collarbone, making you shiver, but the heat radiating from his body completely erased the chill.

Spencer looked at you, his brown eyes wide, vulnerable, and completely consumed by you. The reckless confidence from the bar was still there, but now it was mixed with a raw reverence that made your chest tight.

"You're freezing," he whispered, his thumb gently wiping a stray drop of rain from your cheek.

"I'm not," you breathed, reaching up to cup his face, pulling him down until there was no space left between you at all. "Fix it.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He let his weight settle completely against you, the heavy, grounding heat of his body pressing you deep into the mattress. His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, a low groan vibrating in his chest as your fingers tangled firmly into his damp hair.

Every touch felt charged, a chaotic release of months of tension. His hands fumbled at his own shirt, finally managing to strip the ruined, wet fabric from his shoulders and toss it to the floor. When his bare chest pressed against yours, a gasp caught in your throat. He felt solid, warm, and entirely yours. You let out a shaky breath, your hands sliding down the smooth plane of his back, feeling the tense muscles of his shoulders relax under your touch. Your fingertips continued down his back, a shiver running up his spine at the gentle touch. 

He let his hips roll forwards as your leg moved over his hip, his hand sliding down to your thigh to keep it against him. The friction had him gasp into your mouth, his skin goose-pimpling under your fingertips as you skimmed over his waist towards his belt. He broke the kiss to lower his eyes, his forehead resting against yours as he watched you pull open the buckle of his belt, the metal cool against your fingers. He met your eyes when you lifted them to his, watching his eyebrows soften as you pulled open the button, followed by the zipper of his pants. 

His face dropped to your neck, his mouth teasing at the skin just below your ear as he moved his hand that was firm against your thigh to return the favour. His fingers easing open the button of your pants as you pulled his own past his hips. “You-” he whispered against your neck before bringing his head back up to look at you, his hair hanging in your face, and his pupils blown, locked onto yours. “You're sure?” He asked as his fingers curled around the waistband of your pants, a flash of his usual anxiety crowding his face before he masked it. 

You brought one of your hands up to his face, the back of your fingers gently tracing along his cheek as you nodded. “I'm sure, Spence.” you murmured, your thumb tucking underneath the waistband of his briefs, the action making a soft groan escape his mouth as his eyes squeezed closed. He kicked off his pants, the fabric landing somewhere on the carpet, before his trembling fingers slowly shifted yours past your hips. You lifted up to make the motion easier for him, his eyes tracing every new inch of skin revealed to him as he peeled the wet fabric from your legs. His breath caught at the sight of you beneath him, your chest heaving behind your bra, a sliver of lace at your hips. He swallowed hard, his hand landing tentatively at your calf before sliding up your smooth skin as he leaned back down, the only barrier between you now was two thin pieces of fabric. 

His arousal became incredibly clear as he pressed himself flush against you, the hard line of his cock straining against his briefs as his fingertips traced up your ribs, his touch feather-light as he brushed them against your breast. His hand cupped you through your bra when he heard your soft moan, his lips pressing against your neck as he massaged gently. His thumb ghosted over your nipple, making your back arch up, pressing harder against him as your eyes fluttered closed. “Spence,” you sighed, your nails scraping his shoulder gently as his lips continued their path towards yours, catching them in a reverent, searing kiss. Your other hand moved down, gently palming at him through his briefs, stalling his movements as his brain froze, every neuron in his brain firing south. 

He moaned against you as your hand dipped beneath the fabric, your palm wrapping around his length, the contact making his jaw stutter open, gasping against you as his eyebrows furrowed when you began to move, slow, and sensual with a deliberate small twist of your wrist. “Oh-” he sighed into your mouth, “my god..” 

You smiled, the movement of your wrist staying steady in the same, gradual rhythm, enjoying the soft moans, and the twitching of his stomach, his hips bucking forwards into your hand with each movement of your palm against him. He regained composure enough to move his fingers, pulling back the lace covering your breast, and lowering his lips to your nipple. His lips brushed the peaked bud, his tongue tracing your sensitive skin, tasting the lingering rain water, and something so uniquely you that it lit his nerve endings on fire. You moaned, your hand closing around his cock tighter, the extra pressure forcing a whimper from his throat as he shifted his weight, freeing his hand to slide underneath the lace of your underwear. 

His long, slender fingers dipped through your folds, gathering your arousal to circle your clit gently, matching the rhythm of your hand against him. “Fuck- Spence-” you sighed, your back arching, as you wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into a fervent kiss. The reaction from your body giving him the confidence to slide his middle finger inside you, inhaling deeply as your hand tightened around him in return. He continued the measured pace, his finger crooking at just the right angle to coax more soft moans to spill from your lips, pouring into his mouth. His cock twitched against your palm, his hips bucking into your hand, desperate for more, desperate to close the distance he had been wishing away for months. The twitching grew more frantic, and you lifted your hips, and he wasted no time, withdrawing his finger and pulling the lace down your legs, before awkwardly kicking his briefs off, shaking his foot with a breathy laugh as the fabric caught around his ankle. You giggled as his cheeks flushed from embarrassment, and reached up to pull him back down between your thighs. 

His forearm settled by your head, clearing his throat softly as he twisted the end of your hair between his fingers, pressing another soft, gentle kiss to your lips. His hand moved down, positioning himself against you, his eyes shifting back up to you, locking onto yours with the silent question of permission. When you smiled softly, he inhaled a deep, shaky breath, and pushed his hips forward, sinking into you inch by inch. “Oh my go-” He whined, his forehead dropping to yours as his eyes squeezed shut tightly. You moaned, your fingertips dragging across his shoulders before digging into his biceps, your back arching and your chest pressing flush against his. 

“Spencer- fuck-” You whispered as he pulled back before rolling his hips forward again, setting a tender, gentle rhythm. His fingers curled around your jaw as his mouth lowered back onto yours, both breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, chests heaving against each other, growing slick with sweat as he continued. His head spun with the sensations, feeling you beneath him, your head in his hands, your body enveloping him as you lifted your leg to hook over his hip. The way your nails were biting into his shoulders, sure to leave little marks behind, spurred him on as his hair fell into his eyes, brushing against your forehead. His anxiety was being kept quiet by the sounds you made, the moans, the gasps as he rolled his hips forward, the way you kissed him back with the same passion he felt for you. 

The drag of his cock through you had your head dizzy, the scent of him, sweat and rain and his one of a kind cologne, all bringing your body to a high you had never felt before. One of your hands moved into his hair, tightening in the strands to pull another whimper from him. His hips stuttered as he whispered against your lips, “you feel incredible.” 

He felt you tighten around him at the words, his hand resting against your hip, holding your thigh against him. His fingers dug into your skin as he buried his face against your neck, desperately trying to hold onto his composure, but with the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way you squeezed around him with every drag of his hips, and the way you sighed his name, soft and breathy into his ear, was making it incredibly difficult. 

You reached a hand between your bodies, the pads of your fingertips finding your clit, circling slowly, in time with the movement of his hips. He gasped as he brought his lips back to yours, not kissing you, but resting his lips against yours as you moaned louder, the sound combined with the way you were fluttering around him, the way you were desperately grasping his hair as if you were trying to pull him impossibly closer, it became his undoing. Lightning shot behind his eyes as his hips stalled, groaning loudly into your mouth as his body locked up, his hips stuttering as the pleasure rippled through his body. His release triggered yours, your eyebrows furrowing as you tugged his hair harder, pulling his forehead against yours. 

The heavy downpour had finally tapered off into a soft, steady hum against the windowpane. Inside the dimly lit room, the air was warm, and quiet. Spencer lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. One of his long arms thrown over his head, his hair now dried and splayed against the pillow. You lay next to him, your head resting against his shoulder, tracing lazy, soft patterns against his palm. Without opening his eyes, Spencer interlaced his fingers with yours, tightening his grip just enough to anchor you to him. You smiled into the darkness, pressing a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. “M’not going anywhere.” You mumbled against his skin. “All yours.” You teased in a sleepy whisper. A soft laugh, vibrated against you, the sound beautifully warm against your hair. He opened his eyes just a crack, looking down at you in the shadows, his brown eyes incredibly soft and entirely devoid of his usual hyper-analytical tension. 

“Actually,” Spencer murmured, his voice thick with sleep, “statistically speaking, contact during the initial stages of sleep regulation reduces cortisol levels and increases oxytocin production by up to forty percent. It… it stabilises the sleep cycle.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, squeezing his hand. Even completely exhausted and blissfully content, he couldn’t help himself. “Is that right, Dr. Reid?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, his eyelids fluttering shut again. He lifted your joined hands up, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the back of your knuckles before settling them back against the mattress. “But qualitatively speaking… I just like holding your hand. I’ve wanted to do it for a really long time.”

Your heart melted, a deep wave of affection washing over you. “Me too, Spence.” You whispered, shifting closer to curl against his side as his arm wrapped around your waist. His grip on your hand remaining firm, warm, and utterly unyielding as you both finally drifted off to sleep, safely tangled together in the quiet of the night.

[haydenssweetheart]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZN81BH52A/

about to make like eve and eat that apple fr

[haydenssweetheart]

s.reid x fem!bau reader- 18+mdni

warnings: explicit smut, dirty talk, soft!dom spencer, oral (f recieving), nipple stimulation, brief fingering, unprotected piv sex, lowkey fluffy smut if thats a thing bc reader & spencer just missed each other

it’s been a long case, a week of exhausting nights and drives across county lines, that no one was truly expecting. not only were you tired, you were ashamed to say incredibly horny.

you hadn’t had alone time with your boyfriend, spencer reid, since you left, and it was slowly killing you. it’s not like you were some nympho, but not getting any sort of physical contact from him while also listening to him spit out statistics awkwardly and simultaneously pushing up his glasses almost was the death of you.

now, your leg was bouncing on the jet. you couldn’t sit still. you knew as soon as you got back, he would go to your apartment. or yours, his. it didn’t matter to you, especially not now. you were trying not to let your mind drift into the possibilities of tonight as you were sat in front of hotch, and he was already giving you a strange look.

“you okay?”

“oh, fine. just need some real rest. that’s all.” you resist looking at spencer, although you know his eyes are on you; you can feel them boring into the side of your face.

“it’ll be much deserved.” he nods and goes back to shuffling through files.

you would’ve sat next to him this flight. it’s not like your relationship was secret. but you feared for your lack of control and you definitely couldn’t have yourself running wild in front of your colleagues.

by some will, you managed to last the flight. you didn't look at spencer once, which you knew would have him quizzing you in the car ride home, but you really couldn't afford it right now. maybe it was because you were so sleep deprived, that all your emotions were going wild. a question that actually, could be answered by spencer himself, you were sure.

you dropped your things off at your desk, waving goodnight to jj and emily as they headed out, mentioning they couldn't last another minute without laying down.

you felt him before you saw him.

"hey." you're shoving files into a drawer in your desk, so you turn up to look at him, concern etched into his features.

"hi." you half smile, while you slam the drawer closed, unsure if it shuts properly but you're beyond caring at this point.

"is everything okay? you were acting strange on the plane." a pause and then his mouth opens again, as if he was going to say more, but stops.

"can we go? i don't care where. i mean, i do. yours or mine. but leave. please." you don't really answer his question, because you're sure he'll figure it out soon enough.

"yeah. yeah, of course." his eyebrows knit even deeper into a confused look, but he offers his hand, guiding you out of the building. "i mean, if i did something, you can tell me. or if you feel sick? do you feel sick?" he still can't seem to figure out the problem, his grip a little tighter in your hand as he asks, as if there is a problem that he caused. in a way, yes, and only he can resolve it.

you settle into his car. "no spencer, you didn't do anything. and i'm not sick."

the stoplights illuminate his face, processing your words. "well, what is it?"

you almost giggle, because he's made such a big deal out of your small problem. "spence, i just really, really, need you."

you see his cheeks tint pink, not fully, but enough that you can tell he's flustered. "you could've told me sooner, i'm sure we could've found time on the trip. not that it would've been efficient. or professional. people in work rel-"

"just make it up to me." you feel like a schoolgirl as you lean over the console to kiss his cheek. you notice the speed in which he was driving, increases significantly, letting you know he was just as needy as you were.

the urgency in which he has you inside his apartment has you weak, already desperate for him, but knowing your words got to him, makes you feel like you could explode. his lips are all over you, your lips, neck, exposed collarbone, jaw, anywhere he could find on what was available to him as he pressed you against the wall in his hallway, barely past the front door.

"spencer." you hummed as he kissed below your jaw, sucking softly. his height compared to yours had his frame bent down, his head buried into the crook of your neck. heat was pooling inside of you, undying, and like a fire that couldn't stop growing. you rocked your hips against him, his length hitting your clit.

"if we hadn't just come back from a case where we got maybe twenty hours of sleep the whole week," he pauses to look at you, where you can see the desire burning in them, his pupils that almost were competely dark. "i would take you on every single piece of furniture i own." and then his lips were on yours again, making your legs weak. his knee found itself in between your willingly open legs, right against your cunt, bumping your clit. your fingers gripped tighter into his hair, the kisses becoming needier. he moved sloppy against your lips, sucking on your bottom lip before releasing and capturing them over again.

"need you. need to feel you." you plead, because if he teased you for another second, you might just finish from his knee. and that wasn't satisfying enough for you. you practically drag him to his own room, the both of you stripping your clothes in between kisses, as if it was painful to stop.

you know the both of you are tired but the need to touch each other outweighs the thought of sleep. you lay back on his bed, letting him hover over you, the sheer intimacy of just looking at each other this closely making you squirm. he kisses down your body slowly, seemingly savoring each spot, making chills run down your body. he stops at your breasts, running his tongue along your nipple gingerly, causing your hips to raise, back arching at the new feeling. you can feel a smile form on his face against your chest at your reaction, before fully attaching his mouth to it, his other hand finding the opposite breast, his fingers tweaking your nipple. the differing stimulation made you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut so you could focus on not soaking your sheets fully right then and there.

"eyes open angel." you reluctantly open, meeting him as he starts to move down you again. you suck a breath of air in through your nose as he hits below your navel, a heavy kiss, before he looks up. "want me to stop?"

teasing. but he knows the answer. you shake your head vehemently.

a soft kiss on your clit, but he lets his tongue linger before he takes his mouth off. "so sweet." you resist closing your eyes again. spencer dips his head down fully, to enclose his mouth around your core, his tongue dipping into you, moving, almost continuing solely because of the way your whines rip from your throat. his hand finds yours, holding it as he takes you like this, squeezing it every so often, or rubbing small circles on your palm.

you weren't sure, no matter how many times it happens, how spencer flips his personality so quickly in the bedroom, but you weren't complaining. there was something exotic about him, something about a man who acts innocent and awkward then can devour you whole when no one else knows.

the longer he kept feasting on you, the more obvious his desire was becoming, as he ground his hips into the mattress, soft whimpers being turned into vibrations against your soaking cunt.

your first orgasm hit, silently, your voice was almost cut out from the speed at which you realized it, and how spencer had seemed to realize it seconds before you. two fingers slotted inside you, as his mouth latched to your clit while you came against his tongue and fingers. spencer continued through it, lifting your hips off the bed as you shook, swallowing you. he stared at you, your eyes glazed over with lust. he knows what you want.

"what do you want baby?" it's as if it's painful for him to get out, because he wants it just as bad, doesn't want to play this game with you, but he has to. he wants to hear you say it.

you eye his cock, dripping now, ready to plunge inside of you. the ghost feeling makes your pussy twitch, not giving you mind for argument or teasing. "you. need you to fuck me."

he was moving before you even fully finished speaking, truly. lining himself up with your entrance, gathering your fluids on him, stroking himself slowly to lubricate his cock.

"please." your voice barely a whisper. spencer drives inside you, the first thrust making you both moan in sync. he doesn't take it slow, not like he does sometimes. he's working to relieve the pressure built up for the both of you.

"you feel so good. so so good, i've missed you so much. fuck." he babbles on, as you tip your head back, the constant pressure against your tightening walls clouding your vision. he can feel it too, as he grabs your chin, lightly. "finish with me baby. i tell you when."

you weakly nod, not sure if you can hold on much longer. he grabs your hand once more, laying free, and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand while he continues driving inside you. "spencer." you whine, the amount of times you've said his name just within the past hour becoming something of a record.

"c'mon angel. i'm right there. let go." his lips move to find yours, a messy kiss, one that wasn't going to last with lips interlocked. gasps and heavy breathing, still trying to kiss at the same time as the both of you reached climax.

the two of you lay there against each other, heartbeats syncing, just listening to the other breathing.

"you know, even though we were together, separation can really do that thing. make the heart grow fonder. physical longing intensifies, emotional connection grows. researchers have tried to explain it through the zeigarnik effect."

his voice rumbles through your chest. you hum in response, your eyes closed, hand finding a place in his hair.

"maybe we should go on longer trips more often."

your eyes flicker open. "don't say that again."

divider: @/dividers-are-us

[haydenssweetheart]

anakin skywalker x reader drabble

warnings: none really. posessive anakin, fluff, a drop of angst but nothing too concerning, drive by mention of fucking, intimate kissing tho!, did i mention fluff. also not my favorite work ever by any means but i want it out my drafts

anakin skywalker was jealous. you knew that for a fact when you got back from your mission, it wasn't hard to read his emotions, which he clearly thought he was keeping subdued. it had been minimal talking, you to a merchant on another planet who you assumed would be able to guide you in the direction of where the two of you needed to be. his eyes had almost glittered when you gave a warm smile and said your thanks, which led him to envelope your hand with his and give your knuckles a kiss. anakin was seething.

the two of you had never explicitly defined a relationship. the conversation almost felt taboo, considering the codes and regulations. a relationship shouldn't even be a thought in your mind, to be honest, but the tension had snapped some time ago between the two of you, and you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from his kisses. or stop him from fucking you senseless.

you bite your lip thinking about it, trying to narrow your thoughts onto the situation at hand. he was walking stiff as a board, his eyes trained on the building you two were heading towards.

"anakin." you try, placing a hand on his arm. his gaze snaps towards you, with an unreadable expression, one you want to define as angry but it seems as if there's more bubbling beneath the surface. not that you thought this was fair- there was no reason to be jealous. or to act on it in front of you. or to make a display of emotion that has potential to be questioned. you're not sure he knew it was obvious, but the way his eyebrows furrowed together, his lips pressed in a thin line, his chosen silence. you knew. anyone who knew anakin would know.

you sigh. "i'll be in my quarters. good work today."

night had fallen some time ago but you were restless. exhaustion hadn't crept on you yet and you were still bothered by the situation from earlier. he still had no right to be jealous. there was no official mark between you two. just that he sometimes takes up residence in your room some nights and you his. most nights.

you hear his voice before you see him. "good work today?" the door lock to your bedroom opens and closes. "is that all you had to say?"

startled, you sit up in bed and look at him. "anakin, you have to work on controlling your emotions. anyone in the galaxy could've seen you were pissed. i didn't want to be around if or when you were asked why." he stands at the foot of your bed, blinking at you. his eyes still show his aggravation, along with the downturn of his mouth.

