141 Task Force
drabbles
Bow Trend -- 141??
Someone hitting on you in a bar -- 141.
Someone hitting on the boys in a bar -- 141
Buying flowers -- 141.
Love languages -- 141.
Build-A-Bear -- 141
Reader's apt gets broken into -- 141.
As Taylor Swift albums -- 141
Gun Mechanic -- 141
Female Member --141
141 as teenagers
one-shots
Little Ghostie -- 141
- Simon 'Ghost' Riley
one-shots
-> Summer -- Fem!reader X Ghost
-> I Wish I Were That Guitar -- Reader X Ghost
-> Play Me A Song -- Reader X Ghost
-> Scary Dog -- Reader X Ghost
-> Simon X Sunshine! GF - BF - PARTNER
chats
-> It Never Snows -- Reader X Ghost
-> Can We Get A Cat? -- Reader X Ghost
-> Eww You Stink -- Reader X Ghost
-> Peace -- Reader X Ghost/Simon
-> Worm Love -- Reader X Simon
brainrot
-> Ex-Husband!Simon x Reader
-> Blue-Collar!Simon x Reader
- 'Captain' John Price
one-shots
-> Oh Captain, My Captain -- Price X Reader
chats
-> Sorry For Him, He's A Professional Wingman -- Y/N X Price
-> Can't Take My Eyes Off You -- Y/N X Price
CRIMINAL MINDS
- Dr Spencer Reid
one-shots
-> Kisses For Breakfast -- Reader X Reid
Spencer Reid relating to...
-> Debut Taylor Swift Songs
summary -> [ part 1 can be read as standalone ] back on the podcast by popular demand, revelations occur | george clarke x fem!reader
wc -> 1.3k
WARNINGS -> minimal use of y/n (only in dialogue), kind of a private relationship
masterlist | main masterlist
“so are we ever gonna talk about it?” max asked, halfway through setting up his mic. george froze mid-sip of his red bull. “talk about what?”
max gave him a look. “the fact that you and y/n turned our podcast into a will-they-won’t-they romcom and then dipped.” george tried to look casual. he failed, “we were just vibing.”
“vibing? you were blushing like a year 9 on facetime.”
george groaned and leaned back in his chair, covering his face. “it wasn’t that bad.”
“it was worse,” max said cheerfully. “the comments are full-on shipping you. half of tiktok thinks you proposed off-camera.”
he wasn’t exaggerating. the episode had gone viral - clips of george staring at you, you calling him “clarke” with that sly grin, the suspicious glances, the flustered dodges. fans had theories, edits, entire video essays on your “undeniable chemistry.”
and george? he’d watched every single one. with a stupid smile.
you hadn’t posted anything. neither had he. not because you wanted to hide - it just… hadn’t felt like the right moment yet.
until now.
two weeks later, you were back on the podcast. max invited you “for the vibes,” but you knew better. the glint in his eye when he texted you said everything. he was plotting.
you arrived early, coffee in hand, and plopped into the same chair across from george. he was already there, spinning slowly in his seat like a child.
“morning, clarke,” you said, grinning.
“morning,” he replied, eyes softening instantly. he looked annoyingly good - oversized hoodie, messy hair, sleepy smile. yours.
you sipped your drink. “ready to be publicly bullied again?” george chuckled, “honestly? not at all.”
max burst in ten minutes later with a camera in one hand and chaos in the other.
“right!” he announced. “we’re going in raw today—no prep. just vibes and exposure.”
you raised an eyebrow. “exposure of what, exactly?”
max just winked. george looked like he wanted to disappear.
“welcome back to the useless hotline,” max said into the mic. “the show where we take your useless problems and turn them into even worse advice.”
you gave a little wave to the camera. “back by popular demand - or maybe just to make george sweat again.” george muttered, “you’re evil,” under his breath.
the first twenty minutes were relatively calm. a few absurd listener questions (“is it illegal to marry my Roomba?”), some questionable advice, and lots of laughter. you kept catching george looking at you, and you didn’t bother pretending not to notice.
then Max struck.
he pulled out a card dramatically. “here’s a fan submission. ‘serious question: are george and y/n dating, or are we all just collectively hallucinating?’”
you choked on your drink. george froze.
max grinned like the little gremlin he was. “well? care to comment, mr. clarke?”
george opened his mouth, closed it, looked at you. “you wanna answer that?” you tilted your head. “depends. you still want to keep it quiet?”
he hesitated. just a beat.
then he shook his head. “not really.”
and just like that, he reached across the table and took your hand.
max screamed.
“I KNEW IT!” he yelled, standing up so fast his chair almost flipped. “you’ve been soft-launching the relationship on my podcast! for WEEKS!”
you laughed, leaning into George’s touch. “honestly? we were trying not to. he just has a terrible poker face.”
george laughed, cheeks turning pink. “okay, but so do you.”
max was still losing it. “this is the greatest day of my life. i’m putting ‘made george clarke go public’ in my bio.”
george leaned into the mic. “to be fair, we weren’t hiding it. we just... weren’t ready to let the internet have it.”
you nodded. “it was kinda fun being our little secret.”
max pointed dramatically. “you literally wore his shirt on this podcast last time.”
“exactly,” you said with a wink. “easter egg.”
the internet lost it.
clips from the podcast hit tiktok within the hour - george grabbing your hand, your quiet confirmation, max losing his mind. twitter was a riot. The youtube comments section turned into a digital wedding guestbook.
@/uselesshotlinepod: the last of us, ive been replaced (bus at least the ship is real…)
@/userone: THE SHIP IS REAL?? YOU BETTER NOT BE JOKING
@/chrismd: i fucking knew it, good job mate.
-> @/georgeclarke: i’m a lucky man
@/usertwo: THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🚨🚨
-> @/uselesshotlinepod: alert the town‼️
@/yourusername: at least now i can share photos of this pretty boy
@/georgeclarke: was always more than a guest tbh.
later that night, the two of you were curled up on the couch, still scrolling through the reactions.
“you realize people are editing wedding videos now?” you said, holding up a fan edit of your “romantic arc” from podcast guest to girlfriend.
george leaned his head on your shoulder. “i mean… they’ve got good taste.”
you looked at him. “so… was that your version of a soft launch?”
“mah,” he said, nuzzling closer. “that was me saying i’m kind of in love with you, on camera, while max yelled about roombas.”
you smiled, heart full.
“good,” you whispered, “because i’m in love with you too.”
ig i lied bc it’s out today instead of tomorrow. yolo.
p.s. thank you for all the love, keep the requests coming <3
summary -> you wear jj's jersey to the charity match and george isn't happy about it | geroge clarke x reader
wc -> 1.2k
WARNINGS -> tbf i don't think there are any, maybe a bit of jealousy
masterlist | main masterlist
you were supposed to be there to support your best friend. keyword: supposed to.
george clarke had been buzzing about the sidemen charity match for weeks. he trained like it was the world cup, talked your ear off about tactics (which mostly involved chaos), and even tried to bribe you into designing a ridiculous banner for him. you declined, kindly reminding him you weren’t his personal hype squad. well—not officially.
but the morning of the match, you decided to do something cheeky. jj’s jersey. no. 10. bright, bold, and a tiny bit evil considering you knew exactly who it would get under the skin of.
you definitely wore it on purpose.
and when George saw you before kickoff, his reaction was immediate: a stare, a head tilt, and then the slowest blink of betrayal you’d ever seen. “you’re joking,” he said flatly.
“what?” you asked innocently, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “can’t a girl support one of the greatest players on the pitch?”
george’s jaw ticked. “i’m literally better.” you grinned. "so that means you don’t need the extra support.”
he glared. “unreal.”
before you could respond, one of the coaches called him over and he jogged off, still shaking his head and shooting you dirty looks over his shoulder. you tried not to laugh.
but during the match? oh, you pushed it.
every time jj got the ball, you cheered louder than necessary. when he made a pass, you gasped dramatically. and when he scored, you actually stood up and clapped.
george? he noticed.
every. single. time.
you caught him throwing you glares mid-game, muttering to teammates, and once—once!—he even kicked the ball a little too hard into the sidelines near where you were standing. coincidence? doubtful.
then came the chaos. midway through the second half, play paused. someone was down at the far end of the pitch, and the medics ran in. the crowd buzzed, people grabbed snacks, and players stretched.
and then george stormed over.
like, actually stormed—jogging straight toward you with fire in his eyes and sweat clinging to his neck. you barely had time to process what was happening before he was standing right in front of you at the barrier, chest heaving.
“take. it. off.”
you blinked, “excuse me?”
he pointed to your jj top like it had personally offended him, “i’m not playing another second with you wearing that.” you grinned, tilting your head. “you jealous, clarke?”
he didn’t answer. just yanked his own shirt off in one ridiculously smooth motion and tossed it over the barrier at you. “put it on,” he said, completely serious.
you stared. “are you actually doing this right now?”
“dead serious. you’re my best friend. you don’t wear his kit. you wear mine.”
the crowd around you went mental—cheering, laughing, someone even yelled, “ooohh he's in love!”
you hesitated for only a second before peeling jj’s shirt off over your head (to the sound of more screams), and pulling George’s on. his kit was still warm, smelled like him, and was a bit too big. it hung perfectly.
george’s expression softened. just slightly. “that’s better,” he muttered.
you raised an eyebrow. “you good now?” he leaned in a little, “just needed to remind you who you came here for.”
then he jogged back onto the pitch like he hadn’t just had a whole main-character moment in front of thousands of people.
you stood there in disbelief, george’s name on your back, his scent in your nose, and your heart hammering against your ribs like maybe - just maybe - he hadn’t been joking at all.
the game ended in a blur of sweaty hugs, pitch invasions, and screaming fans. george found you in the chaos, his hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed. you were still in his shirt.