"that man was flirting with you." he spits out.

"and? he doesn't read minds. he's a merchant vending trinkets to his planet."

the softness hadn't fully returned to his eyes, but he doesn't say anything else and instead, crawls into your bed. he pulls you so your back faces him, your head fitting right under his chin. his grip feels posessive, rather than comforting, but you allow it; hearing his breathing even out from the short, shallow breaths he had been taking.

"it's hard." he says, quietly. if you had even let out an exhale at that time, you might've missed it.

"what is, ani?" your palm covers his over your lower stomach, rubbing circles on the back of his hand. he buries his face in the crook of your neck for some time before responding.

"not telling anyone about this," he pauses. "i just want everyone to see that you're mine. not available." his voice lowers on the last part.

you turn so you're facing him, your faces close together, your bodies practically on top of each other. the moonlight casts rays onto his face, illuminating his desperate blue eyes that were wildly searching yours.

"i love you. i don't want anyone else." you whisper, pressing a soft, brief kiss to his lips.

"you love me?"

you ignore the hesitation that crept up in your mind and nod.

anakin's eyes have finally softened, looking at you with pure adoration.

"you mean it?"

"of course i mean it."

he closes the gap to press a kiss to your lips, his hand cupping your cheek as you lay there, chest to chest, liplocked. there was something more intimate about it than sex to you, the way he pressed himself against you just to be close to you, the way he didn't detatch himself when you would break apart from the kiss, just tip his forehead against yours.

moments like these are what made you truly love anakin skywalker. the fucking was amazing, as you would never deny, but the silent, the sweet, the loving moments are what kept you here. in a place where you know all too well that these feeling are forbidden, experiencing them at its purest and most honest form is almost beautiful.

sleep starts to lull you away, buried against his chest.

"i love you too." he murmurs into your hair.

[mistiemoon]

Providence ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿

Spencer x Fem!Reader (Gods and Goddess AU)

Chapter One ~ Sons and Daughters

Series Pinterest Board - A Guide to the Divine World

Summary: In a modern world where every person inherits a divine gift from their Greek parent, children of the gods are ordinary. Children of the Titans are legends. As Aphrodite's daughter, you've spent your life understanding love while never finding it. As the son of Coeus, Spencer Reid has always believed intelligence can solve anything. Neither of you expected to become each other's greatest weakness.

Warnings: Mentions of arrest and defaced statues. Mentions of sex and previous relationships, Mentions of drinking, Spencers a yearner. Spencer is dadless x2

I suggest reading this - Providence - A Guide to the Divine World before or after reading this chapter for context.

Spencer saw a young man being arrested this afternoon on his way home for defying a statue of Apollo. There was a spray-painted noose drawn hanging down from his neck, along with a red cross upon his face. 

He theorised the man had discovered Apollo wasn't his father and had chosen to direct years of resentment at cold stone instead. Or perhaps Apollo was his father, and disappointment had simply found another outlet. Either way, Spencer found the psychology more interesting than the motive.

What bothered him was the vandalism itself. The city spent millions preserving the monuments to the gods. Every statue was a masterpiece, each one painstakingly restored to honour the beings who had shaped civilisation.

The FBI was no different. Behind the reception desk, an enormous marble relief depicted the Twelve Olympians in immaculate detail. Every floor housed statues dedicated to different gods, while the Bureau regularly hosted complimentary seminars titled Maximising Your Divine Gift.

Spencer had always found the phrase strangely ironic, people credited their gifts to divine inheritance as though talent appeared fully formed at birth. As though discipline, education, and relentless practice had little to do with mastery.

Perhaps that was easy for him to believe, he wasn't the son of a god, he was the son of a Titan.

Children of the Olympians were everywhere. One couldn't walk through Washington without meeting the daughter of Athena, the son of Hermes, or another descendant of Apollo.

Titans were different, they were almost myths themselves.

Perhaps one child in several million was born beneath a Titan's name. Historians could recite every one across the last century. Scientists, philosophers, world leaders, inventors, those who altered the course of history often carried Titan blood.

Spencer had not learned the truth until the eve of his thirteenth birthday, long after every other child had met their divine parent. Until then, he'd assumed his mind simply worked differently from everyone else's. It explained graduating high school at twelve. Beginning Caltech before most children reached high school.

The revelation came, as it did for everyone in a dream.

Coeus spoke to him directly, his voice calm, deep and steady, as though each word had been considered long before Spencer had ever been born. 

“My son, I have chosen this day to reveal myself to you.

You may wonder why I have waited when the children of the gods meet their parents so much sooner.

I wished to witness the measure of your mind before my name could influence it.

Many achieve greatness because they know who they descend from.

You achieved greatness believing it belonged to you alone.

To graduate before your peers. To pursue knowledge not for praise, but because your curiosity demanded it. Such accomplishments are not common, even among my own descendants.

You have exceeded my expectations.

I am Coeus, Titan of intellect, wisdom, and inquisitive thought. The pursuit of knowledge has always been my domain, and it now resides within you. 

My brothers, my sisters, and their children often choose to guide their offspring through life. They appear in moments of hardship, offering comfort, direction, or intervention. 

That will not be my way. 

Wisdom cannot be gifted, Spencer. It must be earned.

A mind that depends upon another's guidance will never reach its fullest potential.

Your path will be your own to walk.

You will make mistakes. You will question yourself. You will discover truths that others cannot.

That is the burden carried by those who seek knowledge above all else.

I have watched what you have accomplished in only twelve years.

I look forward to witnessing what you achieve with the rest of your life

Make me proud, my son.” 

When Spencer awoke on the morning of his thirteenth birthday, he was convinced he'd lost his mind.So, as he always did when confronted with something he couldn't explain, he researched.

He spent hours combing through every archive, journal, and historical record he could find. There were only a handful of documented descendants of the Titans, children of Themis, Mnemosyne, Iapetus, even Cronus. Producing some of history's greatest minds, leaders, and innovators.

But Coeus? Nothing, not a single recorded child.

Spencer read every source twice, convinced he'd overlooked something, but the conclusion never changed, as far as history was concerned, he was the first.

For years afterwards, he found himself returning to the same question.

Why me?

There was nothing extraordinary about the circumstances of his life. He hadn't been born into wealth or influence. His mother had struggled to make ends meet, and every opportunity he'd been given had been earned through scholarships and relentless hard work.

The only thing that had ever truly set him apart was his mind, and somehow, for reasons Spencer couldn't begin to understand, that had been enough for a Titan to choose him.

Spencer had stupidly agreed to go to the Kapeleion Bar tonight with his team. He thought he should, as it was Dionysus day. 

Whenever this one, trivial annual holiday of partying and drinking to honor Dionysus came around, he always tried to find an excuse. 

He couldn’t find one this time around. So out of politeness more than anything, he agreed. 

The Kapeleion in theory, was a great bar. Inside, it was sculpted out of marble and cold stone, faux columns dotted around everywhere, ivy lined around the polished white granite bar. It was spectacular to see, but it seemed to inhabit the worst people. 

It was inevitable that a place so blatantly on the nose of being a bar based on the Twelve Olympians and all the other gods, would be full of people who made their divine parent their entire personality. 

When he brought this up previously, Penelope simply said he didn’t have a leg to stand on with that opinion when his ‘daddy’ was a Titan. He didn’t quite like that insinuation, considering he never tells anyone his lineage unless it was necessary. 

He walked into The Kapeleion , already pushing past who he suspected to be a group of Ares sons and Athena daughters. He wondered who the ‘alpha’ of their group was. He couldn’t imagine that it was a healthy friendship group if all of them wanted to be the most powerful and strongest in the room. 

That's why the BAU fit together so well. Each member had a different divine parent. Emily often referred to the group as the ‘Eight Olympians’ JJ often worried that that title would offend the Gods and grant them bad luck. 

Spencer found his way to their usual booth and slid in beside Emily. She was deep in conversation about something that Spencer caught the end of. He was reluctant to ask as he really didn’t want to come tonight, and the less talking he could do the better. 

“Hey Spencer” You said as you returned to the table holding a tray of shots. Eyes followed from behind you as you did. 

That was the curse of being a daughter to Aphrodite. Despite not wanting constant attention, it followed you wherever you went. Spencer would be the first person to admit that he was one of those eyes. 

Whenever you walked into a room, Spencer would look up first. If you smiled, he felt as if he was a sailor being lured in by a siren, When you laughed, he grew hard. 

“Hi..Hey” He replied before his mouth could stop the words from coming out quite so tangled. 

“Shot?” You offered, holding one up and pushing it in his direction. 

“No, No thank you” He held one hand up, shakier than what was normal. 

“Come on Reid, You have to do a shot on Dionysus day!” You say as you raise your eyebrows, gently sloshing the liquid around in the tiny plastic cup. 

He almost reached out and took it from you. Aphrodite daughters were naturally more persuasive than everyone else. It certainly didn’t help that Spencer would willingly walk and kiss the ground you walked on. 

“Not tonight. God Bless Dionysus though” He tried to appease. If he wasn’t drinking to honor Dionysus, he would at least give his blessings. 

“More for me!” Penelope said, leaning over to take the shot out of your hand. 

You sat down next to Hotch and lent your elbows on the table, leaning forward to focus your attention on Spencer. 

You had this natural way of when you talked to someone, you made them feel as if they were the only person in the entire room. 

They say all people born to gods and goddesses are born equal. Born with the same level of abilities as your siblings, except Titan children, of course. But Spencer often felt as if Aphrodite herself favoured you the most out of her children. 

He had spoken to plenty of children from Aphrodite before, but none of them seemed to have the same effect on him as the way you did. You seemed to slow down time, make everyone else disappear, so it was only Spencer sitting opposite you. 

“Dionysus day not your thing?” You asked.

“Not really. I’m just waiting for a Caïssa day” He replied with a smirk. 

“Who’s that?” 

“The god of Chess” 

“Holidays are just days of tradition. It doesn’t need to be national for you to celebrate” You offer, tilting your head and smiling. 

“True. Although I think I may be the only one” He glanced down at the table, his finger wiping away some imaginary dust. 

“I’d celebrate with you. Granted I don’t have the foggiest idea about Chess, but if you need company i’m your girl” 

He knew you were probably being sarcastic. Women like you don’t want to spend their free time playing chess with Spencer on a made up holiday. But with every fibre of his being did he wish you were serious. 

“I went on a date with a son of Aphrodite the other day,” Emily announced loudly to the group. Clearly she had too many Homados. 

“How did that go?” You asked, knowing smile on your lips. 

“Awful. I tried to separate the divinity and the person. But my gods he was just insufferable" She moaned. 

“I bet the sex was good though. Aphroditians always provide” You said, leaning over Hotch. 

“Speaking from experience?” Morgan teased. 

“Of course” You replied with a shrug. “Poseidon’s are pretty good also” 

“Poseidon’s ? Surely Aresians would be better no?” Morgan chimed in. Clearly his ego getting the better of him. 

You made a tutting noise and shook your head. “Come on, Derek, sons of the earth - shaker? They are basically Aresians without the ego” 

Derek didn’t agree, but he seemed to find it hilarious anyway. “Whatever you say” 

Penelope then decided to say the one sentence Spencer was sure she had been dying to ask. 

“Has anyone slept with a titanite?” She practically whispered. 

The whole table snapped their attention to her, she simply smiled and kept looking at Spencer. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. 

“They are so rare babe, to say we even know a titanite is even rarer, let alone slept with one” JJ said, squeezing Penelope’s arm. 

“Why don’t we ask the titanite then?” You suggested, turning your head in a way that you didn’t intend to look sultry but did anyway. “What have the women that you’ve slept with said?” 

“Erm…er. They don’t know what I am. I usually tell people I’m a Athenian” 

Whilst he said they, he meant she, singular. Just the one Apollonian woman he slept with three years ago. He was sure she wouldn’t have even counted it as sex. 

Spencer remembered as he was returning to her house, eternally praying to Coeus to show up and give him guidance. He didn’t. Spencer lost faith that day that his heavenly father was even real.

“Let’s not talk about this” Hotch intervened before Spencer could be prodded much further. Hotch, ever the Zeusius, killed that specific conversation before it could continue. 

Spencer sat back and allowed the conversation around him to pick up without him being involved. He preferred that. He enjoyed listening and having his own quiet opinion without feeling the need to share. There were always so many strong personalities in the group, it afforded him the luxury of being silent. 

When the night finished, everyone poured out of The Kapeleion,  half intent on continuing the night elsewhere at a louder nightclub, the other half quietly disappearing into cabs. Spencer blinked and it was just you and him standing on the street. 

“Fancy a walk? I need to sober up” You said, tilting your head and looking up at him. 

“Sounds good. You don’t live far from here if memory serves me right?” 

“That’s right. I like walking home as there is the statue of Aphrodite on the way. Sometimes I stop and talk to her” You say as you both start to walk side by side. Neither of you in a rush. 

“Does she ever talk back?” Spencer asks, already knowing the answer. Seemingly, he was the only man on earth that had only ever spoken to his parent once.

“Not for a while. She would only talk to me when I was going down the wrong road. Clearly I’m in the right place” you paused, tucking your hair behind your ear. “He doesn’t talk to you, does he?” 

“No. He introduced himself once, and then hasn’t come back since. He said that will not be his way.” Spencer huffed, a small exhale of air that constituted a laugh. 

“They are omnispective right? I think that he’s just simply observing. He’ll only step in when it really matters.” 

“I don’t think so. I've been kidnapped, shot at and been in extremely dangerous situations, He should've stepped in really. As the only child to Coeus, it’s not like his time is divided between all his offspring” 

“He trusts you. Take it as a good thing. He trusts you enough to be the only child with his gift, Only a god who doesn’t explicitly trust their child wouldn’t show up. After all, You’re technically a god yourself” 

People used to tell Spencer that all the time. His parent being a titan made him a god, amongst the Twelve Olympians. All other children of titans described themselves as such, all except Spencer. He was flesh and bone, no different to everyone who walked this earth. 

“There she is,” you said, walking towards the statue of Aphrodite.

The goddess stood beneath a marble monopteros, ivy climbing its weathered columns. Pink and white hyacinths bloomed in perfect rings around the temple, each flower pristine. Shrines to Aphrodite had always been breathtaking. But as you stepped before her, it became difficult to tell whether the temple had been built to honour the goddess or to frame one of her daughters.

You looked down at the floor of the shrine at all of the flowers and offerings that had been left. Letters that had been carefully placed, ribbons tied around them, sealed with red wax. 

“She’s so beautiful. Even more so in the sunshine” You say quietly, taking in the artistry that had been put into the statue. 

“So is her daughter,” Spencer said quietly. He hoped it sounded like a fact, rather than a declaration of his own thoughts. 

“Thank you, Spencer” You smiled, catching his eyes. “I must say, for a daughter of aphrodite, I haven’t been lucky with love for a while” 

That surprised him. For the amount of time he’s known you, you’ve never not been in a relationship. You’d be in a relationship for a year or two, and soon after jump into another one. You always said that whenever Aphroditie appeared in your dreams, you knew you weren’t in the right relationship and ended it. He assumed that you were on a break from dating. 

“You must have your pick of the lot?” Spencer offers. 

“I do, but unfortunately, I’m picky. I’m sure it's her fault” you said pointing at Aphrodite. “I’m not sure if they can influence thoughts, but I bet it is. That or i’m delusional and in a state of denial” 

“Probably the latter” Spencer answered quickly, causing your hand to gently swat his arm with your hand. 

“I guess so. Who am I to argue with a god” you raised your eyebrows at him. 

“I’m not a god” 

“With a mind like yours, you could be” 

You stepped back from the shrine, continuing to walk in the direction of home, Spencer following along, catching up quickly with his wider strides. 

The pair of you reached your apartment, standing on the steps leading up to the door. Spencer shifted his weight between two feet. He had no reason to feel as nervous around you as he did. It was just your presence that did that to him. 

“Thank you for walking me home. My roommates are probably waiting for me” You say, as soon as you do, two women pop their heads out of the window above you both. Beautiful, but never as much as you. Aphroditians he suspected. 

“Who’s your friend?” One of them giggled down, biting her lip at Spencer. 

“You coming up darling?” The other one said, winking at him. 

“Leave him alone girls, he was only walking me home.” You say, giggling back. 

“So chivalrous” One said, her wine glass sloshing around in his hand. 

“Ignore them” You say with a smile, taking Spencer's arm by his sleeve and pulling him up to the top of stairs to where they could no longer see. “Three single Aphroditians living in one house is never a good idea” 

“It’s alright. My college roommate was one. When he was around it was a constant revolving door” 

“I wish I could say I can only imagine. But it’s turned out to be my life” 

Spencer scratched the back of his neck, looking away at the door to your apartment. You had a small emblem of Medusa above your door, warding all evil away. He looked at the snakes for a moment too long before speaking. 

“I should get going. I’ll…erm… see you on Monday” 

“See you later Spencer, have a good weekend” 

Spencer smiled and turned to leave, hearing you open the door and walk inside, calling out to your roommates. 

When the clock hit midnight, he heard roars all around him from the bars and restaurants, officially celebrating the end of Dionysus day. He wished he could be thankful but he couldn’t. Every month there seemed to be a new holiday commemorating a god. This month Dionysus, next month Hecate day, where you must pet as many dogs as you can for good luck. 

As he walked home, he stuck his hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his lucky coin with his thumb. He carried the same coin around with him wherever he went. 

It often brought him comfort, the small penny he found at three and decided to keep. He never received any guidance from his divine parent, so he thought he may as well channel all his chance of luck onto the penny. 

Everyone had their quirks. You kept a myrtle leaf inside your purse, Emily had an olive wood bookmark, JJ wore her grandmother’s wedding ring. Even Hotch carried an acorn around with him, even if he denied it, he too carried around a symbol of luck. 

Until tonight, he’d been convinced his penny was the only thing that brought him luck. Now he wasn’t quite so certain.

a.n: I did my best to follow what i could about ancient greek mythology. if i got anything wrong, please do let me know. -Mistie xx

Taglist: @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie

[lacedcompulsion]

FLATLANDS

Hotch sends you and Spencer to Iowa to conduct a death row interview with an inmate. Thing is, there's not much to do in Iowa but fuck.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

tags/warnings: 18+, wc: 5.9k, whew, smut, porn w plot, piv sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, soft-dom spencer ish, biting, praise kink, this is so self-indulgent muahahaha, discussions of a case, but nothing too bad it's canon typical stuff, iowa hate idgaf!!, drinking/getting drunk, i think that's it!

notes: this is likeeee. one of my first times writing longer smut. also i did in fact say i would re-upload old re-worked fics before posting anything new but alas! i am a liar! here is something brand new! i spent like. 9 straight hours on this yesterday. and it is currently almost 8 am and i just spent all night finishing it up instead of sleeping. ALSO i am in fact a philosophy major (future barista moment) and my fics get soooo. philosophy-esque. like. every single time. i'm sorry... i am who i am.

If you had to remove one state from the contiguous union, it would be Iowa. 

You’re standing in a rusty hotel room, which, according to Hotch, is the best they could do to accommodate you. And Spencer. He’s one room over. Your feet vibrate against the rug. You tell yourself it’s the thought of him, one wall over — thinking, sitting, reading, whatever he’s doing — and not some rare kind of bacteria you’re going to catch from the stink of this place.

Hotch sent you and Reid here for a death row interview. One of the inmates, having spent the past seventeen years as a self-proclaimed monk, decided he was done with silence. He answered the bureau’s request for an interview in a letter addressed to Hotch’s desk, written in red ink. It’s your first prison interview — you usually wear the bad guys down before they’re locked away forever — but Spencer has done one or two, he said. You think it might be more.

You’d never been to Iowa, never had a case here. You’re not great with time off, even worse with real vacations. You don’t look out your window for fear the corn fields have gotten closer since you last peeked through the curtains. You swear you can see twenty miles out; the flatness makes it easy to mistake the horizon for something that never, ever ends. 

You’re picking at the skin of your fingernails, toes curled as they still rest but resist against the carpet, when there’s a knock at your door. You don’t check, because you’re not really fearful. It might make you a shitty FBI agent, but you doubt anyone is tracking you down in Iowa. (Iowa. It gets worse each time you think it.)

“Hi,” Spencer says, lips pulled flat. Flat. You think of fields. Corn. Emptiness. Your stomach churns then lurches when you think of your own bed in your own home in a state that has real hills and mountains and trees. 

“Hi.” 

“Thought you might want to look over the file before tomorrow?” He frames it like a question, and you offer a soft smile at his hesitancy before opening the door to let him in. He turns his body to the left to avoid making contact with you as he accepts the invitation and walks on through.

Your bed is still made, your suitcase resting on top of it. He scrunches his nose before recovering.

“I’m not a germaphobe, like someone we both know,” you mock.

“Maybe you should be.” You laugh. You’ve been his teammate for three years now, and it still gets you when he decides he can lighten up and make a joke.

He looks around, still awkward in the yellow tint of the hotel lamp, then decides to sit in the desk chair in the corner.

“You look so ominous,” you say, shaking your head as you pull the file out of the nightstand. 

“Why is your casefile in there?”

“Where do you keep yours?”

“I never put it away.”

“Checks out,” you say, raising your eyebrows and sitting criss-crossed on the edge of your bed, facing him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gary Foster,” you read off the top of the page, ignoring his bait. “Killed twenty-three women in his basement. His wife never knew.”

“Or claims she didn’t know,” Spencer corrects. 

“You think she did?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what I think.”

You glance up at him to find him staring intently at the file in his hands. He’s gripping onto it like it’s all he knows. You store your observations away in your head under a tab titled Perhaps Ask Later. 

You’ve gone over this file a dozen times. It’s virtually seared into your memory. Still, you let him tack off the rest of the information to you, compile the intensive profile Hotch gave you into a bullet point list. 

“He’s gonna focus on me,” you say once he reaches a lull in speech.

“Because you’re a woman?” he confirms. You nod. “Maybe.”

You tap the file a few times with your fingers as a yawn creeps up your throat, threatening to escape. Spencer seems to get the hint before you even let it out. 

“We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says before standing. He takes a step forward before turning around and tucking the chair back into the desk. You smile at the politeness. “See you tomorrow?”

“Is that a question?” you tease as you lead him to the door. “I promise I won’t jump out of the window.”

“There’s not much out there.”

“No, there isn’t.” He fumbles with the key for the door across the hall. You wait for him to open it before you start to close yours, the way you would after driving a friend at home. “Night.”

“Night,” he says, though the latter half of the word is muffled by the shut of the door. 

The room is barren again. You open the curtains now that it’s nearing total darkness outside.

It takes six more hours for you to drift off into sleep.

– 

Your hand is immediately on your temple when you awake, rubbing at the budding headache you know will consume you once you get up. This is the punishment you get for allowing yourself only three hours of sleep.

The sunlight hits your bed in fluttering intervals of perfect warmth and scorching heat. This time, when the hindmost rolls around, you force yourself up and place your feet on the ground. You hold your tongue to refrain from releasing a long string of fucks and shits and realize your hand is still refusing to move from its spot rubbing circles in your face. When you make your way to the bathroom, you realize the bed is so hard you’ve left no indent. 

The sting of the shower is pelting, boiling enough that it feels purifying. After a night spent in sheets you’re sure dozens have sweat through, it’s more than welcome. The heat is the perfect substrate for the anticipatory dread of today’s interview. Speaking to monsters as if there’s a hint of human behind the stitching has never pulled at you in the right way. 

If anything, it’s slowly pulled you apart.

The outlet in your bathroom is broken so you’re forced to dry your hair sitting on the carpet of the room, right next to that window that stares out into nowhere. You feel itchy just sitting on it. You swear the fibers are pressing into your skin, merging with your skin. 

The file is open on the floor in front of you, and you use your thumb to wipe the water falling from your damp hair. The pages already begin to curdle like the feeling in your stomach. 

You put your hair in a ponytail, then worry it’s too sexual — because you’ve absorbed the profile and you know what earns a check on this guys list —- so you take it down and let it rest on your shoulders again. Your knees crack when you stand up and your hip tenses up like it might, too, when you slip your legs into your pants. 

There’s a knock on your door and you mutter fuck as you balance your time between finishing the rest of the buttons on your blouse and stumbling to the door.

“I need a couple minutes,” you say, before you say hello. You leave the door open as you retreat farther into the room. “You can wait in here.”

You squeeze your feet into your heels — half a size too small, and in your head you call the saleslady who insisted on that being necessary for this brand a word that would make your grandmother sour — and peripherally watch him step into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“You ready?” he asks. You can feel his eyes on your unmade bed. 

“Mhm.” You glance in the square mirror facing the bed and smooth out your clothes. 

“I mean for the interview,” he says after clearing his throat.

“My answer remains.”

“Cool.” He says it in the way that feels fraudulent, but is really just the way he speaks, you’ve come to realize.

“Are you ready?” you ask back, muffled by the file placed between your teeth as you fumble around your desk for your car keys and room card. You make eye contact with him as you head for the door.

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“Stand up straight,” you say, holding the door open for him as you both step into the hallway.

“What?” he mutters. He does it anyway.

“He’s gonna zero in on you if you seem to lack confidence.”

“Right.”

It’s silence between you two in the hallway, the elevator, the lobby, and until you’re pulling out of the parking lot. There’s overgrown wheatgrass in the field to your left and plowed corn crop to your right. The furrows stretch on until the curve of the earth swallows them up.

The sky is dull, slate-colored, and bears striking resemblance to something that could wipe you clean. Grain silos whir by every couple of minutes. These people really own a lot of fucking land. Every few miles, a new one, along with a rusting tractor or collapsing barn or crop that looks about ready to dry up and blow away. It gets predictable after mile seven. 

The prison doesn’t appear so much as it settles into your vision. It’s low to the ground, sprawling, gray. A scar pressed into the ground. 

You feel like Spencer the way you’ve completely memorized the profile. You flash your badge at the gate, sign some kind of form and drive into a parking lot that feels as far from the prison as your hotel was.

Spencer lingers in the car two seconds after you get out. He’s nervous, and he’s trying not to show it. You don’t want to mention it, but you need to be on the same page, so you don’t stop your lips from unfurling.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The anxious math,” you say. “You’re calculating the probability of saying the wrong thing before we even walk in.”

“That’s-” He seems to think better than arguing and redirects his sentence. “That’s not entirely inaccurate.”

You give him one of those closed lip smiles. “He’ll spot it in five seconds. He feeds on nerves like that. First, he’ll comment on your hands, because you fidget when you’re trying not to.”

“You sound like Hotch.”

You scoff out a half-laugh and choose to ignore the comment otherwise. “And he’ll ask how long you’ve known me. If we’re sleeping together. He won’t say it like that, of course. He’ll be crude. He wants to gauge what version of you shows up when you’re off-balance.”

“Why would that knock me off balance?” he asks. The hesitancy has stolen his tone again.

“You fluster easily.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm. You blink three times, touch your collar, and then deflect with statistics. You did it the first time I challenged you during a case.”

He tuts then holds the door of the prison open for you. “You’re profiling me.”

“Of course I am,” you say, then turn your head over your shoulder, waiting for him to walk back up beside you again. He’s close behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on you. It makes you feel warm. “So will he.”

You greet two more guards inside before shaking hands with the warden. He thanks you for coming with that grim look on his face that everyone in this field seems to have permanently etched into the creases of their skin. The prison is colder inside than it has any right to be, as if the concrete has learned to hold onto every winter it’s ever survived. 

“Still nervous?” you whisper to Spencer. 

He smiles, shakes his head no. 

Good, you mouth.

You pretend not to notice his eyes fixate for a beat longer than necessary on your lips. You lick them in response. When he meets your eyes again, you pretend not to notice that something undecipherable is hidden behind his lids, too. 

—

Foster smiles when you walk in. He doesn’t look at Spencer. You let Spencer pull your chair out for you, which immediately catches the guy’s attention. You think of still water, use it as a guide for being calm.

“Well,” Foster says. He hasn’t dropped the smile from his face. “They sent a good-looking one.”

“We, the FBI, are really grateful you chose to cooperate with us,” you say. “You know, in your final days.”

“Hm.” He turns to Spencer, finally. “She yours?”

You don’t look at him, and you will him to ignore him, to start asking him the standard questions. What’s your name? What year were you born? 

“She’s her own,” he says instead. It comes out even and flat. 

“You hesitated,” Foster says. His smile shows his teeth, now. “I suppose that’s not a crime.”

“No,” you agree. You open your file and lay a picture of his mugshot on the table. You can tell he was expecting photos of one of the women whose life he stole away. “But murder is.”

Spencer clears his throat and nudges your ankle with the tip of his shoe. You give him no reaction, but the next time you reach for the file, you let your fingertips brush against his wrist. 

—

“That wasn’t awful,” Spencer says when you step out, though he says it like he’s releasing one big breath born out of a collection of accumulated air trapped in his lungs. 

Foster did say something crude. You’d prefer not to repeat it, mostly because you’re not sure if Spencer was blushing or if he was just hot. 

The prison was freezing, you remind yourself. Then you shove the thought back down. 

“It wasn’t great,” you say. “I wish I’d pushed him further about—”

“Stop,” he says. His hand is on your bicep now. “Don’t overthink it, you did great.”

“Okay,” you say. “Don’t profile me, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The walk back to the car leaves you sticky and hot. You note, aimlessly, that Iowa gets hot enough if you let it — if you stay long enough to let it swelter.

“Our flight’s not till the morning,” you groan, slamming the car door shut.

“Not a fan of Iowa?”

“In how many languages do you know how to say fuck no?”

“Twelve," he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. “No, fourteen.” 

“Ridiculous.” 

—

You crash as soon as you get back to your hotel room. You sleep for what feels like two hours but you know is way longer than that, and when you finally peel your eyes open you’re sweating. You’re clinging to your sheets, and you consider yourself bed-ridden as you roll over and check your phone. Hotch has sent you three messages asking for updates. Your stomach twinges with guilt for not answering, though you figure he probably moved on and texted Spencer.

Spencer.

You feel bad. You had ditched him, retreating to your hotel room the second you guys got back. You wonder what he did, if he got food, though there’s not much to do in Iowa. In fact, there’s nothing to do in Iowa. 

You slip out of your clothes and take a quick rinse-off in the shower. Your hair is still wet when you adorn yourself in a gray t-shirt and sleep shorts and creep over across the hall. Your fist raps against the door three times, then twice more for good measure. 

“Hi?”

“Hi,” you say, inviting yourself in as you push past him. It’s identical to yours, but everything’s on the opposite side. “Nice room.”

“Much nicer than yours.”

“Oh, for sure.” You clap your hands together, then flop down on the bed. “So, whatcha been up to?”

He nods his head at a book on the nightstand. You stretch over and pick it up. The History of Iowa’s Small Towns.

“Little on the nose, isn’t it, doctor?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Your mind amazes me,” you whisper, then place it back on the nightstand.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“I’m not really hungry,” you say. When he quirks his eyebrow, you add: “Really, I can’t eat for, like, at least two hours after I wake up.”

“You were asleep?”

You nod. “Couldn’t last night. You didn’t think I just ditched you, did you?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You place a hand over your heart. “Well, doctor, I’m just plain offended.”

He smiles, real, genuine. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it?” you ask. You move up on the bed, as if it’s your own, making space for him to sit next to you. 

He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation, but his lips pry open and you know he will. “Morgan always says I ramble too much.”

You shrug. “What’s much, anyway?”

“Well, if you’re not hungry,” he starts, lifting himself off the bed and over to the mini fridge, “are you thirsty?”

“My, my.” You smile, teeth and all. “I didn’t know you drank on the job.”

“Not technically on the job anymore, am I?” He holds up a little bottle. “It’s not exactly a martini, but it’s all I’ve got unless you want lukewarm ginger ale.”

You accept the bottle with mock ceremony and open it the second it’s in your hands. “Guess federal per diems only cover motel whiskey. Honestly, this is probably the classiest thing happening in Iowa tonight.”

He laughs softly, twisting open his own cap. “From what I’ve read, and seen, that’s a low bar.”

You raise yours. “To meeting the bar.”

He tilts his head, scrunches his nose. “To stepping over the bar with minimal effort.”

You both take a sip. It’s terrible. You make a face.

He sees it and raises an eyebrow. “Too refined for hotel whiskey?”

“Just surprised it didn’t come with a warning label,” you say, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. “Or a tetanus shot.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, taking another sip of his. “I’m sure the Iowa Department of Health is on it.”

You nod solemnly. “They’re probably just as fast as the Wi-Fi.”

That gets a small smile from him. He sits on the edge of the bed, a little closer than before, but still careful. He’s always so careful.

There’s a lull, full of quiet until the nighttime air-conditioning kicks on and you’re too tired to pretend anything really matters for a while.

“You ever drink from the mini bar before? Like, during a case?” you ask eventually.

“Only when I expect to be stranded somewhere like this.”

“Smart,” you say. 

He glances at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t profile your way out of a cornfield without it.”

You hum in agreement. “I’m not sure if that’s depressing.”

He shrugs, taking another sip. “Probably.” His hand falls to his side, dangerously close to your thigh.

You accept another one. And then another one. You’re sure he’s going shot for shot with you, but you can’t really tell because your head is full and everything’s hazy and suddenly this bed is so, so comfortable. 

You lie back, legs still dangling off the edge, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling like it might reveal state secrets. “Did you know Iowa had one of the highest populations of covered bridges?”

Spencer blinks. “Iowa doesn’t.”

You squint. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he says, amused. “That’s Madison County. Which is in Iowa. But it’s a specific — actually, nevermind. I’m not sure either of us are in a state for nuance.”

You wag a lazy finger at the ceiling. “I knew that.”

“Sure,” he says, and leans back beside you with a soft thud, hands crossed over his stomach. “Next you’ll tell me Iowa invented jazz.”

“It didn’t?” You cant your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips. 

“God, no.”

You sigh dramatically. “And here I thought this trip was educational.”

He turns his head just slightly toward you. His breath is hot, hotter than it was earlier, and his words are all slurred. You think you might sound the same but don’t keep yourself in line long enough to actually check. “You’ve learned a lot. For example, you’ve learned not to trust the minibar.”

“And that your idea of a good time is reading municipal histories.”

“I sensed you were captivated.”

You pull an arm over your face. “Do you always get this cocky after drinking?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “I think I just feel safe knowing I’m not the only one embarrassing myself.”

You haul a leg up to bend into the bed with you and nudge him with your knee. “You’re not embarrassing. You’re weird. Like, in the good way.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally says: “Thanks. You’re weird too.”

“Weird and drunk.” You repeat the word drunk a few more times, drawing out a different syllable each time. “Spencer?” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t let me fall asleep here.”

“You say that like I have any control over you,” he murmurs. Your breath catches. Neither of you move.

You peek at him from under your arm. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What?” 

“Whatever. Then don’t speak with that— that tone. Or I’ll start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“I’m not really flirting with you.”

You let the arm drop, but not to the mattress; it finds its way to the sleeve of his shirt, playing with the fabric. “Not really or not yet?”

“That depends,” he says, voice dropped low to a whisper. “Would yet be a problem?”

You roll onto your elbow, looming over him. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

It lands like a match.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Your lips are the closest they’ve ever been.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes move to where his hand has started to creep onto your thigh. “What are you doing?”

He moves first, but only barely. His head tilts up, lips parting like he’s about to ask a question. 

He gets his answer in the shape of your lips.

Your hand finds the edge of his jaw, fingers skimming up the side of his face. He’s warm. Still flushed from the whiskey or maybe just from you.

You’re kissing, you think. You. Spencer. Kissing. It should make you pull back. You work with him. This is strictly forbidden — that should definitely make you pull back.

But then his fingers press into your hips, grounding you, and you shift, and you’re straddling him before you’ve thought it through. It’s automatic, desperate, like the tension finally cracked open and all that’s left is the pull.

“Still not on the job?” you murmur between kisses, breath brushing his lips.

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

He starts to kiss you deeper, like he wants to memorize it. You wonder if he is. Your hands move up under his shirt, and his breath slips, just for a second. Just long enough to make you smile into his mouth.

There’s nothing quiet about any of this. Just heat. And want. And finally.

You roll your hips once as a test. When he tightens his grip on you, you have half the mind to do it again, and again, and again. 

Suddenly, all you can think of are your clothes on the ground and him inside you. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. You release his lips from yours.

“Fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes, trying to silence you, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh my god, Dr. Spencer Reid, esteemed supervisory special agent, holder of three PhDs, just said fuck.” You whisper the last part, hand clutching at your chest.  

“Will you please resume what we were just doing?”

“My fucking pleasure.”

“Jesus,” he squeezes out. Your hands remove themselves from where they were resting under his shirt and head to the waist of his pants. You watch his chest rise a little quicker, fall with a little more readiness. His hands release your hips and come up to grip your wrists. “I say fuck one time and I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Maybe we can put it in another context.” You unhook your legs from their desired place around his hips and scooch yourself down his body. Your fingers, which were just barely, ever so delicately toying with his waistband, curl into both the cotton of his pants and his boxers and tug down at once. He helps you, hips coming off the bed just enough for you to drop them both to his ankles. 

He’s already hard, and your mouth is already hollow, already anticipating something to fill a long-lasting void. You say his name, but it sounds off, because your mouth is already imagining itself wrapped around something far less innocent than words.