“you alright?” he asked, catching your arm and steering you toward the tunnel, away from the crowd.
“i’m fine. are you?” you teased. “you caused an entire scene just because i wore a jj top.” he made a face. “you know i don’t care about jj.”
you narrowed your eyes, “sure didn’t look that way.” he looked at you for a second—really looked at you. then: “i care about you.”
Oh.
Oh.
you swallowed. “george—”
“i know we’ve always been…” he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly bashful, “you know. just mates. but when i saw you wearing someone else’s name on your back, i just- ”
“you got territorial.”
he gave a sheepish grin. “a bit, yeah.”
you stared at him, heart thumping. this wasn’t new. you’d danced around each other for years. late-night calls. inside jokes. glances that lingered a second too long. maybe you’d just never said it out loud.
you reached for the collar of his shirt and tugged it lightly.
“well,” you said softly, “guess i’m yours now.”
his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. when he didn’t find one, he grinned—wide, boyish, and victorious.
“bet.”
INSTAGRAM
liked by georgeclarke, chrismd and others
@/yourusername it’s about damn time 🤍
userone: oh my godd this is so cute
georgeclarke: looked amazing with my name on your back 😉
usertwo: did anyone see them at the match??? it was so funny
chrismd: i see football isn’t the only game he had 👏
first time including anything smau in a story eek.
summary -> you’re a guest on the useless hotline podcast hosted by your secret boyfriend | george clarke x fem!reader
wc -> 1.2k
WARNINGS -> secret/private relationship, george is smitten
masterlist | main masterlist
george knew inviting you on the podcast was a bad idea.
not because you wouldn’t be great - quite the opposite, actually. you were quick, charming, dangerously funny. the kind of guest that made a podcast episode fly by and rack up views. but because george had a very hard time pretending you weren’t his girlfriend, and the useless hotline was filmed in 4K and recorded with high-grade microphones that picked up everything - including every slip-up, lingering stare, and voice crack.
and right now? he was seconds away from combusting on camera.
you were sitting across from him, legs crossed, mic in front of you, hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, looking like you didn’t have a secret in the world.
meanwhile, george was sweating. literally and figuratively.
“right, welcome back to the useless hotline,” he said into the mic, trying to sound normal, casual, definitely not like a man who had been up until 2 a.m. last night with the very guest now smiling sweetly across from him. “the show where we help you with your problems, whether you want us to or not.”
“usually not,” max muttered next to him.
you laughed—a soft, familiar sound george had heard a thousand times before, but now it echoed in his headphones like a siren call.
max leaned forward, smirking. “and today we’ve got a very special guest... content creator, chaos gremlin, and george’s—what was it? longtime friend?”
george gave him a look. a subtle but deeply meaningful shut up look. you just smiled and said, “that’s what we’re calling it, yeah.”
you were good at this. at pretending. too good.
george could barely keep his eyes off you. the way your fingers tapped the mic stand absentmindedly, how your lips twitched whenever max made a joke, how you’d glance at george when you were holding back something private - something only the two of you knew. well not just you two but also not the rest of the world.
he was so screwed.
“so,” max said, reading the first listener submission. “this person says: ‘my situationship keeps liking my Instagram stories but never replies to my texts. what do I do?’ classic.”
you leaned in, “oof. see, that’s emotional terrorism.”
george barked a laugh - too loud, too sudden. you glanced at him, amused, and he felt his neck heat up. “sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “just - ‘emotional terrorism.’ that’s gold.”
“tell me I’m wrong, clarke,” you teased, tilting your head.
his full name. dangerous territory. it made his stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t while on camera. “nah, you’re spot on,” he said, but his voice cracked slightly at the end.
max turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “you good, george?”
“yep. yep. great.” you smirked. george wanted to crawl under the table.
the episode went on. more questions. more advice. more jokes. and the longer it went, the worse george got. because you were so effortlessly you. because every time you teased him, he had to stop himself from reaching across the table and grabbing your hand like he always did when you were off-camera. because every time you laughed, he remembered what it felt like to kiss you mid-laughter, tangled in sheets and sunlight.
you reached for your drink, eyes flicking to him mid-sip. that look. the look you gave him when you wanted to be alone. private. quiet. yours.
he nearly dropped his mic. max noticed—of course he did.
“george,” he said suddenly, interrupting whatever nonsense advice you were giving. “what’s going on with you today? you’re being weird.”
george flinched. “i’m not being weird.”
“you’re being super weird,” max insisted. “you’re staring at her like she’s about to float away.” you raised your eyebrows in mock surprise. “am i?”
george laughed nervously. “i’m just - she’s just funny. that’s why she’s here.” max narrowed his eyes. “uh-huh. not because you live together or anything.”
you coughed. george blinked, “we don’t live together.”
max smirked. “not technically. but didn’t you stay at her place last night?” george’s mouth opened. closed. you shot Max a look that could kill.
“wow, max,” you said slowly. “way to make it weird.”
george leaned back, palms up. “can we not do this on air?”
“oh my god,” Max gasped. “you two are actually—?”
“nope,” you cut in smoothly. “still besties. he just likes my cooking.”
“yeah,” George added, voice hoarse. “just... spaghetti and stuff.”
you knew he was remembering last night. the way you kissed him in the kitchen, salt still on your fingers, shirt half-unbuttoned from laughing too hard during dinner. the way he picked you up and laid you across the counter, like-
“george,” max said again. “dude. you’re gone.”
“okay, next question!” george blurted, slapping the desk. “this one says: ‘is it a red flag if my boyfriend won’t post me?’”
max raised an eyebrow. “a very fitting question for the current vibe.”
you looked at George. your voice was low, almost teasing. “well, it depends, right? some people just like privacy.”
“yeah,” george said, throat dry. “privacy’s important.”
max squinted. “sure, but like… if you’re dating someone and you’re never in their stories, never on their grid, don’t even get a soft launch - what’s that about?”
you shrugged. “maybe they’re just waiting for the right time.”
“or maybe they’re secretly dating their podcast guest,” max said under his breath. george choked.
you snorted. “i think we’ve veered off-topic.”
george could barely look at you for the rest of the episode. he was red, flustered, and so obviously not okay. the fans were going to eat this up. the clips alone were going to break tiktok. you were cool as ever - effortlessly gliding through the chaos.
but as the outro music played and the red light on the camera clicked off, you finally looked at him properly. the kind of look that said, you’re in so much trouble, but i kind of love you for it.
george leaned toward you, voice low, private, almost pleading.
“i was trying so hard to keep it together.”
you leaned closer, “you did terribly.”
he laughed, soft and warm, “i know.”
you looked over at max, who was pretending to check his phone but was definitely eavesdropping. then you reached over and squeezed george’s hand under the table, a quiet promise between the chaos.
“next time,” you whispered, “maybe we don’t pretend.”
george blinked. “yeah?”
you grinned,“yeah.”
TWITTER
@/uselesshotlinepod - Y’all… there’s NO WAY George and y/n are just “friends.” This episode is wild and you can go watch it now.
i’m on a role rn slayy. feel free to request i get to them within a week of when they are requested
summary -> george embraces part of the american culture at the superbowl
WC -> 1.1k
WARNINGS - not exactly accurate about the trip to the sb, mentions of alcohol/drinking/being drunk, may not be accurate about america
this was probably the most exciting brand trip you had ever been on, all the way to America to watch the super bowl. life definitely felt like it had peaked - especially because you were with some of your closest friends you had made since entering the youtube scene. there was something about it: the lights, the chaos, the unnecessary amount of fireworks every five minutes, the overpriced nachos, and the unmistakable buzz of americans shouting every time a ball reached the hands of jalen hurts. it was magical.
you still had no idea how you ended up in a vip suite, let alone one sponsored by some brand you had barely worked with - something to do with fizzy vitamin drinks, or maybe hair oil. you weren’t really sure. but you weren’t complaining. not when you were sat next to the one and only george clarke, who had, for reasons unknown, decided that this trip was his moment to become a full-blown cowboy.
yes. a literal cowboy. the hat had appeared sometime between landing at jfk airport and arriving in the legendary vegas. one moment he was a regular guy with a duffle bag and mild plane hair, and the next he was tipping a dusty, too large stetson over his eyes and calling people “partner.” you thought he was joking at first. surely, he was joking.
he was not joking.
you weren’t sure what had happened to him but, something had switched the moment you landed in the states. maybe it was the jet lag. maybe it was the endless mimosas at brunch. or maybe - and this was your running theory - george had simply watched too many old westerns on the plane and had decided that now was his time to shine. cowboy-core was alive and well, and george was its very loud, very british ambassador.
by halftime, george was very drunk, far further gone than he was when he adapted his cowboy role. “did you see that?” he yelled excitedly, leaning dramatically across you and knocking over a plastic cup full of something pink and sticky. “he threw the thing! the sport thing!”
“yes, george,” you said patiently, dabbing at your jeans with a napkin. “that’s kind of the whole point.” he didn’t hear you. or maybe he did and chose to ignore you, which was increasingly likely. instead, he was now standing up in the suite, cowboy hat askew, attempting to start a slow clap that absolutely nobody joined in on. not even the americans.
“he’s going to fall,” max muttered, sipping his drink like this was a nature documentary and george was a very confused squirrel. you couldn’t stop laughing. you should have been embarrassed - he was drawing attention, and not the cool, influencer-kind. but something about it was endearing. he wasn’t trying to be cool. he was just… george. weird, loud, full of terrible ideas, and apparently trying to learn how to line dance in the middle of the super bowl.
but the real kicker? the thing that made it all completely unhinged? he was doing it for you.
at some point - maybe during the second round of tequila shots or maybe during that really weird conversation about whether american cows had accents - george had decided he was in love with you. well, that might be a bit strong. but the boy had a huge crush, and drunk george had no intention of hiding it.
he tipped his hat down dramatically as you laughed at one of his comically bad jokes. “m’lady,” he said, completely serious.
you choked on your drink. “you did not just m’lady me.” he stared at you, deadly solemn. “reckon i did.”