His hand comes up to your face, brushing your cheekbone, and the feeling is too soft to name but impossible to ignore. You feel as though all the heat in the room has gotten sucked between your legs, and it pools low, desire biting at the edges of restraint.

“You don’t have to,” he says, watching you spit in your hand. You roll your eyes before wrapping the newly wet hand around him. 

“I’m going to. Just stay like that.” 

You stroke him softly, just a few times before spitting on the tip and working it back down. He whispers your name like its wax, made to melt. You’re not thinking and your voice is velvet when you ask him how long it’s been since he’s been touched like this, the way he deserves to be. Too long, comes his response, and you vow to yourself to show him what he’s been missing.

The next time you bring your lips up to release more spit, you reach down and kiss it. Just the tip, and just ever-so-slightly. You’re not sure he noticed at first, so you do it again, this time more pronounced, and then he’s removing his hand from your face and bringing it up to your hair. His grip is firm enough to anchor, not enough to command. 

When you open your lips more, he tightens his grip. When you make your way down, syrup-slick and mouth dripping of sin, he coils his want at the nape of your neck and pulls. You moan around him, which earns you another tug. 

“That feels good,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”

You’re drunk enough that the praise feels more than trembling and temporary. You take it for more than it probably is and pick up your pace.

He lasts not a minute longer before he’s guiding you off of him, and you couch as you come up for air. 

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he mumbles.

“No?”

“No.” He pulls you up off the ground, one hand on your wrist and the other still in your hair. “Wanna take care of you too. Do you want that? Yeah? Lie down for me.”

You do as you're told, nodding along the way, agreeing fervently and with little free will. You’re drooling, enough that it slips past your lips. He brings his index finger up to your face, collecting it on the pad of his finger and pushing it back into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck. He groans, low, a noise you never would have expected to hear from him, and it makes you shut your legs, thighs rubbing together slightly as you try to fight the feeling festering around your limbs.

He kneels before you, the same way you had with him. “Is this what you want?” You nod. “No, use your words.” He pries your legs open, blows between them. 

Your back is coming up off the bed, enough for him to bring a hand up and grab your waist again. “Yes.”

He wastes little time attaching his mouth to you, tongue everywhere, while his fingers leave bruises in your side. One of your hands is gripping the sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your palm even through it. This can’t be real, you think, because nothing real feels this good. And this feels so, so good. 

You feel fucked out and he hasn’t even put anything inside of you. It’s just his tongue swiping against you, swirling around your clit, sucking your clit, kissing your clit. You can’t think. At some time you stop being aware of what he’s doing and just let him do it.

His hand leaves your hip and you feel it pulse, throbbing at the loss of harsh connection. Then, he forces your fist to open, to release the white fabric, and he locks your fingers together. It feels intimate, more intimate than his mouth on you, and if you were sober you might have shrugged him away. But you’re not. You’re drunk. Very drunk. So instead you hold his hand harder.

His free hand is trailing along your thigh, and when you glance down at him his eyes are closed, and he looks content, satisfied, and you’re not sure you ever want to unfold from this position. He uses his other hand to trail up and down your thigh before his errant fingers find their way farther up your legs. 

When he slips two inside you, both at once, no warning, you mewl.

He detaches his mouth from you, like he wants to focus solely on finger fucking you. When you glance down at him again, he gives you a perfunctory smile before focusing back at the task he’s chosen to take up. He’s practically gift-wrapping your orgasm. 

“Right there,” you choke out when his fingers curl at the exact right moment in the exact right spot. You don’t announce that you’re coming, but Spencer is a genius. You’re sure he can figure it out. Everything comes undone in waves, the way seafoam spits back into the sand before dissipating, carrying itself back out into a vaster part of the water. 

“Good job,” he says. He kisses you. You can taste your slick on his lips.

“Spencer.”

“You’ve said that already.” You’d laugh if you weren’t so unraveled. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“What did we say about using our words?”

“To… use them?”

“You’re so smart,” he says, and you can hear him breathing in the way that means he’s trying not to laugh as he presses scattered kisses across your cheek, jaw, lips. “Can you speak up and show me how smart you are?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Knew you had it in you.” One of his hands is pressed into the mattress next to your head, and the other is absent from your body. When you finally open your eyes, you look down to see him lining himself up with you.

There’s a pinch in your throat as you feel him ease himself inside, slowly, deliberately, like he’s scared you might crumble and break beneath him. You won’t, which you assure him by using one hand to grab onto his bicep and the other to rest on his hip, guiding him all the way inside of you. 

"I got so mad, earlier," he says. "When he was talking about you like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers. "Don't fucking apologize."

The heat is back, swirling in your stomach, rushing up your chest like every vein you have has replaced blood with feverish fire. Spencer throws more gasoline on it when he slides almost all the way out, then pushes himself back in. You’re quiet, and even the air around you seems to have hushed itself. 

When he finds a rhythm, he takes advantage of it. Fucks you a little harder, just enough that you can’t close your mouth, can’t quiet yourself even when you try. You’re trying to tread carefully, but you don’t have it in you to not tip your chin up and search for a kiss. You move your other hand to wrap around his forearm, the one right next to your head, and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into the skin when he gives you one particularly hard thrust.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

“This?” he asks, though it’s more of a mock. He does it again, this time a little slower. You feel like crying, because you have no other outlet for what exactly it is you’re currently feeling. When he does it again you have no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. He kisses you again, idly, like you’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not sure you have more than five minutes in you before you pass out. “You feel so good.”

“Needed you.”

“Yeah?” he says. Your words seem to have made him snap his hips against yours a little harder. 

He uses one of his hands to grab under your thigh, then pushes your leg up. You let out a broken moan you don’t even register as your own until he stretches you farther apart and you do it again. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t clawing at an indescribable edge. You feel ripe. Nothing holy is coming for you. You arch your back like it might. 

"Mine." He says it while looking down at you. He says it with his chest. He says it like it's an absolute.

You bring your hand to the back of his neck and make him kiss you. Once for the thrill, twice just to feel the burn of it really settle in. 

Then you come. And everything else does, too. It’s unraveling. Not fingers but friction, not skin but static, not breath but flood. The room is slipping sideways, hips first, mouth second. you forget your name or maybe you give it away. There's no shape to anything, to the sting between your legs, only pulse — wet, reckless, existing in the hollows of your thighs. When he bends down and lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like your name, your teeth catch on his shoulder like a warning. He doesn’t flinch. You bite down harder.

Nothing makes sense for a while except the sound of the air-conditioner. 

Spencer says something. Then again. Then, he taps your cheek twice, says your name until you come to.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“‘m okay. Are you okay?”

He laughs. It’s quiet and hoarse and still warm. “Yes ma’am.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Hmm what?’

“I like that. We’ll use that ‘nother time.” You let out a heavy sigh as he chuckles. He slips out of you and you suck in a breath that catches in the pockets of your teeth, cold and shocking against the roof of your mouth.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and hope it conveys that he has nothing to apologize for. He rolls over next to you. “You should pee.”

“Pee schmee.”

“I think I’m gonna retract my previous statements about your high level of intelligence now.” You smack him with your hand and laugh, hearty and probably too loud.

“I’m still drunk,” you say after a few more moments of silence.

“I think that’s how that whole drinking thing works, yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” His answer comes quicker than you were expecting.

“Okay. Me neither. Just checking.” You blow hair out of your face, and when that doesn’t work you bring a palm up and use the strength of four fingers to wipe it away from the sweat gathering in satin sheets across your skin. “I hate this room.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper.

“Well,” he whispers back. “I don’t hate you either.”

“Do you wanna maybe… I don’t know. Not be on the job tomorrow morning?”

It might just be the alcohol, but his expression is soft and lush, like when dawn’s light shudders through early morning fog. 

“I would like that.”

[sweet-t33a]

tense - spencer reid

summary: they say love is the most powerful drug there is, and when it comes to spencer reid, you're shown just how powerful addiction is. you try to ignore your feelings for your fellow profiler, but as the days pass, your feelings get harder and harder to ignore... until one night, you can stand it no longer

genre/tags/CWs: there is plot, and it follows the same morbid qualities as a REAL CM episode, so there are heavy mentions of suicide, murder, rape, abortions, the foster system, evisceration, organs, hostages, threats, knives, blood, dead bodies. now onto the fun stuff. SMUTSMUTSMUT, porn WITH plot, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, squirting, no physical description of reader besides female anatomy, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, breeding kink? how did that get in here, reader and Spencer both have repetitive habits mentioned OFTEN, DIRTY talk, like filthy, like nasty, maybe ooc Spencer dialogue but I can picture him saying it all, coworkers to lovers, workplace romance, nothing bad happens to Spencer or reader!! they are safe!!, this is NASTY so read with caution

a/n: this is based off the dom!reid x sub!reader workplace romance request I got! not every request I get will be this long I just like ate it up so hard, so thank you anon for your gorgeous freaky mind giving me ideas, and I am SO SORRY I FORGOT IT WAS ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, my freak pervert brain took hold of my writing reigns... forgive me

w/c: 8.7k (WHOOPS)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They say that there are three main chemicals that manufacture the feeling of initial attraction in the brain: dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. That there’s a million factors that can contribute to the attraction you feel towards your fellow man. Childhood development, proximity, subconscious pattern recognition– all of these things make up the scientific explanation for why one person becomes more enticing than the next. All of this, you knew. But none of it could save you from devolving into madness when it came to Spencer Reid. You were a professional, someone with standards. You’d attended- and subsequently obliterated expectations at- the FBI academy. You had years of field profiling experience under your belt. And yet, Dr. Spencer Reid seemed to reduce you down to one thing:

Needy.

Spencer was a, too, a professional. He was a man of incredible intelligence and excellent at profiling. Which is why you were such a problem – because you would have moments where you were anything but subtle about your attraction. You’d gaze at him with utter lust during debriefs, bite your lips and bat your eyes at your desk after a conversation. You weren’t outright sexualizing him, nor were you openly flirting. But with his expertise in body language, you might as well have been stripping him right there in the bullpen. 

It drove him crazy.

Spencer had a reputation of composure, but you were driving him over the edge. He noticed. Every time you lost your composure, he noticed. And you knew it, too. You felt a little ashamed, like a schoolgirl with a crush, you were inconsolable when it came to your absolute desperation for your unit’s resident genius. 

-

You were on a case now, and you and Spencer had been sent together to meet with the medical examiner. There was an unsub targeting women who had given up their children for adoption, eviscerating them before dumping them in lakes unweighted. You decided to drive, hoping that the details of the case and the attention the road demanded would keep your mind from wandering. You were capable of being normal around Spener- in fact, you would consider him a very close friend. You’d talked for hours in the past, but as of late your tolerance for surrogate hookups had expired, and your vibrators simply weren’t enough, so being around him was becoming difficult.

“Do you think we’re looking for a child abandoned by their birth mother?” You asked, thumb fidgeting with the wheel as you drove.

“It’s definitely a possibility. There’s so much rage in the kills, at least as much as we’ve seen in the photos. The unsub could see himself as a sort of vigilante for children who were unwanted,” he replied. “In the year 2005, there were at least 146,172 finalized adoptions across the United States– children are given away every day. The question is, why now? What stressor would make the child start killing years after they were presumably given up?” You were silent, thinking about everything you knew about the foster care system and what happened to kids when they outgrew their placements. Finally, you arrived, parking fairly close to the door of the morgue. As Spencer exited, you turned to grab your jacket from the back seat. It was a brisk day, and you knew morgues weren’t known for their warmth, either. When you went to reach for your door handle, you found that Spencer had come to open it for you. You flushed slightly.

“Oh, thank you! I could have gotten it,” You said, and he shrugged. 

“It’s the chivalrous thing to do. Actually, did you know that while door holding was popularized by knights in the Victorian Era, Greek men used to carry their wives on their shoulders to prevent them from dirtying their clothes?” He asked, offering you his hand as you stepped out. You felt distinctly princess-like, and could easily get used to Spencer taking care of you, opening your doors, opening your legs…

You blinked hard before looking to meet Spencer’s gaze. You were blushing, and Spencer tensed, ever so slightly. He licked his lips before turning his head towards the door. He had dropped your hand, and you immediately put it in your coat to make up for the loss of his warmth. “That’s really interesting, Spencer,” you said, and meant it. 

When you met with the M.E. she began to describe the victim’s injuries. “She died from loss of blood, a class three hemorrhage from this slash to her throat. She was found in a lake, which explains these notches here– the environment began to deteriorate the body right before it was found, probably from something in the water that was hungry enough to approach.”

Spencer’s face wrinkled in confusion. “So she didn’t die from the evisceration? Was it done postmortem?” 

The medical examiner paused. “My guess? It occurred very soon after the throat was slashed. However, it would only take about 2 minutes to die from blood loss after a gash this deep, so there’s a chance the victim was still alive, but they definitely wouldn’t have been conscious. After about 15 seconds, she most likely passed out.”

You sighed. “So not quite torture, but still an extremely violent way to kill. Was there any signs of sexual assault?” The woman shook her head. “There is something to note, however. Though a lot of the internal organs were damaged during the evisceration, there was extensive injury to the uterus, gashes not aligning with the other cuts.”

Spencer nodded curtly. After a few more questions, you both made your way out. The details of the case fresh in your mind, you wanted to discuss with Spencer before you forgot anything. 

“No sexual assault and a water burial points to a female unsub, but the cause of death was so extremely violent and messy. If there was no sexual motivation, this unsub would have to have incredible amounts of rage and privacy to attack in this way,” You mused, and Spencer nodded, casually going to open your door before you got the chance. You again were caught off guard. You’d been sent alone with Reid before, and never had he acted this way. It was a small change in behavior, but noticing changes in behavior was your job. You gave him a small smile before climbing in. Something heated in your core, and butterflies fluttered in your abdomen. You took a deep breath before Spencer entered the car, trying to keep your composure. This was going to be a long case. 

-

When you and Spencer returned to the police station, you met with everyone and began to relay your information. There was very little difference in the appearances of the women, the MO consistent with every kill. Forensic countermeasures, no witnesses at the dump site, and no apparent connection between the victims besides the obvious physical resemblance and the fact that they all had kids put into the system. That was, until Garcia called. “Hey, Babygirl. What do you have? You’re on speaker.” Said Derek, setting his phone on the table. 

“Hey sweetness. I did what you asked, and there’s no links romantically between the woman, so no sharing baby daddies over here. All three women had their cases sealed as no-contact, but I didn’t want to come up completely empty handed– so I did some more looking and I think I found out how the unsub is targeting his victims.”

Spencer cut in, raising his hand. “Actually, Garcia, when we visited the medical examiner, we floated the theory that the unsub is a woman due to the apparent lack of sexual interest and mode of disposal.” 

Garcia let out a small gasp, “Oh, that is not good.” 

“Why?” Spencer asked, face scrunched.

“Because all three victims attended support groups for women who put their children up for foster care.” 

You stiffened, and your mouth dropped slightly. 

“Oh, my god,” You said. Everyone looked at you as you placed your hand on the table. “She’s killing herself.”

- 

After realizing the unsub was targeting women who represented herself, the team decided to do more research into why the woman would attack others instead of actually killing herself. 

“Guilt for leaving the child is the most obvious option, but it doesn’t make sense that simply putting the baby up for adoption would have triggered her like this. She likely knew that she wouldn’t be able to care for the baby upon finding out she was pregnant. But if she’s stable enough to recognize that something about her situation makes her an unfit mother, then it feels like we’re missing a part of what’s triggering her. She cares enough for her child to try and give it a good life that’s not with her. That doesn’t sound like someone who is capable of this level of violence.” Emily mused, and you nodded. 

Spencer came up beside you, standing behind your chair. Your hair went on end as he joined the conversation, hand resting on the chair only an inch away from the back of your neck. You imagined him resting his hand on your neck instead, snaking it around to the front and squeezing while he directed your gaze upward. You swallowed hard and sat up straight in your chair. Spencer looked down at you from where he stood for only a moment, and you worried he could read your mind. He smelled good, you could tell from his proximity. He was so intoxicating, and no matter how hard you tried, your mind couldn’t find its way back to the conversation. You nodded as if you were listening, but his looming presence had you nervous, paralyzed. He had that effect on you– he was your greatest distraction. Once you registered that he had finished speaking, you stood abruptly and said, “Excuse me,” you muttered, before cutting beside him and making a beeline for the coffee pot. 

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and Emily quirked her head. “Is she okay…?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted, “But I’m gonna find out.” 

You grabbed a styrofoam cup and decided to pour some water from the cooler. You breathed deep– your feelings for Spencer were becoming suffocating. You stood from your bent position at the spout when you felt a hand on the lower-middle of your back. You startled, and almost spilt your water. You held your heart and felt it twist when you met the ever-enveloping gaze of Spencer Reid. 

“Oh! You- you scared me.” You said, looking down at your cup, but Spencer moved to include his face in your line of sight.

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been acting strange… you space out a lot and you’re back to biting your lips. Is there something on your mind?” He asked, eyes slightly darkening before he slipped his voice in a lower, softer tone. “Someone on your mind?” 

Your eyes went wide and you bit the inside of your cheek to make sure you weren’t having another dirty work dream. But lo, this was real. 

“Spencer! Why would you ask me that? I’m fine,” You said, but Spencer cocked his head.

“That wasn’t a no.” He stated simply, his furrowed brow catching your attention. His thinking face was something you’d always admired— but now his quizzicality was turned on you, and it made you sweat. You quirked your head slightly and narrowed your eyes. Two could play this game. 

“Why do you care?” you asked, turning the question on him once more.

Spencer blinked and he wet his lips. Before you could give him the chance to reply, you pressed him again. “You’ve been licking your lips. It’s a nervous tick. You did it when you held my door, too. Were you nervous then, Reid? Do I make you nervous?” You asked, a challenge in your eyes. Despite your brave face, your heart was pounding and you felt heat gathering below your belt. You wanted him to take you by the lips and work your biting attitude out of you. When he didn’t reply, you let yourself smile like you’d won.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do this here, hm?” You said, and Spencer’s gaze darkened. Just as you went to walk away, Spencer moved his hand from your back to your arm, grabbing your tricep and stopping you in your path. 

“You’re right. We’ll finish this later.” He said after he moved close to your ear before walking ahead of you back to the conference room the team had posted up in. 

Oh, fuck.

-

That night when you got back into your hotel, you turned and closed the door behind you as quickly as you could. You panted heavily and closed your eyes. The rest of the night there were no further developments in the case, and you all felt defeated. More than that, every time you were in a room with him, you felt Reid’s eyes burning a hole into the back of your head, always watching. You felt like a deer in headlights, trapped in wait. You pushed off the door and threw your go-bag onto the bed, searching frantically for the item you had most shamefully added within the last few weeks.

A small pink mini-wand. It was the quietest toy you could find, and you were paranoid of your coworkers somehow hearing you fucking yourself over the sexy genius none of them knew you wanted. Or, you thought none of them knew. All of the members of the BAU had suspected your feelings for months.

You threw your clothes off your body, stripping down into your underwear and walking to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The toy was waterproof, thank goodness, because you were aching to take care of yourself and didn’t want to wait until you were showered to do so. After taking off the rest of your layers, you stepped inside, feeling the warm water trickle down your body. You clicked on the wand, and gingerly pressed it to your throbbing clit. Unfortunately, you heard a noise that made you jump and hurriedly turn it off. 

It was knocking, on your door. You groaned and turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping yourself before angrily going to see who it was. You left the toy on the bed, just around the corner from the door, out of sight. You looked through the peep hole and blinked in surprise when you saw it was Spencer. You adjusted your makeshift cover before cracking the door just so. “...Yes, Spencer?” You asked, pinning him with a look of annoyance as he noticed your distinct lack of real clothes. 

“We just got to our rooms, and you’re already naked?” He asked, and your face flushed red. It was as if he knew that a shower was only half your motivation, like he could see the hot pink vibrator waiting for you just out of sight.

“You make it sound so weird! I was in the shower. What do you want,” you said, less like a question and more of a statement of annoyance.

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “But your hair isn’t wet?”

You rolled your own and glared. “I had only just got in before someone came knocking on my door, apparently just to bother me. Goodnight Spencer.” You went to close the door in his face. “Wait,” he said, jamming his foot in the frame before you could close it. 

You groaned and opened it again. “Spencer, what is it? I’m literally naked. Let me close the door.” 

It was his turn to pin you with a look. “If you were literally naked, I wouldn’t be standing out here.” 

Apparently, Spencer didn’t recognize the innuendo in his statement, or if he did, he refused to amend it– he just let out a heavy sigh while your mind ran wild with the musings of what he could have possibly meant by that. 

“I have a theory about why the unsub started killing surrogates,” he said, and you blinked. “I started thinking about the reasons most women put up their children in the first place. Poverty, indifference, drug use-” You cut him off. “Spencer! If you need to talk about this so badly, come inside. I don’t like standing here in just a towel.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and gave you a look that said, ‘Finally.’ You moved aside and began to walk over to the room when you felt a jolt of panic shoot through you. In your frustration and anxiety to get out of the doorway, you managed to forget you left your very neon pink toy square on the bed. You let out a yelp and tried to reach for it before he noticed, but it was too late. You panicked, and began mumbling.

“AH! I’m sorry- sorry that’s- I was just.. It’s just, it was just in my bag I wasn’t-” Your ramblings were cut off by Spencer stopping you.

“Hey! It’s- it’s fine! I don’t care!” He said, looking at the wall, giving you time to put it away. “Approximately 52.2% of the American female population have used a vibrator in their lifetime…and about 45% of American men, it’s normal! I- not that I’d care anyways.” he said, and you felt the hair on your arms stand up. The thought of Spencer using a vibrator, or using one on you… You coughed and turned to face him.

“Um. Thanks. Sorry. One second,” you said. You moved to the bathroom to change into the pajamas you had laid in there earlier, leaving Spencer alone in the bedroom. Your face was red and hot, and you felt something between embarrassment and lust fill your chest.

While you were in the bathroom, Spencer had his back turned to the bathroom door, biting his lip and trying to will away his growing erection. Of course you brought a vibrator on this trip– you were trying to kill him. After the little stunt you pulled earlier, he’d spent the rest of the day trying to forget about how soft your skin was, and how badly he wanted to take you back to his room and show you exactly why he cared if someone was on your mind. When he heard the door open, he turned to face you and prayed to every god he’d never believed in that he didn’t have a noticeable boner. 

“Okay, so.. I was.. Thinking. About why children are put up for adoption. And then it dawned on me– most women who’ve been raped but don’t want to abort will give up their child.” You nodded, now distracted by his credible hypothesis.

“It’s a good start, but that still doesn’t explain why she’s killing now. Unless…” Spencer cocked his head, hanging on your words. “Reid, what percentage of rape victims are revictimized in their lifetime?” 

Reid paused, before squinting. “Sixty-six percent, why?” “Spencer. What if she was revictimized, and impregnated again?” Spencer's arms jolted in realization. “The thought of having to carry another child to term that she’d have to let go might have been too much, but she might be unwilling to kill herself because-” “Because she’d be killing the child in the process.”

“And that’s why she’s killing the surrogates!”

You and Spencer both immediately went to leave, and you grabbed your badge and gun as you beelined for Hotch’s hotel room. You practically ran down the hall, reaching his door and rapidly knocking. Hotch answered, still in his suit from earlier in the day when you and Spencer both blurted out, “We know why she’s killing surrogates.”

-

The team descended on the scene, previously dreary from a lack of sleep but now pumped with adrenaline. After calling a much bothered Penelope to have her work her technological genius, you asked her to pull records of women who reported being revictimized recently that also recently began prenatal medications. There was only one name: Erika Hawley. Derek led the infiltration, kicking down the door to reveal an empty house, but a lit basement. You called, “FBI! Erika Hawley, come out with your hands up!” 

The basement door remained shut, so it was broken into. In the basement, Erika was found with another woman from the support group, knife to her throat. You put your hands up as you approached.

“Erika… put the knife down. I cannot imagine the amount of pain you are in right now. But Erika, she hasn’t done anything.” You kept your voice calm. Behind you, Spencer had followed, and he had his gun trained on the woman’s head, ready to do whatever necessary to protect you. His heart hammered in his ears as Erika spoke. 

“I can’t take it! It’s not fair!” She screamed, tears running down her face. You looked at her with utter sympathy, and took another slow step.

“Erika… I know you have a good heart. That’s why you feel trapped, right? In your own body, because you’re unwilling to abort your baby. And that’s your choice, and I’m so sorry you have to go through this a second time. But the woman in your arms… is not you. Killing her won’t undo your hurt. Her name is Ashley Sullivan, and she has a family. Erika… It’s time to let her go.” 

Erika’s eyes filled with tears before dropping the knife and releasing the woman from her grasp. As soon as the knife hit the floor, you moved forward and kicked it towards Spencer. When it was out of reach, you handed Spencer your gun and moved to hug the woman. She collapsed into your arms, and you consoled her before gently telling her to turn to be apprehended and reading her her rights.

-

Once Erika was arrested, you flew home the next day to rest before returning to the office the day after to finalize all of your paperwork. What had happened with Erika was devastating, but despite everything that happened, all you could think about was how Spencer came to your room that night. About how he had seen your toy, sure, but mostly about how he had a breakthrough and came to see you. He thought the best thing he could do with this important information… was to gather your opinion because he thought you would be to help.

God, he’s sexy.

Your bedroom was as messy as you had left it before you embarked on the trip, and you decided to clean it some before relaxing the rest of the day. You knew as someone who took the lead in the arrest, you’d have some of the most paperwork to do tomorrow, second only to Hotch. You groaned, and began to put the dirty clothes and strewn about accessories away. Once your room was clean, you grabbed clothes to bring to the shower with you and turned on your CD player. 

- 

When you exited the shower, you went back to your room, and grabbed the very same vibrator from the go-bag you’d set in the corner. You threw yourself onto your bed, still naked and needy. You moved to press it to where you wanted it most, and you whimpered when you felt the sensations on your clit. It was the pressure you’d been desperate for for days, and your hips bucked slightly. You circled around your core, letting yourself give into the fantasies that flooded your mind.

There, in your head, it was Spencer giving you your relief, moving over your clit to coax your orgasm out from you. You moaned, and clicked the button to make the vibrations more powerful. You pictured him: curly hair, beautiful hazel eyes, sweet voice. You pictured him kissing your thighs, your lips. You felt your orgasm quickly build.

“That’s it, just focus. You’ve got this, you’re so pretty… doing so well, there we go…” You bucked your hips into the pleasure. But you found that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t cum. It was agonizing - waiting on a crash of pleasure that never crested. You lay there for an hour, whining and pleading before getting frustrated and throwing the vibe across the room. You didn’t know what was wrong– you’d spend your whole LIFE giving yourself orgasms, and now suddenly, it’s not enough? But really, you did know what was wrong. What you needed. 

In utter desperation, you went to your underwear drawer. You pulled out a purple lace set you’d bought on sale, and put it on.

This was a bad idea.

This was a terrible, horrible idea that could potentially ruin one of the best friendships you’d had in a long time.

…

You didn’t care.

-

You pulled into Spencer’s apartment parking lot, parking and marching into the building– a woman on a mission. You walked into the elevator and pressed the button, hands shaking slightly. The sun was setting, you hadn’t eaten, and you knew what would happen if this went awry. But you were losing it, and if this didn’t go well you’d probably end up ruining things some other way in the coming weeks, unable to do anything but ogle him. You had become well and truly obsessed with this man. He had bewitched you, and you had to do something about it. 

Taking steps so broad you were nearly jogging, you hurried to Spencer’s door, fist raised to knock before you paused– what if he wasn’t even home? What if there was someone inside with him, someone he had kept secret? You decided to take the leap before you could psych yourself out, knocking one, two, three times before taking a step back. Your foot tapped the floor, looking all around the hall. You must have gone completely crazy. 

It was taking too long. Maybe he had looked through the peep hole and saw your face, backed away. He didn’t want you like you wanted him, he didn’t need you like-

“Hello?” Your head whipped to his front door, meeting his beautiful hazel eyes immediately. Your face was red, and terribly, your mind when blank. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asked, face twisted in concern. You hadn’t called ahead- at least, he was pretty sure you hadn’t. He was too busy fisting his aching cock to the memory of you to check his phone, lest a new case or some random news article interrupt. He was still hard, using the door to shield his lower body. However, upon realizing it was only you, his worry overtook his consciousness of his boner and he opened the door all of the way to step out and greet you. 

This immediately came back to bite him, as your greedy gaze flicked downwards for just a moment before meeting his gaze again. Then there was something in your face, something hungry and almost primal. Spencer’s tongue flicked across his lips instinctively as he fought his body’s urge for his dick to twitch. 

“Yes. Well- no. Spencer…” You searched for the perfect words. Nothing too straightforward, but you didn’t want to seem aloof. Then, it hit you.

“We have a conversation to finish, yeah?”

-

It was about the cheapest shot you could’ve taken, but somehow, it worked. Spencer opened his door further, stepping aside to let you in. You let out a deep sigh of relief, but before you could figure out your next move, you found yourself boxed into the corner of Spencer’s doorway, his arm trapping you in close to him. You found yourself trembling, but not with fear. You had felt Spencer behind you the night you took down the unsub, and knew he wouldn’t hurt you. At least, not in ways you didn’t want. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and swallowed hard. 

“You’re right. We do have a conversation to finish,” He said, voice low. “And I’d love a reply from my earlier question, but I think I have a more pressing one now. You could’ve called, texted. We could’ve talked on the plane or the night before we flew home. Your pupils are dilated, your face is flushed. You’re breathing fast and your pulse is…”

Air caught in your throat as Spencer brought a gentle hand to your neck, pressing down slightly. You fought the urge to moan, his proximity making you dizzy. His fingers were warm, and you wanted to take them into your mouth, suck on them while he kept speaking to you in his deep saccharine voice. “At about 95 beats per minute. So tell me; what really brought you here? Because I’m not stupid enough to believe it was just to talk.” 

Spencer’s confidence when he spoke to you had your knees buckling, and he grasped your chin and forced you to keep eye contact. Your brain was slowly turning to mush, but Spencer needed to hear you say it– say what he hypothesized had brought you here. He’s spent the last few months in limbo, wanting you desperately, but caring too much about your relationship — as friends and coworkers – to act on what he could read in your eyes. But you were in his home now, in his territory. He was at his most comfortable now, and he had to hear you say that you wanted him, too.

“Come on,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. “Talk to me.” 

Your eyelashes fluttered and you let out a soft, breathy whimper. You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“Spencer,” you started. “You asked me… if I was distracted because I was thinking of someone. You were right. Spence, you’re all I think about. Actually, I can’t think around you– at least, nothing appropriate. And sometimes, I think you feel that way too. But sometimes, I think that maybe… you don’t think about me at all. But Spence…” 

He held on your every word, searching your eyes, begging to see truth in them. “I need you. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t-” Your face burned. You tried to look away, but Spencer turned your head back towards him once more. 

“Can’t what, Angel?” The nickname broke your resolve.

“I can’t cum, Spence,” you whispered, turning your gaze at the ground, simultaneously embarrassed and more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. 

Spencer’s body went completely on edge, and he felt his every nerve buzz to life. His cock ached and strained against his pajama bottoms, and he could wait no longer. He crashed his lips into yours, a beautiful, passionate display of absolute obsession. Kissing Spencer felt like being the most relaxed you’d ever been, while simultaneously being lit on fire. Something ignited inside you, while a smaller beast finally could rest, knowing you were where you were always meant to be— in Spencer’s embrace. You moaned, unabashedly, taking his tongue into your mouth. Spencer’s hands grasped the sides of your head, trying to close any and all distance between you. Your hands grasped onto his shirt, fisting the fabric. You were so happy, you could cry. You’d wanted this for so long. Spencer never wanted the kiss to end– he felt complete when in contact with you. However, his leaking head was now making a pool of precum in his boxers, so he pulled away. You whined softly at the loss of his lips on yours, but then he bent to pick you up, bridal style. Despite his appearance, he was fairly deft, and had a good enough grasp on physics to make lifting you nearly effortless. He looked at you, eyes dark and sultry. There was a promise inside them that had your pussy twitching in anticipation. He took you to his bed, where he put you down into a sitting position. 

“I need you to understand something, angel,” He said, hand coming to the side of your face, brushing it sweetly with his thumb on your cheek. You leaned into the contact, doe eyes meeting his stare intently. “Once we start, it will be extremely difficult for me to stop. The flood of dopamine acts as a filter prioritizing desire over rationale. Not- not that I’d ever do anything you didn’t want. But it will be…” He swallowed thickly, looking to your lips, then back to your eyes. “So, so agonizing. I need you to tell me now if this is really what you want to do, because it might kill me if I have to pry myself away from you.” 

You were putty in his hands. All of his words sounded like the most beautiful melody you’d ever heard. Your hand reached up to grasp the one holding you, and giving in to your earlier fantasy, you moved his thumb over to your mouth to wrap your lips around it. He might as well have been made of sugar, he tasted so sweet. You kept your gaze locked on him as you nodded slowly, swirling your tongue around his thumb. Spencer let out a low sigh before abruptly removing his digit from your mouth and grasping your face, hard. It didn’t hurt, but the command in the action was clear.

“Use your words, angel. Don’t make me ask again.” 

You swallowed. 

“I want this, Spencer. I want you. Please, I need you.”

Spencer smiled a condescendingly sweet smile and tilted his head. 

“Good girl, that wasn’t so hard?” He loosened his grip on your face and moved it to the back of your hair, tangling at the nape of your neck. You let out a soft whimper and titled your head back just so.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that? Anytime I try to get work done and you’re somewhere eye-fucking me in the corner.” Spencer used his free hand to pull the drawstring of his pajama bottoms undone, pulling them down to free his cock. It was red and leaking, covered in shiny precum all over the tip. He took it into his hand, squeezing the base to try and relieve some of the pressure. Your mouth watered and you instinctively went to take it into your mouth, but Spencer’s hand in your hair kept you in place. He began to stroke it slowly, tantalizingly close to you but just out of reach. He tutted and shook his head. “You want to make me feel good? Want to make it up to me for all those nights I had to come home and touch myself to the thought of you?”

You whined, nodding your head as much as you could as he held you. After a few moments of agonizing waiting, he finally smiled and said, “Okay, Angel. Go ahead.”

You moved forward, his hand still on your hair, but allowing you to move freely. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock before giving it a soft lick. Spencer let out a soft laugh at your affection in a moment so sensual. “So sweet for me,” he praised, and you giggled before dipping your head to lick up his length from base to tip. He shut his eyes and released a shuddering breath. You opened up to take the tip into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself. He was bigger than anything you’d had before, and you hesitated slightly at the size. He rubbed soft circles into your scalp, and you moaned around him. Spence tipped his head back in pleasure, letting out unsteady whimpers as you sucked him slowly. Your mouth was warm, your tongue dragging on the underside of his dick right along a vein. You felt so much better than his hand, better than anything he'd ever known. You were losing yourself in the motions, almost high on the knowledge you were making him feel good. As if he could read your mind, he began to praise you again.

“You’re doing s-so well,” he choked out, and your clit buzzed with want. You moved faster, your head bobbing in a steady pace that drew his orgasm near. Not wanting to finish so soon, he tugged on the back of your hair again. Unfortunately, you resisted, staying where you were. Drool dripped from your lips, messy from the act. You whimpered, slightly frantic, like the thought of not having his cock in your mouth anymore caused you grief. Spencer was surprised by your defiance, and brought his other hand to your chin, holding you still while he pulled out of your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks when he did so, desperate to get him to stay. 

When he pulled his cock free from your mouth, it was shining with spit and twitching. He’d gotten so close to cumming in your mouth, and he cursed at the loss of feeling. He pinned you with a look. “You think you can decide what you get from me, after the way you’ve been behaving?” He released you, finally, and stepped out of his bottoms fully before taking off his shirt. He looked at you and gave a slight nod of his head. 

“Strip.” He said simply, tossing his shirt in the corner before crossing his room and rummaging in a drawer. He pulled out a box of condoms, and brought them over to his bedside. You were naked when he turned around, and in an instant, you were brought out of the moment at the realization. You were naked, in front of Spencer Reid. You began to nibble on the corner of your lip, and Spencer immediately picked up on your change in attitude. He came to you, and grabbed your waist, admiring your body. Your nipples peaked from the change in temperature. Spencer was nearly breathless, and he told you as much. 

“You’re so beautiful, angel. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Well, actually, I could. I can literally recall every time I've thought about you naked.” You let out a soft laugh and looked at the ground. His change in demeanor was heartwarming. You felt strangely vulnerable to his kindness, feeling your stomach twist in nervousness. 

“Spencer,” You started, and he brushed the hair from your eyes. “Yes, sweetheart?” He said, and butterflies roamed in your gut. 

“After this, will you…” you bit your lip again, then softly smiled, remembering his pointing out your habit. “Do you think you’d want to go on a date, maybe?” 

Spencer felt his heart melt a little before bringing you in for a hug. His hands trailed your back, and his still hard cock pressed against your lower abdomen. 

“I would be honored,” he said, before pressing warm kisses along your neck. You let out a sigh, your hands pressed flat against his chest. He pressed you back so you were sitting on the bed once more, and then had you move so you were lying down the center of the bed. 

He sucked the side of your neck, leaving dark red marks that would surely become a deep purple in the coming hours. He took one of your tits in his hand, squeezing it. He pressed a kiss to your temple, close to your ear, before whispering. 