“oh my god.”
max, now filming him with the glee of someone who knew this was going straight to his instagram story, shouted, “do it again, george!”
george, always one to commit to the bit, turned on his heel like he was starring in his own cowboy rom-com. he swayed slightly, steadied himself by grabbing the back of a bar stool, then swaggered back toward you with all the confidence of someone who had never once been rejected.
“you,” he said, eyes a bit unfocused, “are prettier than a sunset over the great plains.”
“george, you’ve never even been to the great plains.”
“still counts, i know they’re great.” he did the hat thing again.
“m’lady.” you buried your face in your hands, trying not to laugh too hard. “you’re absolutely insufferable.”
he looked delighted. “that’s a yes then?”
“to what?!”
“marriage. probably.” you stared at him. he stared back, eyes wide, the hat now somehow even more crooked than before. it was absurd. he was absurd. but damn if it wasn’t kind of charming.
“i’m not marrying someone who thinks beer pong is a real sport,” you said, crossing your arms. “i beat Max at beer pong,” george said indignantly, turning to your friend for backup. max raised a brow, “you fell into the table and then threw up in a plant.”
“details,” george muttered. then, without missing a beat, turned back to you with a smile that was - god help you - genuinely cute, “still counts.”
it was after the halftime show, when the lights dimmed and everyone settled down slightly, that george found himself next to you again. this time quieter, sleepier. he had ditched the line dancing, finally sat down, and was now leaning his head against your shoulder like a very affectionate golden retriever in a hat. “i really like you,” he mumbled, almost inaudible over the noise. you looked over at him, unsure if he meant to say that aloud. he looked up at you, eyes fully sincere, even through the drunken haze.
“i’m not just messing,” he added, a little softer as if he could read your mind. “I mean it.”
the cowboy stuff, the dramatic tipping of the hat, the weird compliments - it was all part of the george clarke charm. but this bit, this honesty? it caught you off guard. “i like you too,” you said quietly.
he blinked slowly, “yeah?” you nodded in response, “even when you’re dressed like you just walked out of a spaghetti western.”
he laughed, leaning back with a grin that reached all the way to his cheeks, “i knew it. the hat’s working.” you rolled your eye, “let’s not push it.”
later that night, when the game had ended, the confetti had rained down, and you were all being herded out of the stadium like drunken cattle, george reached for your hand. not in a big, dramatic, rom-com moment kind of way. just quietly, softly.
“next super bowl,” he said, slurring just slightly, “we go as a couple.” you squeezed his hand lightly, “only if you promise not to say ‘m’lady’ again.”
he tipped the hat down, “no promises, darlin’.”
i’m back after a shit ton of revision. british yt boys have my heart ig!
-> thanks for clicking on to my page, i hope you enjoy.
i try to release something every MONDAY whether that’s a one shot or a headcannon, something will be released. i also have random bursts of creativity and therefore i will also release extra pieces very erratically and therefore i will not have a schedule for certain pieces.
i love interacting with others so feel free to message me or leave a note!
╰┈➤ ❝ [requests] ❞
the status of my requests will always be announced in my bio and are most likely to be open. i will eventually get to all requests unless it goes directly against any stipulations mentioned.
╰┈➤ ❝ [what you can request] ❞
short answer - anything. even if it’s one line, i will try and write or incorporate it into something. however, if you would like a more specific piece of writing, feel free to go into more detail as it will limit the altering interpretations i have and most likely increase the length of writing as i try to incorporate all of the points. side note - if one of the points will lead to confusion of small plot holes, i may have to alter it slightly or leave it out just so it overall makes sense. like i said, feel free to write a request as long as you deem necessary but i would advise just writing a blurb or idea instead of a full fic.
╰┈➤ ❝ [what i wont write] ❞
illegal activities a long the lines of trafficking and rape.
piss/scat kinks [just not my vibe]
anything to do with the sexualisation of children or animals exc things like werewolves.
summary -> it’s impossible to beat Spencer at chess
wc -> 1k
WARNINGS: teeth rotting sweet, a tad inappropriate, Spencer being totally adorable.
the jet was always a place of solace after a grueling case. some agents unwound with a book, others caught up on sleep, and morgan preferred playful banter. but you? you had a different kind of post-case ritual—one that involved a gorgeous genius and an old wooden chessboard.
you weren’t quite sure when it started, but at some point, you and spencer had developed an unspoken tradition of playing chess on the plane. it had begun as a way to pass time, but over the months, it had become something more. something personal.
and frustrating. because no matter how hard you tried, how many strategies you memorized, or how many times you attempted to outmaneuver him, you never won. ever. tonight was no different.