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of trouble,” he said, voice low. It was an empty threat, and he knew it. But you didn't have to. He trailed down your body, moving to suck your nipple into his mouth while the other continued to massage the other. Your chest rose as you moved into his touch, and he smiled. His hand moved away from your tit to finally touch where you wanted him the most– where you’d wanted him months. His middle and ring finger pressed in agonizing circles, and you moaned. He dragged his fingers through your soaked pussy, the evidence of your desire collecting on his hand. His middle finger pushed through your folds to gently press into your hole, and you whined loudly. 

“Spencerr…” you mumbled, biting on your knuckle to try and silence yourself. He detached himself from your chest where he was making a fresh hickey to shake his head.

“Uh-uh, let me hear you baby. You like that?” His finger pushed in deeper, curling with expert precision, and he took your hand from your mouth to hold it. The domesticity of the action had you clenching around his finger. When he drew it back, he added his ring finger, both curling and dragging along your insides. Your back arched. 

“The average female g-spot,” he breathed against your skin, now kissing your hand, entwined with his. His pace quickened as he talked. “Is about 2-3 inches inside the vaginal walls, facing the ventral side of the body.” 

He brought his thumb to press onto your clit as he moved his fingers, not doing much but applying pressure, moving it with the rest of his hands as he worked your core. His palm pressed up and he sped up significantly. You were falling apart under his touch. You bucked your hips, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation of him inside of you. Spencer watched his own movements with intensity, analytical and ravishing.

“When enough pressure is applied to both the Skene’s glands at the opening of the vagina and the g-spot is stimulated, it’s theorized that many people with female anatomy…” You felt a sensation not unlike needing to pee, and opened your eyes, panic and pleasure combining in an absolutely consuming high. You were close, so close, but so was the feeling like you needed to urinate, and you panicked. 

“...Will experience the phenomenon known as ‘squirting’,” Spencer finished, as you reached your orgasm. It ripped through you, your legs spasming violently. You cried out, loudly, screaming his name while he worked you. You squired along his hands, something you’d never been able to do previously. It was unlike the orgasms you’d become accustomed to. While you came, Spencer kissed your hands and spouted praise.

“Oh, good girl, good girl, that’s it… So beautiful,” He muttered. He finally stopped his movements when your body began to calm, your breathing and moans evening. He smiled widely and looked at you. When you opened your eyes, you saw Spencer, pupils completely blown out looking like the king of the world. You panted, brain short circuiting as you attempted to process what had just happened. 

“How…did you know… I could do it?” You asked eventually, while Spencer gently massaged your clit. You were sensitive, but his movements worked to soothe you more than to overstimulate. Spencer shrugged and did his small half-frown, half-smile before speaking. 

“I didn’t. I mean, statistically speaking, only about 5% of women in the western world experience squirting during intimacy. But I’d read about it, and I really wanted to try. I’m just surprised it worked so well.” He said. He moved to spread your legs, slotting himself between them before leaning down to embrace you. “You did such a good job listening to me. Do you want to make me feel good now, baby? I think you earned it,” he said softly, his cock pressing against your now slightly-sore entrance. You looked into his eyes and nodded, and he went to reach for the condoms. You whined out a sound of protest before grabbing his hand. 

“Wait, please- please, Spence, wanna do it raw. I’ve been so good, want you to feel all of me. Wanna feel all of you.” You pleaded, giving him your best begging look. Your other hand reached down, giving his cock a gentle tug before dragging it along your soaked folds. “I want you to cum in me, Spence, I need you to fill me up.” You were kissing his neck now, trying to distract him with pleasure so he’ll give in. 

Spencer’s body and mind stalled momentarily, running statistics of the success of emergency contraception. His breath quickened, and he felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of your absolutely perverted requests. 

“God, angel… how could I say no when you’re begging me so beautifully?” He sat back on his heels, taking his cock from your grasp before aligning it with your entrance. His sticky precum mixed with the fluids from your release, causing his length to slide in completely unbarred. With absolutely no resistance, his dick penetrated your hole completely, instantly bottoming out. Spencer’s mouth gaped, and you clenched hard around the change in pressure, crying out and arching your back. Spencer’s hands dug into your hips, grounding himself. He gently pulled out some, and you felt every inch as it left you, before he rocked back into you with intensity. His tip kissed your cervix, and you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes in pleasure. Spencer was inside of you. Spencer was inside of you, and he was inside of you raw. Immediately, you became inconsolably cock drunk, only able to think about the man you were completely enveloped by. 

“S-spencer, baby, I- it’s too good, ‘s too much,” you rambled out, and you were vaguely aware of a trail of drool coming from the side of your mouth. Spencer smiled, soaking in the raw power that he had over you, wanting to do nothing but make you incandescently happy. 

“Feels so tight angel, you’re so good…are you my good girl? Gonna make me cum in you?” He asked, blinking fast, your warm walls sucking him in. You moaned at the praise, and bucked to meet his thrusts, wanting more.

“I-I’m your good girl, I’m all yours, wanna be all yours forever,” you babbled, the intensity of his thrusts making you see stars. “Ohmygod, Spence, ‘s so deep,” you cried, and he let out a soft laugh. He took one of his hands and pressed on your abdomen, right where he was fucking into you. 

“You feel me right there baby? Gonna – mh, fuck – gonna cum right in there. You like that, yeah? Dirty girl, want me to- ngh, want me to make it all warm and sticky? You’re filthy for me, just want me inside you so bad, don’t care what I do to you,” Spencer was the one losing it now, a crazed look in his eye as words he never thought he’d say aloud tumbled from his mouth. His moans were coming out broken, like he was about to cry. You felt your orgasm crashing towards you, his nasty words pushing you over the edge. 

“S-spencer! Spence, m’gonna cum, can I cum, pleasepleaseplease,” you babbled, and Spencer’s pace became absolutely punishing. 

“That’s it, you can cum baby, cum with me? Finish while I cum inside you?” He replied, his own orgasm taking over as he rutted inside of you. You saw white as you felt Spencer spill inside you, warm fluid filling you. You cried, tears falling as you felt the most intense orgasm of your life. 

Spencer felt his core tense as he came, bending over and catching himself with his arms, the pleasure nearly making him dizzy. Once you had both finished, the silence settled comfortably. When he was sure he wouldn’t completely collapse, Spencer gently pulled out, his seed spilling out of you and onto the covers. Spence watched in fascination, before laying beside you and pulling you inside close. Neither of you were sure what to say yet, content to lay in the post orgasmic bliss with the person you’d both spent so long chasing. You lay like that for a while, not really knowing how much time was passing. Spencer drew lazy figures onto your back while you nestled in his chest, planting the occasional kiss to his pec. It was after a while that the feeling of Spencer’s cum drying on your body as it mixed with the remnants of your previous release began to itch, much to your displeasure. You lifted your head and met Spencer’s eyes, and a warm smile grew as you saw your feelings reflected in his gaze. There was love there, between you two. Maybe you wouldn’t say it now, but you both felt it. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, unhurried this time. It was soft, warm. You pulled back and brushed a hair from his eye before you spoke. 

“Do you have a washcloth?” You asked, and Spencer’s eyes went wide. 

“Oh! Oh my goodness, yes, of course! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have made you just lay-” You pressed a hand to his lips to quiet him. You gave him a look and smiled.

“Spence, it’s okay. I didn’t mind before. I wanted to cuddle, and it’s just now bugging me.” 

Spencer gave a grateful smile, happy for your reassurance. You almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who was just fucking you into the mattress, rambling about you being a ‘dirty girl’. It was as if he’d become momentarily possessed by the most lust-filled demon that there ever was. Not that you were complaining. 

Spencer gently rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to grab a warm rag, coming back quickly to hand it to you. While you cleaned yourself, he gathered your underwear and brought you a shirt from his drawer that looked like it was about 5 sizes too big for him. When you quirked a brow at the shirt, he blushed a little before placing it with your underclothes on the bed beside you. He took the rag from you to clean his softening cock before dressing himself.

“I, uh, get overstimulated sometimes?” He laughed to himself before continuing. “Despite what you might now think, I actually don’t often enjoy being naked.” 

You giggled at his joke and grabbed your clothes. He had redressed himself in his pajamas, and sat beside you once you had your panties and the shirt on.

“So…” you drawled. Spencer smiled and his tongue swiped at his lips. You melted a little, the habit now slowly becoming one of your favorites. 

“Would you like to spend the night?” Spencer asked, and your heart soared. You weren’t going to ask, but you didn’t really feel like leaving after this relationship-altering night. “I have takeout menus to a couple places open late, mostly oriental cuisines, and I’d really like it if you stayed. It’s up to you though! I just…” he looked away sheepishly, the statement seeming silly after what you two had just done. “I really like you. I like being around you.” 

If you weren’t in love before, you were head over heels now. You leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “I would be delighted to stay. I might shower, even though we just cleaned up, I wanna get the sweat and other… fluids… off.” 

Spencer sat up and offered you his hand. “You’re more than welcome to! I’ll grab you a towel, and I’ll change the sheets before we sleep. That is-” Spencer hesitated, making you giggle.

“Yes, Spencer. We will be sleeping together in your bed. Again.” He laughed at your joke and smiled. 

“Right. Yes. Hopefully many more times, if I’m lucky.” You giggled again and sat up. You walked towards his bathroom and he followed, heading to show you where the towels were kept beneath his sink. Before he left the bathroom, he turned.

“Oh! Also, I can go get the emergency contraception, so you don’t have to worry about it.” He offered, blushing again before you cocked your head. 

“Spence, you don’t have to. I mean, I guess you can. But I have an IUD, and it’s nowhere near its expiration.” You smiled reassuringly. “You’re a sweetie, though.” 

Spencer felt a slight embarrassment creep in. You were one of the smartest women he’d ever met, of course you wouldn’t blindly risk pregnancy. “Oh. Right. Uh, sorry. I should’ve asked earlier.” Your smile never faded as you walked back to embrace him.

“Spencerrrr, it’s okay. I promise. You were preoccupied with more important opportunities.” 

Spencer laughed and hugged you back. It felt so nice to have you in his arms, like knowing you were safe there made a certain part of his brain finally go quiet. 

“I’m going to go strip the bed now,” he said, kissing the top of your head. You nodded and began to take off your clothes. 

“Feel free to join me in the shower when you’re done,” you flirted, and Spencer’s replying grin made you happy. 

I could get used to this, crossed both of your minds, excited for whatever comes next.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

a/n: if you enjoyed this please comment or reblog! not because I want this viral, but because it literally brings me the most joy in the world when I hear all of your thoughts. I love talking to you guys and read EVERY single comment I get!

[reidloverr]

WANT SOMEONE BADLY

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no use of y/n)

summary: your best friend had been secretly in love with you since forever. So when your date stood you up, a run-in with spencer gave him an unexpected opportunity to show you how you deserved to be treated.

warnings & tags: fluff, mutual pining, best friends & coworkers to.. idk, spencer is down BAD, they talk abt 'dating' as a general topic, dry humping, inexperienced!spencer, spencer cums too fast in his pants

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: I've been needing something sickienngly sweet lately, and this is what my brain came up with today

Just like many weekends that were left untouched by the demands of the BAU, Spencer found himself in a familiar state of indecision.

He was left with two options—inviting you over to order cheap takeout while debating the terribly flawed plot holes of a bad horror movie, or retreating to losing himself in his freshly acquired collection of books with the hum of Star Trek playing on his small, boxy TV, alone, in the comforting orbit of his apartment. 

Spending time with you was Spencer’s favorite thing to do; it didn’t matter what the two of you were doing as long as he got to do it with you. 

So when Spencer’s ‘are you free?’ text was met with the first ever, simple ‘I’m a bit busy’ with no elaboration, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink. It wasn’t just disappointment; it was a sudden realization of how much he relied on your presence to make his days feel complete. 

The books on his coffee table lost their appeal, and all he could do was wonder what you were busy with tonight.

He stared at your text, picked at every letter as if the four simple words held more than their meaning. 

Spencer analyzed the abruptness that only he was seeing, and quietly questioned if he had somehow overstepped a boundary he hadn’t even realized was there.  

The suffocating quiet of his apartment offered no answers. Surely, Spencer reasoned with himself, he could just go outside and see where the evening takes him with no specific plan.

 He told himself he was going to clear his head and pick up some takeout from a nice spot near his place. 

He had no idea that his restless feet were taking him straight to the restaurant where you were currently sitting alone, staring at an empty chair. 

Pure habit guided him to the small, warm-lit cafe across from your favorite park—a place he frequented because the ambient noise was predictable and the food was always good. 

The moment he pushed the heavy glass door open, the bell chiming softly, his eyes wandered around the place before fixing on the back of someone’s head. 

He knew it was you. Sitting at the table by the furthest window from the door, everything about you was familiar—your hair, your posture, and the distinct way you propped your elbows on any flat surface in front of you. 

Spencer froze, his feet rooting to the floor as he stared at you, completely alone, with a closed menu, and a single glass of water sitting untouched in front of you. 

He cursed at himself for not trying to look put together before leaving his apartment, his hair greasy and tucked behind his ears, his shirt wrinkled in a way he’d never allow. 

You’d probably seen Spencer in his worst states on exhausting, soul-sucking cases where everyone slowly morphed into hollow, sleepless creatures, or on lazy mornings after spending the night on your couch because the two of you had been lost in conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning. But standing here while you were dressed up and seemingly waiting for someone, felt entirely different. 

You looked just as utterly captivating as ever. He didn’t have to see your face to know that you looked like a breathtaking angel that he wasn’t worthy of staring at.

You were a stark contrast to the dim, soft atmosphere around you, and it made his chest ache to think someone was making you wait. 

Before he could think better of it, Spencer’s body was already making its way up to you. 

“Hey,” he said softly, your face immediately following the unmistakable sound of his voice as you looked up with glassy eyes.

“Oh my god, Spencer.. hi,” you beamed despite the sheer embarrassment burning in your chest, “w—what are you doing here?” you let out an awkward chuckle with your question. 

Spencer’s hand instantly went to the back of his neck, his fingers nervously tangling in his hair as he offered a sheepish smile. “Oh, I— I was just coming in to get some takeout,” he gestured vaguely toward the front counter.

His eyes flicked down to your outfit in between his words, admiring the mini plaid red skirt that hugged your hips beautifully before looking back up at your face. 

“You look amazing,” he said honestly, his voice slightly quieter than the first time he spoke. “Are.. you waiting for anyone?” he glanced at the empty seat across from you. 

“Um.. yeah— I mean, I was,” you muttered, your hands nervously smoothing out your skirt, “but I just got the ‘can’t make it’ text. Twenty minutes late,” you let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the wooden chair, “and he still had the audacity to reschedule for tomorrow!” 

Spencer shook his head, his fingers fiddling on the insides of his pockets, “Wow, that’s.. exceptionally poor etiquette.” 

He glanced at the empty seat across from you, then back to your face. His stomach did a violent, nervous flip, but the sight of you sitting there, looking way too beautiful to be left alone, gave him an uncharacteristic burst of bravery, “Y’know, if you don’t wanna go home yet, and since you’re all dressed up.. I haven’t had dinner yet. I know I don’t look very presentable right now, but I can assure you I’m a better conversationalist than an empty chair.” he paused at the faint tug of your lips that formed into a little smile, “I actually haven’t had anything in my system since last night, so you’d technically be doing me a massive favor by letting me join you.” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” you teased as you cocked your head to the side. 

The question caught him completely off guard, making his soft lips part with no words leaving them as he took in the playful tilt of your head. 

He cleared his throat, a boyish, endearing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he dropped his hands to his sides, “No! I mean—yes! If.. if you want me to?” 

His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to break his ribs and jump out at any moment. 

You nodded, “Of course, Spencer. Sit.” 

The simple invitation acted like an instant release valve for the tension coiled in his shoulders. 

A soft, heavy breath escaped him as he slid into the chair across from you, his long legs awkwardly tangling with yours under the small table for a brief moment, “Sorry,” 

Spencer couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was on a date with you. 

He knew that the situation he ended up in was a total coincidence and you probably considered this date a friendly hangout more than anything else. But it still somehow felt serious to Spencer, it was his first date ever. 

When the waiter approached the table a moment later, Spencer didn’t even glance at the laminated menu resting between the two of you. He ordered a club sandwich and you decided to get the same order as him before a comfortable yet slightly charged silence settled over the table. 

Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly as if he was treading carefully into the subject. “So, um.. If you don’t mind me asking,” he hoped that you would somehow answer his unasked question, “Who was he? The guy who.. canceled on you. You never really.. mentioned anyone like that.” 

“It was our first date. I met him a few months ago at the grocery store.” 

Spencer’s heart dropped. Although taking someone’s number or going on a few dates didn’t mean that you were completely off limits, it definitely meant that you were interested in someone else. 

He knew it’s your right to find love, but he wanted it to be him. 

“Oh, and you guys have been…” Spencer trailed off, silently asking what the two of you were for the past few months. 

“This was supposed to be our first date.”

“It took you months to go out?” 

“I.. actually didn’t really want to at first.” you stared down at your fingers as you laced them together, “It’s nothing against the guy, but dating was never.. something I put much time and effort into—especially with how demanding work is. So I kinda just abandoned that aspect of my life for the past few years.”

The relief that spread through Spencer’s chest when you said that you hadn’t been seeing this guy for the past few months was almost enough to make him reach over the kiss you senseless. 

“I get that,” he said softly, “The idea of traditional dating feels almost.. impossible sometimes. The unreliable work schedule and the exhaustion that comes with it plays a huge part as to why I’ve kept my distance from it, and I’d really hate to be an absent partner..” he bit the inside of his cheek, slowly admitting to things he’d never really shared before, “I know some things are out of my control, but I’d die from guilt.”

Before you could respond, Spencer went on, “But I don’t think that is why I’ve never dated.” 

“Then what is?” you tried to catch his flickering gaze and lock it onto yours to let him know that you understood.  

“I just.. Never found a reason to try.” he murmured, finally forcing his hazel eyes back up to meet yours. 

“I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s worth trying for. I know you will.” you offered him a small, tentative smile. 

Spencer was an angel on earth—someone you’d always harbored a secret softness for. 

Thankfully, before the silence turned awkward, the waiter came back with your orders, and seeing the perfectly cut triangles of your toasted club sandwich made your mouth water, shifting your focus to eating and enjoying the beautiful view in front of you. 

Two more orders of fries and one chocolate ice cream you shared, the two of you were surrounded by completely new faces. People were coming in and leaving the two of you were still at that table. 

Spencer was completely in his element now, his eyes focused entirely on you, his long fingers animatedly gesturing as he rambled on about everything under the sun. 

You listened, laughing whenever his voice turned to a higher pitch when he got to the frustrating parts of whatever he was dissecting, stealing fries from the basket between you, enjoying the sweet and salty mixture with the ice cream. 