the team had just wrapped up a case in florida, a long and exhausting one that had taken its toll on everyone. you were relieved to be heading home. as soon as the jet leveled off in the sky, you found yourself setting up the chessboard on the small table between you and spencer. his eyes lit up in that boyish way they always did when he was presented with an playful challenge. “are you sure you want to do this again?” he teased, his fingers already shuffling the pieces into place. you crossed your arms and gave him a defiant smirk, “one of these days, i’m going to win.”
spencer chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a playful smirk, “statistically speaking, the probability of that happening is significantly low you know because you’re playing against the best. but I admire your persistence.”you rolled your eyes, “yeah, yeah, dr.genius. just make your move.”
the game began as it always did—spencer playing with an effortless grace, his long fingers gliding over the pieces as if they were an extension of himself. you, on the other hand, were meticulous, planning each move with intense concentration.
and yet, twenty minutes later, you found yourself in the same predicament as always. check. you groaned, letting your head fall against the seat, “you’re impossible.” spencer grinned, “not impossible. just highly skilled.”
“you could at least pretend to struggle,” you huffed, moving your king out of danger. “i could,” he admitted, “but then it wouldn’t be a challenge.” you shot him a playful glare, “you are such a nerd.” he didn’t even pretend to be insulted, “i take that as a compliment.”
as the game continued, spencer—being spencer—couldn’t resist peppering the conversation with his signature fun facts. “you know, chess dates back to the 6th century, originating from an indian game called chaturanga,” he mused as he captured your knight. you frowned at the board, “yeah? well, did you know I’m about to throw this chess piece at your face?”
he chuckled, “that would be highly unprofessional.”
“it’d be satisfying, though,” you grumbled.
spencer tapped his fingers against the table, observing you with an almost amused expression. “you know,” he started, “your playstyle is actually quite impressive. you’ve improved a lot since our first game.” you scoffed., “and yet, i still haven’t won.”
he tilted his head, considering something. then, he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, “would you like to know a secret?” your interest piqued, “what kind of secret?” spencer’s lips curled into a small smile, “i could let you win.” your jaw dropped, “excuse me?!”
“i mean, theoretically, of course,” he shrugged, “i could make a misstep—just one—enough for you to take advantage of.” you narrowed your eyes, “that’s cheating.” he chuckled, “not cheating. just… an act of kindness.”
you huffed, “i don’t want you to let me win, spencer. i want to win on my own.” his expression softened, and for a moment, he just watched you—his brown eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. then, slowly, he nodded, “that’s what I thought you’d say.”
you rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. just a warmth that settled in your chest. the game continued, and unsurprisingly, spence had you in checkmate within the next five moves.
“i hate you,” you muttered, though you were smiling. spencer smirked, “no, you don’t.” you sighed dramatically, flopping back against your seat, “maybe just a little.”
he chuckled, starting to reset the board, “how about best two out of three?” you sat up, eyeing him suspiciously, “you want to crush me again?”
“i wouldn’t say ‘crush.’ more like… gently outmaneuver.” you laughed, shaking your head, “fine. but this time, i want some pointers. if i’m going to beat you one day, i need to learn from the best.” spencer’s smile was soft, almost fond, “i’d be happy to teach you.”
and so, the next game began. but this time, instead of simply playing to win, spencer explained his thought process. he pointed out potential moves, explained the strategies behind them, and even showed you how to anticipate your opponent’s next step. it was, quite possibly, the most fun you’d ever had playing chess.
by the time the jet was preparing to land, you were still far from winning, but for the first time, you felt like you were getting closer. spencer stretched, letting out a small yawn, “you’re getting better.” you grinned, “think i’ll win next time?” he smirked, “i wouldn’t bet on it.”
you rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he hesitated. then, leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice again, “but I wouldn’t mind if you kept trying.” your breath caught slightly. the way he was looking at you—soft, warm, affectionate—sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.
you swallowed, matching his gaze, “oh, I will keep trying.” he chuckled, but there was a certain tenderness in his expression. a silent promise that this—whatever this was—was something neither of you wanted to end anytime soon.
and for the first time, you realized something important. maybe beating spencer at chess wasn’t the real goal. maybe the best part was simply playing with him.
divider by @saradika-graphics
first post eek! hope yall enjoy and feel free to request whatever you like and i’ll try to get to it asap. p.s i also write for cod.
Summary: Hotch is stepping down, giving Derek the opportunity to rise in his place. Derek wants to fight for you but is forced to deal with the case at hand. You, on the other hand, are forced to deal with the ugly side of prison.
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill
Season Five Masterlist
Author’s Note: I just want to remind everyone that I know this isn't what prisons are like in real life (I think). For the sake of the story, it's how this prison works.