As you brought some melting ice cream up to your lips, it slipped off the plastic spoon, dripping on your chin and falling onto the clean fabric of your skirt. “Shit,” 

Spencer was drunk off your laughs and mesmerizing voice all night in a way that made him reach over and skim the sweet ice cream off your chin before pushing the bowl closer to you. 

“So romantic, Spence,” you properly wiped the excess off your chin, “stealing my ice cream off my face?”

All he could do was sheepishly chuckle. 

He leaned forward, his hair falling on the side of his forehead, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You could clearly tell that this was the most romantic experience of his life, and you thought it was sweet. 

His innocence and the absolute sincerity he showed you was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. 

After the two of you almost got into your first ever fight over who got to pay, Spencer ended up paying before rushing you out of the place to distract you with the quiet park you so dearly loved. 

The two of you walked along the perimeter of the park well over five times as time lost all meaning like it always did when Spencer was around. 

You spotted the bookstore you’d visited a few times together, noticing that the warm golden lights were spilling through the windows, meaning that it was open. And looking at books together was something you couldn’t pass up on. 

“Look, they’re open!” you pointed at the shop at the very far end of the street, tugging on Spencer’s shirt so he’d look in the direction of the light. 

Spencer’s legs immediately followed your lead, all his senses wanting to be as close as possible to you as your sides grazed while walking. 

You noticed that Spencer was walking incredibly close to you—much closer than usual, but you didn’t say anything. 

The shop was completely empty of other customers, leaving just the quiet hum of a vintage radio playing soft jazz somewhere near the back counter. He looked around the place, then turned his gaze to you, his expression softening into that deep, undivided attention he always seemed to give you. 

You grazed the spines of a few books, feeling Spencer attached to your hip, his eyes following your finger to read the titles. 

The two of you parted ways at bookstores, exploring new finds and bringing them to show one another, or recommending new reads and giving detailed book reviews to one another, but evidently, Spencer did not want to do that tonight. 

“What are we looking for?” he tilted his head toward you. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath hitting your face, his eyes entirely on your profile rather than the books on the shelf. 

“Just looking,” you whispered, trying to tone down your growing smile that came along with the faint blush spreading on your cheeks. 

Spencer let out a soft, barely audible hum before turning his gaze back to the books. 

“Ooh look, it’s that rare edition of The Idiot, the pretty one I told you about,” you pulled out the heavy hardcover.

Spencer had gotten that exact book a week ago, only a few days after you’d showed him your worn, heavily annotated copy. He knew you liked collecting different editions of your favorite books, and The Idiot was an exceptional example of that hobby of yours. 

Getting a book he’d read a million times just because you loved the cover was something he was never planning to admit. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve been wanting to get it ever since you showed me your copy!” he lied smoothly—or tried to, his fingers gently brushing yours as you handed him the book. 

“Then this is my gift to you,” you softly whispered, as you looked up from the cover to his face. 

“Wait—no, you don’t have to do that,” he stammered quietly. 

You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head, “Just shut up,” you rolled your eyes at his stubbornness, “do you want anything else?” 

“No,” he mumbled, a soft smile breaking through his flustered face as he clutched the book securely against his chest. 

“Then let’s go,” you patted his bicep before heading to the counter where the cashier was reading under a dim lamp in the corner. 

Spencer followed closely, the fabric of his sleeve brushing your side with every step as if he couldn’t bear the thought of putting any distance between the two of you. 

After paying for the book and leaving, Spencer was still fumbling with the book in his hands, “Thank you,” he whispered, finally looking up at you, “not just for the book, but for.. tonight. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about tonight.” 

Maybe Spencer was being too honest for his own liking, but you didn’t mind. 

“Thank you, Spencer.” you looked up at him, staring into his puppy dog eyes that almost made you drop dead, “I had the best time ever.” 

Spencer was terrified of overstepping, or being too much in any sense of the word, so he took a deep breath and snapped back into your usual friendly dynamic. 

“Do you wanna head back to my place?” he asked, his voice softening into that addicting rhythm you were so used to, “We can do the usual. Make some tea and watch some Doctor Who.. If you’re not too tired?” 

You slowly nodded, “Yeah, Spence. I’d love to.” 

The walk to Spencer’s apartment was usually filled with fast-paced debates about random topics you guys picked apart together, but tonight, silence took over, and every breath and brush of his shoulder felt intentional. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll boil some water,” Spencer murmured, quickly setting his new purchase down on the coffee table. 

You kicked off your boots and walked over to the couch, smoothing down the back of the skirt he’d been quietly admiring all night before plopping down on the cushions, dramatically splaying out your limbs in tiredness. 

Instead of heading to the kitchen, Spencer found himself sitting next to you, his body naturally leaning closer to you in pure need to stay near you.

It was embarrassing, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice, but of course you did. 

“I know tonight didn’t start the way I planned.” you twisted your body to face him, “I think I should thank my missing date,” you giggled. 

Spencer chuckled along with you, afraid that he’d been misreading you this whole night, because to him, you looked too cool and composed to mean this in any romantic way. 

Your smile softened, the playful giggle dying down as you noticed the slight tremor in his hands. 

You don’t know how or why, but you reached up, your fingers tucking his soft hair behind his ear before pulling him down to you. His lips were slightly parted in surprise when yours met his, but the gasp that left him was quickly swallowed. 

Spencer froze for a moment, and you applied the slightest pressure, he completely melted into your touch. 

It was a soft, hesitant kiss. 

His hands came up, hovering awkwardly around your head before they finally settled on your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. 

It was probably the doing of your suppressed feelings for Spencer, but he tasted so sweet. And as soon as you pulled away, you already wanted his mouth on yours again. 

Spencer’s eyes were entirely blown out as he breathed too heavily for a simple kiss. 

Did you do something wrong? 

“Is.. this okay?” 

“Yes. So okay.” he eagerly nodded, “More than okay.” he breathed against your lips that were only a few inches away from him before he slowly leaned back in. 

The angle was too restricting, you two were too far apart. 

You anchored your hands on his tense shoulders and shifted your weight, swinging your leg over his, your skirt riding up your thighs as you settled over his lap, straddling him. 

A low, ragged gasp escaped Spencer’s throat as your weight pressed down against him. His large hands immediately found their way to your waist. He tilted his head backward to look up at you through his lashes, the soft light above you looking like a halo around your head, making you look more heavenly than ever. 

“You have no idea,” he whispered, trying to chase your lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You didn’t make him chase you for long. You leaned down, cradling the back of his head as you captured his mouth in a kiss that was much hungrier than the one before. 

Spencer’s slender fingers tickled you through the bunched up fabric of your skirt as they slid down to your thighs, gripping the backs of your thighs because he was that overwhelmed. 

The friction of your hips grinding on his lap pulled a needy sound from the back of his throat, making his adam’s apple bob as he deepened the kiss. 

“Please,” he breathed into your mouth before widening his lips to let your tongue explore his mouth—his entirety completely surrendering to you. 

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” his voice was thick, and incredibly desperate as his hips bucked up instinctively to meet yours. 

A tight knot started forming at your center, quickly tightening at the sound of his ragged, broken breathing. 

“You’re—” you were cut off by your own moan, “you’re not dreaming.”

Spencer whined at your moan—your pretty noises making him pathetically much more sensitive to your touch. 

As you began to move in a steady, slow rhythm on his already very hard bulge, Spencer started to roll his hips up to match your pace, completely consumed by you. 

“I’m—” he whimpered, “I’m so close— I’m sorry, I’m just—shit, I can’t” he stumbled over his words as his fingers dug into your sheer tights. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered against his mouth, kissing the corners of his mouth before rolling your hips in a tighter, slower circle against his length. 

The mere thought of what Spencer was hiding beneath his slacks was enough to make your pussy ache and pulse around nothing. 

You could tell that Spencer was big, and the fact that he never got to use his assets somehow added to the excitement of the moment. 

But you wouldn’t want to overwhelm this poor man even though he was more than willing to go as far as two people could go right now.

“No—no, I can hold it,” he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he nodded into your soft skin, his mouth immediately finding the sensitive skin on your pulse point. 

You loved the way he was reduced to a whimpering mess just for you. 

Ignoring his reassurance that he could hold it, you tilted your hips, picking up the pace just a fraction as you pressed harder against his erection. 

“Oh my god..” he heaved against your neck, leaving a sloppy trail against your hot skin, “oh my god, keep going..” he pecked your collarbone, “please.. please, don’t stop.” 

A ragged sob was ripped from his throat as his hips bucked up hard and disorganized against you as his firm hands pinned your core down on his covered cock, completely helpless against his orgasm.

Spencer completely melted into the cushions, his mouth quickly going back to yours as he kissed you with frantic, bruising hunger, his moans that sounded a lot like cries. 

He shot his load in his cotton boxers, unable to stop the damp heat from flooding and spreading under the fabric. His sticky cum added to the pressure against his aching cock that twitched with intense aftershocks. 

Spencer was completely soaked. 

You could feel him through your slightly damp panties. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to come so fast,” he looked up at you with a pitiful, overwhelmed look. 

You stared down at his swollen, pink lips, “It’s okay, Spence.” you wiped away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to his forehead. 

You had no idea you could do this to Spencer. 

“Can you still keep going?” you pecked his forehead, looking down at him as he eagerly nodded. 

“Yes. I can do anything. You’re.. still not done,” his fingers gave your hips a small squeeze. 

You smiled down at him, satisfied with how he cared about getting you off even when he was clearly hypersensitive right now. 

You were going to make good use of Spencer.

[haydenssweetheart]

hii, for future reference (not making a request) but would you ever write the topic high-school sweethearts? cause they're like underage and stuff, just asking if you would be comfortable with that! :)

yes! i would do fluff, no smut for that but i would do it <3

i don’t mind playing into a time gap like some years later too to progress a plot if you DO want smut

[haydenssweetheart]

spencer reid x reader

fata viam invenient. the fates will find a way. - book three, line three ninety five, virgils aeneid.

if you persevere, fortune will favor you.

you were sure life had it out for you. in the past two weeks, you had been fired, your grandmother had been hospitalized, you twisted your ankle- which was minor, but in the scheme of things, added to your despair- and finally, your boyfriend (now ex, of course) broke up with you.

part of you wanted to retreat, never come out of your room in your apartment again. another sliver, to move away, and maybe that would change things. your replacement job, you accepted with minor relief, was becoming a barista at a local coffee shop.

"here's to temporary." you muttered under your breath, looking at the acceptance email that filtered through your inbox.

in a time like this, laying on your couch in your worn pajamas, you would usually text your ex. tell him you got a new job. or something. you stare at his contact, that you refuse to block, debating if your dignity and pride was worth a text that would make you look broke and pathetic.

you curl your lips and set the phone down.

the slight embarassment of walking into your new job with a hobble, due to the misfortune of your ankle, was outweighed by the stares from your new coworkers. you eyed them with what could be perceived as an awkward stare.

"hey." you grimace. "i'm, new?" a shrug. you curse yourself for the way you sound.

the girl at the counters expression doesn't waver as she acknowledges you. "yeah. i'm doing your training today." you resist the urge to make a face at her monotonous voice and follow her behind the counter, looking at all the equipment that you normally pay no attention to.

"ok. you see that man." she lazily points to a tall brunette walking in the door, the chimes tingling through the shop. "he's a regular. this will be easy for you." she sighs as she walks towards the register, grasping your shoulders to place you directly in front of her. "just ask him what he wants."

"i know how to interact with the general public." you mutter. you meet the eyes of the man in front of you, a softer look than you've been met with all morning.

"how can i help you?" you force a smile, the prescence of the girl behind you a slight interference.

"she's new." point proven.

he doesn't flinch or make a face, just gives a nod. "ah, black coffee. three sugars. or more. whatever you're feeling today." an eye twitch, before, "just nothing less."

"you like the sugar or caffeine more?" you punch the respective order into the machine.

"just something to drink."

"understood. oh, um, name for the order?" a sigh behind you and you fight to not glare at her.

"reid. or spencer. whichever you prefer."

"you got it." you write in sharpie on the cup, in your normal cursive.

"we usually put reid, not spencer."

you were starting to get really sick of this girl. temporary, you remind yourself. temporary.

over the few weeks, you learned a few things.

one, your ankle finally gave up and stopped making you walk as if someone shot you in the leg. you were beyond relieved.

two, as long as you made the drinks right, your coworkers became bearable. also, note, never take breaks with them. it was like learning survival skills.

three, the man who was a regular, became the most fascinating part of your everyday life.

at some point, you wanted to stop your job search because you enjoyed seeing him in the mornings. the brief conversation between the two of you. maybe it was because you weren't fully healed after your boyfriend. you didn't want to write it off as that, though.

this morning wasn't any different.

"spencer, you ever consider the probability all this sugar might sicken you someway?"

"ah, i've considered it. actually, all the risks could be something like diabetes, dental issues, blood sugar spikes-"

"well, don't worry me. wouldn't want to see you decomposing."

he blushes, fiddling with his watch, before moving towards the end of the bar. you pick up the sharpie to begin to scribble his name, but hesitate. cursive again, but this time, you go with 'reid', dotting the 'i' with a small, filled in heart.

maybe it was a leap. you could write it off as nothing, though. just the way you do things. sometimes. never.

you hand him the coffee, ignoring the small shake from your hands. he doesn't notice it right away, which allows him to leave the premise and you don't have to witness his reaction. the man that comes in everyday, you just flirted with. you groan.

he was in the next day. his demeanor was the same, nothing too tense or on edge, which you had feared since your minor advance. maybe he didn't notice.

you punch in his order before he can speak. "tell me spencer, what do you do that requires you to need so much of these addictive substances?"

he raises an eyebrow at you. "i'll tell you if you add that heart onto my name again."

you look down, ignoring the redness that you can feel dotting your cheeks. he seems to have the same reaction, which you aren't sure why. maybe he's just as nervous. you hoped that was the case.

and of course, you comply. handing the cup to him, letting your nail hover below the name. his eyes crease, indication that you did right and he's clearly amused with you. he makes a show of looking around, before he slyly pulls out a wallet shaped item, flipping it open.

"fbi!" you exclaim. "i mean, fbi." you speak quieter, looking around you.

"wish i could tell you more but," he motions towards his ringing phone. "i've gotta go." he starts walking towards the door, but spins back on his heel. "what do you say about dinner, tomorrow night at eight?" his fingers lock together in front of his chest, squinting at you.

you smile in return. "yes." he spins back towards the door. "wait! you don't know where i live?" your mouth twists as you watch him.

"don't need to." he flicks his hand at you, the chimes to the door tingling as he leaves.

you cleaned your apartment three times over the next day. four times, if you could count the speed run you did before he was supposed to pick you up. just in case maybe, he came in. you still weren't exactly sure how he would find you, but you assumed his fbi job might do the trick. a knock pattern knocks you out of your reverie, signifying you were correct. hopefully.

he stands at your door, in a typical sweater getup- as if he came straight from work.

"you really should check your peephole first."

"how do you know i didn't?" your nose wrinkles, looking at him in confusion.

"the reaction time in which i knocked and you answered. too quick to give you time to even glance through the peephole to make sure it was me and not some lunatic."

"ok well speaking of lunatics," you grab your purse from the hook by your door, meeting him in the hallway. "how did you get my address?"

he smirks as you walk, taking a brief moment before responding. "garcia."

"what's a garcia?"

"doesn't matter." he casually laces his hand with yours, the feeling making your heart jump.

you like that he talks a lot.

he asks about you, of course, but that comes second to what you notice. some people would be bothered by it, for sure, you section off in your head, but you weren't.

"so what do you do in the fbi? super secret stuff?" you rest your chin on your hand, your eyes locked on his.

"i'm a uh, 'profiler' in the behavioral analysis unit. using behavioral science to identify the kind of person committing the crimes."

"smart. i like that. you wanna profile me?"

he pauses, pursing his lips. "i think that you prefer red wine over white not because of taste, but because it makes you look more mature. how red wine is normally attributed to be more expensive- longer aging, more expensive oak barrels. you have a bout of unease to you, so you do things that can put on a mask of security, actions that would make people think you're put together."

you flush. you know he doesn't mean it in a harsh way, or one that's offensive at all, by the direct way he speaks in general, but there's an uncomfortable accuracy to it. even if it comes off generic. you raise your eyebrows.

"well, spencer. i don't know a single thing about your work, but i'm sure i'd be impressed."

"i usually don't like to entertain my work when i'm not there. i can find other ways to impress you, i'm sure of it." a sly comment, as he puts down the cash tip for the bill. he gets up, helping you out of your chair, his hand resting on your lower back as he leads you out.

you invite him in for tea. because why wouldn't you?

"you know, maybe it is a good thing i took that shitty barista job. i would've never met you." you brew the tea, leaning against the counter, staring at him. he towers above you, by quite a few inches. or a foot. you didn't want to think too long about it, it made you feel like you couldn't meet his eyes.

"now that you say that, i was starting to get bored of my daily coffee there. for some reason, it started tasting better."

he moves closer towards you, your heart stuttering as he cages you in.

you weren't usually one for a kiss on the first date but you could confidently say you wouldn't mind this time. him, the same, leaving him to scan you first- reading your face, making sure it was okay, before he softly kissed you. your hands tangled in hair, lightly tugging, releasing soft whimpers from his lips. another thing you could appreciate but you could've guessed. his hips pressed against yours, rolling slowly as his tongue slid against yours, warm heat climbing up your body. he moves a hand to squeeze your hip gently, his thumb moving in circles slowly.

"not sure if you have anywhere to be," you break away, your lips still hovering dangerously close to his. "but i wouldn't mind if you stayed here tonight. just to experience a normal civilians apartment, maybe profile me a little...deeper." you suck in your bottom lip, smiling.

he presses a soft kiss on your neck. "i'll hope i have nowhere to be anytime soon."

you find yourself thanking the universe this time, whatever kind of tide had turned in your favor.

aut viam inveniam, aut faciam. i will find a way or make one. - general hannibal, second punic war.