I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.
x
It's been two weeks since you first arrived and the feeling of fear and being overwhelmed hasn't gone away. You're falling apart and you can't tell anyone. You don't want to make Ashley uncomfortable so you haven't told her that you're a psychic. That kind of thing will get you isolated in here. That will make you a target in most people's eyes. All she knows is that you are an FBI Agent who was framed for murders you didn't commit, and that's all she's going to know about you.
You walk into the courtyard and look at everyone here. Every woman has done unspeakable crimes that some aren't remorseful about while others are just trying to keep their heads down. Some women are playing either basketball or volleyball, some of them are in the weight yard, some are sitting on the benches playing cards and trading packs of cigarettes, and others are by themselves just enjoying their own company.
The only person missing from the courtyard is Ashley. She told you she'd meet you here when she got done with her job in the laundry room. She has met you in the same spot since day one so it's concerning you that she isn't here. There are guards posted everywhere, so you approach the one whom you feel more at ease with. Her energy is calming compared to some of the other guards whose energies are more aggressive.
"Hi, can I use the bathroom?" you ask. "I really have to go."
You've been especially kind to her, so you're hoping she will allow you to do so without issue. She looks you up and down before nodding slightly. You smile at her and thank her as you pass by her. The prison has cameras everywhere and guards posted at every corner, so if she doesn't escort you to the bathroom, there are guards who are watching your every move.
You try not to piss off the guards you pass by as you look for your friend. All you need to do is find her energy and she'll be right there. The closer you get to the bathroom, the more her energy is apparent. You turn the corner into the bathroom and see her on the floor cowering in fear in front of a much larger woman than her. They are arguing; well, the larger woman is doing all the yelling. Ashley is just trying not to piss her off even more than she already is.
"I don't care who the fuck you are. If you ever come near me again, I'll do more than fucking hit you."
"Hey!" you shout, causing both women to look at you. "Leave her alone."
"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it if I don't?" You look at Ashley who is scared out of her mind. "That's what I thought."
She turns back to Ashley but you're not done with her. You're not scared of her but Ashley's fear is rolling onto you which makes you fearful of the woman.
"Back the hell off her. I won't ask again," you narrow your eyes.
The woman turns to face you again and is swift with her movements. She rears her fist back and sends a sharp right hook into your jaw. You crumble to the ground in pain and she laughs at you.
"Bitch."
The woman spits on the ground near you before leaving the bathroom. You take a minute to yourself before getting up. Ashley is in tears that you had to suffer at her hand but you wave it off.
"I am so sorry," Ashley cries.
"No, don't do that. This isn't the first beating I've taken in my life. It'll be okay," you sigh and help her up.
"You should get checked out by the doctor here."
"There's no point. I'm not injured enough for them to care about me. I'm okay. I promise."
There is going to be a nasty bruise on your face later but there is nothing you can do about that. You just have to shake it off as you do with everything else in your life. You're more worried about what your team will think if they see you like this.
They want to think about you. They want to do everything they can to help you but not when there is an active murder case going on. Another person has fallen victim to the unsub, this time in a public park. He's clearly not afraid of getting caught otherwise he would choose secluded spots to kill his victims. Plus, his next kill spot is far from the other ones, so why go out of his way to kill someone?
He only killed one person this time but it could have been more since it was a crowded park. Phil found a car parked nearby that belonged to the victim, Tracy Copper who was thirty-two. Her husband said she was an avid jogger which is how she found herself in the secluded parts of the park. She died from a single knife wound to the neck, and like the others, her eyes are missing. They were cut out perfectly like the other two female victims.
The unsub must have picked the place and waited for someone to come by. Tracy must have been the first person he knew he could overcome. The method of killing is similar to the two girls in the parking lot except that he was much quieter than before. If he had hidden in the park's trees, he would have made a lot more noise because of the dry brush.
Tracy was an avid jogger so if she had heard him, she could have easily outrun him, he must have used a different method to catch her off guard, right? Right. Not far from where her body was found, there is a tripwire he must have set up before. He used the tripwire to get her off her feet knowing she could have outrun him. Once she's fallen, she's stunned and doesn't have a lot of time to get away.
This kind of behavior paired with the fact that he bleeds her at the neck suggests the unsub is a game hunter and the game happens to be humans.
Spencer and JJ are the only ones at the police station while the rest are out visiting crime scenes, dumpsites, and talking to the ME. JJ calls Penelope to discuss the case, and she looks at Spencer who is picking at the edge of the desk absentmindedly.
"Hey, Garcia, we have the list of local doctors but we need to back it up one step. Give me a list of all doctors who've had infractions like malpractice suits."
"Got it. Bouncing your way."
"Narrow it down to eye specialists."
"That's still a lot of names."
"We'll chip away when we know more."
"Hey, wait. Before you hang up, how's my Morgan doing?"
"Fine."
"I know the man is fine. How's he holding up as head honcho?" Penelope chuckles.
"Well, he's stressed but he's on top of it. Speaking of which, there is something you could do for him," JJ smiles.
"Name it."
"You know Anderson's office?"
"Yeah."