[haydenssweetheart]

might be scandalous to ask but what do you search for on X to find good porn videos? (assuming from searching cause of your plinks)

bear with me cuz i have a system down to a T & this definitely deeper than a vice to unlock ways like this LMFAOO

i have a select few accounts i actually follow, from there i go to accounts they repost or use from, orrrrr go to who’s reposted it 😭😭 then i go thru other people’s reposts, see what accounts they have & keep going like that

[haydenssweetheart]

s3 ep18 of criminal minds rossi mentions he’s only ever made divorce lawyers happy

i currently work at a family litigation firm & he’s deadass the epitome of every italian man who comes in for a divorce

slightly aggressive but not mean. ‘why am i not receiving updates about my case’. etc. can immediately visualize interactions with him

so yeah take his word for it

[florsials]

WHAT? | S.REID ⋆˚࿔

summary : dr. spencer reid was always just your very good friend—that was until you watched him slip on an awfully tight pair of latex gloves while working on a case together.

pairing : spencer reid x bau agent!reader

warnings : SMUT, friends/coworkers to lovers, sexual fantasies, reader is just fucking horny (aka in love) but is in denial, explicit but short descriptions of fingering and finger sucking, spencer’s just as much desperate for the reader ‘cause who are we kidding, suggestive ending

notes : i thank the amazing @haydenssweetheart for introducing & promoting the spencer reid agenda

© FLORSIALS

when you had first joined the behavioral analysis unit a year ago as the latest rookie, the team had teased the possibility of spencer and you becoming a “we” almost instantly.

the bright, genius young man was only a couple years your senior—leading to teasing remarks made by agent morgan and garcia about how you two should just shut up and kiss… and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about stealing just that from pretty boy reid.

platonically, of course!

you were just curious about how his mouth, the culprit behind his many informational ramblings, would feel against yours. there was no harm in that! right? that is to say, there was nothing unusual about you two being too physically and emotionally close with one another: you’d nap beside each other—fingers intertwined to “keep warm”—on the jet plane back home to quantico after an across-the-nation case, or would share doctor germaphobe’s lunch during the team’s one and only break in between searching for the unsub. just normal, friendly behavior as you’d like to call it—he’d even agree with you!

however, as the days passed and seasons changed, you began to see your very good friend in a new light… but it was still purely platonic! spencer reid could never be more than only your bestest friend in the whole world—that would be logically impossible… but the thought of it suggested that it’d be nice, like really nice.

so here you were now, outside of the latest victim’s residence after hotch sent you and reid to look for evidence that could direct the team in finding the unsub before he could strike again.

shrugging your fbi jacket off of your shoulders and onto the couch to accompany spencer’s satchel, you looked over at him to see what he was up to. ever so the loather against bacteria, he rummaged through the pockets of his pants for a pair of gloves and all you could do was a raise a brow at his franticness.

he breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out four gloves, a set for you without even asking him to. “my lifesaver,” you winked as you snagged it from him—fingers brushing against his—earning a playful eye roll. “and yet you were here, judging me like a germ-loving weirdo.”

after putting them on swiftly, you turned your head over to spencer to see him struggling with slipping the small gloves on his hands—but no, it wasn’t his clumsiness and strenuous effort to fit them that had you staring at him all wide eyed... it was the sight of the latex hugging his veins tight enough that they were visible through the gloves.

his grunts of frustration had you subconsciously biting your lip before realizing you were ogling at his fingers like a freak—imagining them being sucked into your sopping wet cunt, absurdly deep and hitting that perfect spot against your cervix; or how perfect they’d fit inside your mouth, tongue swirling around and reveling in the taste of him. clearing your throat and attempting to find anywhere else to keep your eyes fixated on, you couldn’t help but let them drift back at his hands as they flex against the latex.

this time, spencer witnessed you staring at him with your mouth parted as if you were about to say a witty joke, “what?”

“nothing! let’s just head inside,” you averted your gaze quickly, truly and absolutely mortified by being caught red handed in the act, “hotch is expecting us in an hour.” he pursed his lips together, nodding in agreement, “right, we oughta get to it then.

once the day at work concluded, which consisted of receiving peculiar glances across the room by none other than spencer reid even hours following what took place at the victim’s home, you found yourself rushing to the curb to flag down a taxi cab and escape—only to be cornered by yours truly.

foregoing the niceties he ever so upheld each time, he took a step forward, breath now fanning across your face. before you could even get the chance to ask what in god’s name he’s doing this close to you where lips are almost touching, he asked begged, “tell me that this is all in my head… please. i’m going crazy just trying to figure out if you’ve thought about this, us, too.”

“spence.”

“god, i’m a profiler for the fbi but i can’t decode you.”

without a moment’s hesitation, you tilt your face up to his as you leant in to capture reid’s lips into a far overdue kiss—after months of pent up longing and denial of feelings. you felt his mouth still against yours in pure astonishment, the moment feeling too surreal for him, but then you felt spencer smile into your lips—reciprocating it with just as much fervor.

it was getting harder to kiss with the clashing of teeth, the both of you a grinning and giggling mess as you kissed under the streetlight outside of the fbi academy.

pulling away with closed eyes, you savored the imprint of his lips on yours. when they finally opened to meet his piercing gaze, a very flustered you cringed at the sight of your red lipstick messily smudged and leaving stains all over his chin and mouth. he seemed to catch on, his fingertips tracing the marks with a teasing glint in his eye, “how do i look?” the expression on your face faked contemplation before stealing another peck from him, “handsome as hell.”

adjusting the collar of his coat as his arms found solace in being wrapped around your waist, spencer guided you down to his car in the parking lot while pressing passionate kisses across your jaw like a boy so in love.

and he was.

[shadowww-bunny]

「Just a friendly thing」 -S. R.

❥ 4 times you and Spencer pretended to be friends and 1 time it became too obvious.

❥ fluff, workplace romance, idiots in love, secret relationship

Your relationship with Spencer had become the BAU’s collective headache and favorite topic of discussion. Two geniuses, constantly dancing around the edges of friendship, completely oblivious to what was happening. You were both absolutely, phenomenally blind.

Or maybe you were just incredibly good at pretending.

⟡₊ ⊹

It was a rainy, wind-swept wasteland on the outskirts of Seattle.

You stood by the police barrier, clutching your notebook with white knuckles. The weather had turned on a dime—the sky bruised into a heavy slate gray, and a freezing sleet turned the ground into a muddy swamp. You were wearing a light dress shirt, which did absolutely nothing to keep out the damp.

Spencer, who had been studying the UnSub’s footstep patterns, suddenly turned to look at you. His hazel eyes narrowed with instant concern behind his rain-speckled glasses.

"You have a stage-one tremor. Your peripheral blood vessels are constricting to preserve heat for your vital organs. This is highly counterproductive."

Before you could even squeeze a word in, Reid unbuttoned his olive-green cardigan in one swift, decisive motion. He stepped right into your personal space—so close you could smell his cologne, old books, and coffee.

You didn't pull away. Instead, you cooperatively lifted your elbows, letting him drape the oversized, warm knit over your shoulders.

"My, my. So chivalry isn't dead after all," you teased softly.

Spencer`s lips twitched into a tiny, comfortable half-smile as he carefully wrapped the lapels over your chest and did up a couple of buttons. His hands lingered on your shoulders just a beat longer than hypothermia protocol required.

Right at that moment, Derek Morgan stopped next to you.

"Hey, kid," Morgan arched an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Decided to play the chivalrous martyr? That’s... actually pretty sweet."

Spencer didn’t even blink, however he quickly adjusted his satchel strap.

"It’s pure pragmatism, Morgan. Studies show that cognitive function drops by fourteen percent when core body temperature falls below normal. She is the lead analyst on this profile. I’m simply keeping her brain operational."

Morgan nodded slowly, throwing you a highly expressive look.

"Right. Sure. 'Operational.' Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid."

⟡₊ ⊹

The case was brutal. The team hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. The bullpen was a disaster zone of empty coffee cups, scattered crime scene photos, and maps. JJ had crashed on the couch in the breakroom, Hotch and Rossi had locked themselves in the office, and you and Spencer were left staring at the murder board.

You were sitting in one of the office chairs, legs stretched out. Your fingers were lazily and methodically running through Reid’s soft, messy brown curls.

Spencer was currently lying on the floor and holding a tablet, his head resting face-up right in your lap. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, untangling the messy locks, and Reid`s eyes fluttered shut in sheer bliss every time your nails lightly scraped the back of his neck.

Penelope Garcia, carrying a tray of fresh donuts, froze on the threshold. Her eyes went wide behind her round pink glasses, her mouth dropping into a silent, delighted gasp.

"Oh," Penelope whispered, pressing the tray to her chest. "Am I... interrupting a session of highly intellectual bonding?"

You didn't even take your hand out of Spencer’s hair, just offered a tired, amused smile. Reid, without moving an inch or even lifting his head from your lap, calmly replied:

"No, you're not interrupting anything. She is helping me stimulate my cerebral cortex. It lowers cortisol levels and increases blood flow to the frontal lobes, helping..."

"That's friendly support, Garcia" you chimed in with a soft laugh.

Spencer nodded seriously, but when your fingers scratched a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, a sharp sigh escaped his lips, and the genius melted into your lap.

⟡₊ ⊹

The jet shuddered violently, the cabin walls groaning under the turbulence. Most of the team was dozing off. Rossi was reading a book, and Hotch was skimming through reports.

You were walking, buried in a case file, when the plane suddenly dropped, hitting a massive air pocket. You gasped, the file flying out of your hands as momentum pitched you forward.

Spencer, sitting right across the aisle, reacted with lightning speed.

He caught you by the waist, saving you from a nasty collision with the table, and pulled you flush against him. You ended up sitting squarely on his lap, facing him. Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, while his long fingers locked securely around your lower back to anchor you.

The jet kept shaking, but neither of you panicked. It was comfortable, safe, and entirely logical. You rested your hands on his shoulders, while Spencer kept his grip firm and natural, holding you as easily as if you did this every single day.

Rossi slowly lowered his book, peering at you both over his reading glasses. Hotch, too, looked up from his paperwork. A very loud, heavy silence filled the cabin.

"What?" You looked back at them with a straight face.

"Uh, kids," Rossi said smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "I appreciate the safety precautions in turbulent weather, but I’m fairly certain there are still empty seats on this aircraft"

Spencer, whose heart was currently hammering against your ribs at a frantic pace, cleared his throat, giving his voice a lecturing tone.

"According to the laws of dynamics and mass distribution, under angular acceleration, two bodies bound to a single center of gravity experience a significantly lower moment of inertia. We just minimize the risk of closed-head trauma from colliding with cabin fixtures."

Hotch let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a choked laugh, turned a page of his report, and said dryly:

"Just make sure your 'single center of gravity' is buckled in if the turbulence gets any worse."

⟡₊ ⊹

It was barely 7:00 AM. The bullpen was empty, bathed in the soft, pale light of dawn. The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee and floor wax.

"Spencer, hold still for a second," You called out, catching up with him in the hallway.

You reached up, your fingers deftly catching the cool silk of his tie. Spencer immediately went quiet, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. He stood perfectly still, barely breathing, as you got closer—so close your shoes were nearly touching.

With practiced, gentle movements, you began to adjust his collar and slowly knot his tie. Your knuckles lightly brushed against his collarbone, sending a subtle shiver through him.

"You know," you purred, twirling his tie on your finger, "if you keep showing up looking like you fought a wind turbine and lost, Hotch is going to start questioning your cognitive efficiency."

A lopsided smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Actually, my current state is a direct result of circadian rhythm disruption. And technically, my tie was only skewed at a twelve-degree angle. That's well within acceptable margins."

"Keep telling yourself that, genius," you gently patted his chest, lingering you hands there, right over his heartbeat, which was rapidly speeding up. "There. Now you look like an actual FBI agent instead of a chaotic academic."

"Thank you," Spencer murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze locked onto yours. A quiet, heavy warmth settled between you, neither of you making any move to step back.

"Good morning, early birds," a dry, amused voice echoed from the stairs.

You both almost jumped, but slowly turned your heads. Emily Prentiss was standing there, holding a travel mug. She looked at your hands, still resting on Spencer's chest, then at Spencer’s face, which was now flushing a light pink, and finally at how ridiculously close you two were standing.

"Let me guess," Prentiss said, tilting her head. "This is another friendly thing?"

Without breaking physical contact, you and Spencer answered in perfect, synchronized unison:

"Obviously."

⟡₊ ⊹

The rest of the team had already gone home. The bullpen was dark, and only the deep basement archives, buried under endless shelves of closed cases, flickered with a dim, yellow light. You had volunteered to help reorganize files from a decade-old case Hotch wanted double-checked.

You were standing by the back shelf, stretching on your tiptoes to reach a heavy archive box on the very top rack.

"Need a hand?" a soft voice murmured right behind you.

You spun around, finding yourself pinned between the cold metal shelves and Spencer. He had approached soundlessly and his tall frame completely blocked out the hall light. Reid reached up with a long arm, effortlessly sliding the box down, but he didn't step back.

In the shadows of the archive, his eyes looked incredibly dark. The exhaustion of the last few days, the sleepless nights, the whispered conversations, and all those "scientific" excuses you both used to shield yourselves suddenly evaporated. There was only a heavy, electric silence.

"Spence..." your voice caught.

His gaze dropped to your lips. "I... I know the statistics. The probability of co-workers transitioning into..."

"Screw the statistics, Reid," you breathed.

Something in Spencer snapped.

All his formulas, theories, and defense mechanisms crumbled to dust. He took that final step forward, erasing the last few inches between you. His large, cool hands gently cupped your cheeks as if you were made of spun glass. His fingers tangled deep into your hair, and he leaned down.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant for a fraction of a second, before bruising into something deep, desperate, and hungry—a dam breaking after months of waiting.

You pressed into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer, erasing any boundaries left. Spencer let out a soft sigh against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening.

The sharp creak of the archive door made you both spring apart.

Morgan stood on the threshold, a forgotten jacket dangling from his hand. He froze. You and Spencer were flushed against the shelving—your lips were slightly swollen, your breathing shallow, while Spencer was panting, his tie askew, and a faint smudge of your lipstick marked his jawline.

Morgan’s gaze drifted from Spencer to you. Slowly, the widest, most victorious smirk you had ever seen spread across his face. He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Well," Derek drawled, his grin practically split his face. "I'm all ears. What scientific theory explains what I'm looking at right now? Oxygen deprivation? Salivary synchronization? Preventive measures against the common cold?"

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, his eyes darting frantically across the bookshelves. He looked down at you, but you had already hidden your burning face against his chest, sharing his utter embarrassment. For the first time in his entire life, the genius couldn't find a single fact.

"We... we were just..." He let out a breath, nervously adjusting his glasses, and muttered, "Damn it, Morgan, just close the door."

[mistiemoon]

One Last Time

summary: you know you shouldn't sleep with spencer, he is your roomate after all...yet you both can't stay away... pairing: spencer reid x roommate fem!reader warnings: 1k words 18+ MDNI, porn with no plot, unprotected p in v, soft!dom spencer, brief fingering, kinda forbidden love if you squint (god i'm awful at warnings, you fuck okay?) (any series spencer is applicable, picture used does not necessarily depict fic spencer)

“This really is the last time” You told Spencer whilst his hands tightened in your hair. His lips attached to the sensitive part of your neck.

“Sure it is” He mumbled against your jaw, his hot breath making you feel weaker at the knees. 

You said the same thing to him a week ago. Both of you knew this wasn’t going to be last time. Ever since you came home slightly tipsy and horny, seeing Spencer walk out of the shower with his towel hung low around his hips, hair messy and wild, your brain said fuck it and removed his towel and sunk onto your knees. 

The next morning he approached you as you were cooking breakfast. Didn’t say a word, just slid his hand in your hair behind your head and kissed you like you were the air he breathed, before picking you up and putting you on the counter, taking off your shorts and proceeding to eat you out like you were his last meal. 

You both knew if you were fucking that day as soon as you woke. It would be in the air, the slightest imperceivable shift in the atmosphere of understanding that would lead to the both of you ravishing each other on the sofa before you even said one word. 

Today was one of those days. He walked out of his bedroom, looked you in the eyes and you knew. Nothing needed to be said as it was apparent in the way he looked at you. 

Spencer's hands were holding you up by the back of your thighs as he walked the both of you to his bedroom, kicking the door with his foot, all without breaking the kiss. His colleagues said he was uncoordinated, you failed to see where they came to this conclusion. 

He placed you down on the bed, his body sliding in between your legs instantaneously. The heels of your feet rubbed down the back of his calves as your fingers twisted in his hair. 

You palmed him through his thin boxers, his hips jutting forward to chase the friction, moaning against your mouth. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip before your tongue glided in. 

Spencer’s cock twitched under your palm, already half-hard and thickening fast as you rubbed him through the thin cotton. He ground down harder, letting you feel every inch of him swelling against your hand while his tongue pushed deeper into your mouth, hot and insistent.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and yanked them down in one rough tug. He didn’t waste time, two thick fingers slid straight through your folds, finding you already slick. He circled your clit once, twice, then pushed one finger inside you, curling it deep as his thumb kept working that sensitive spot.

He pumped his finger in and out, before sliding in another, the wet sound of it filling the room. His free hand shoved your shirt up, exposing your chest, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the stiff peak while his fingers kept fucking you.

You arched up into him, legs spreading wider around his hips. Your hand slipped inside his boxers and wrapped around his bare cock, stroking him from root to tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head. Spencer groaned into your breast, hips jerking forward into your fist.

He pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. The thick length slapped against your inner thigh, hot and heavy. He lined himself up, rubbing the head through your wetness a few times, then pushed in with one steady thrust until his hips met yours.

Spencer didn’t give you time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his cock all the way in, the head hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Your nails dug into his back as he buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin while he pounded into you.

“Still think this is the last time?” he growled against your throat, voice strained as he kept driving into you. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder, your pussy clenching around him every time he bottomed out.

He shifted his angle slightly, grinding down harder on each stroke, and your orgasm hit fast—your whole body tightening as you came around his cock, pulsing and squeezing him. Spencer fucked you through it, pace never slowing, chasing his own release while you trembled beneath him.

Living with Spencer was like living with Dr Jekyll, the composed, kind and well mannered man who asked how you were. Sex with Spencer was Mr Hyde, the man who ignored all reasoning and fucked you until your legs were sore. The polarity between the two was a mental whiplash to decipher. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

He drove into you quicker now, the sound of skin on skin slapping in the otherwise silent room, eyes interlocked. Mouths inches apart as you shared the same air. How could something be so intimate with so little words shared between the two of you? You didn’t know, you didn’t care. 

His cock hardened within you, you squeezed your walls tighter in response. He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he spilled into you with a low groan, dropping his head onto your forehead. You interlocked your feet at his hips, keeping him locked in place. 

You saw the second Mr Hyde left and Dr Jekyll returned, his eyes changing from dark brown, almost black to light honey hazel. Lust changing to tenderness. He rested on his elbow as he pushed one strand of hair away from your face. 

You did the same, moving one curl away from his eyes, tucking it gently back into place. It was only then did you realise that this really should be last time, not when he’s looking at you with so much admiration you don’t know what to do with it. 

But you know there will never be a last time. 

a:n I got horny so I wrote this to make me feel better :) might make this into a short fic series with no real plot, just an excuse for me to write smut -Mistie xx

Taglist (comment if you want to be added): @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears.

-Mistie xx

[anistellars]

have been reevaluating and I’m actually quite grateful for only making fics and not further interacting with the Hayden community. just went down a rabbit hole on all of the drama that has unfolded recently— some of y’all need to log off 😭😭😭 I’ll just stick to posting occasionally and then dipping afterwards