"I say we make that his new office. He's one month before retiring, and I'm sure if you work your magic, then you might get him to work from home."
"I will indeed work my magic," she chuckles. "How are you doing, Spencer?"
"Fine."
He continues to stare at the desk and JJ sighs sadly.
"I bet Y/N is making friends with everyone there. You know how she always connects with people. I'm sure she's making the best out of a bad situation."
"Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm trying really hard not to think about it okay? Can we move on?"
"Yeah. Sorry." The rest of the team comes strolling in, and JJ sits up straighter. "Gotta go, Pen. Let me know what you find."
"Penelope out."
"How did it go?" JJ asks.
"About as well as you think it did. Hunting is a big part of this city's culture normally but with animals. What triggered him to start hunting humans?" Rossi asks. "This guy is taking people's eyes, so he's definitely disturbed. What bugs me is that people like this usually unravel and get sloppy. This guy is only getting better."
"Morgan, I'm fielding calls left and right here," JJ says. "The case made national news. They're starting to call him the Eye-Snatcher."
"Alright," Derek sighs, "you're gonna hold a small but controlled press conference. Answer their questions but try to squash that name. I want the people to be aware but I do not want to make a bogeyman out of this guy. You understand?"
"Yeah."
JJ looks like she wants to say something else but decides against it.
"Is there something else?"
"You're not answering Strauss' calls."
"She's just trying to keep tabs. She can wait."
"Morgan, maybe you should take the time to field the call," Hotch advises.
"Hotch, we have to set up a tip line. We have to go over JJ's talking points. We haven't gotten the profile out yet. All of that takes priority over dealing with Strauss."
"I understand all that. Let us help you set up a strategy while you talk to her. We'll regroup with you before we proceed. We have enough battles. Believe me, you don't want to fight her, too."
Derek sighs knowing Hotch is right. This is Derek's first case as team leader when Hotch has been doing it for years.
"Let me get this profile out, and then I'll go talk to Strauss."
Everyone goes their separate ways, leaving Hotch and Rossi alone in the conference room.
"He's doing a good job," Rossi says.
"I wanted it to be Y/N."
"I know."
"She did so well on those other cases that I sent in a letter about her leadership skills. Don't get me wrong, Morgan is a good choice for the position but I wanted it to be her. I'm doing everything I can for her but it kills me knowing she's in there. I'm already in enough trouble. I can't go back against Strauss' order and look into her case."
"I know. I understand. It's not a good situation to be in. You've got a tough job, Aaron."
"Yeah," he sighs.
"Have you thought about how this is going to end?"
"What do you mean?"
"Morgan as our unit chief is a temporary thing. He's a natural leader. He'll excel. What happens when he's asked to step down?"
"I can't think about that right now."
After gathering the facts about the case, the profile is ready to be given out. Everyone gathers at the front while Phil and his officers sit, ready to listen.
"We believe that our unsub may have known his first victim but the rest were random. Most enucleators have a mental disorder and are frenzied and sloppy when they attack. This one has more control."
"We are not calling him by any nickname. He is simply a murderer that the FBI is trying to apprehend," JJ says.
"He lays in wait to kill his victims and knows how to cut them so they bleed out. This indicates he might have a hunting background. We're urging citizens to be hypervigilant at night. He is killing in different areas of the city in public places. His large kill zone could be related to some type of travel pattern in his life which indicates a comfort with these neighborhoods."
"Why, all of a sudden, is he killing people every day?" an officer asks.
"The escalation might be caused by a self-imposed timeline. He has to murder so many people, take this many eyes as he can, to accomplish a task."
"So, he's crazy but has a mission?"
"Actually, yes. He's acting on a delusion that's fueling this murder spree. For example, a man named Herbert Mullin had a fear of a catastrophic earthquake hitting California. Now, he believed that by killing people and offering their blood as a sacrifice to the earth, he could prevent an earthquake. He was a paranoid schizophrenic and his delusion led him to kill thirteen people."
"What should we look for when we're on the streets?"
"We believe he's a white male between twenty-seven and thirty-five. We believe he is driving a van or a pickup truck with a removable cab. You know, something utilitarian that can get bloody and washed out easily. He may also have applied for hunting licenses. He has some sort of medical or surgical training but fell short of making a career out of it."
"He may have been in a halfway house or have been granted leave from a treatment facility. Maybe his family moved him away and now he's back. Our unsub kills at night, employs hunting tactics, and is patient. He will wait until he can be alone with his victims," Derek finishes the briefing.
x
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ardent (adjective): to fall into strong feelings for or to develop a crush; to begin to love
pairing: spencer reid x psychic! gender neutral reader
synopsis: the four times where you almost call spencer by his first name, and the one time that you do
warnings: typical cm talk and discussions, a quick undercover case, spencer reid is NOT straight, honestly assume that any character i write for isn't straight, food mentions, swearing (probably), nervous spencer at the end, me having a bias towards glasses reid
masterlist
word count: ~5k
a/n: here is the next installment for my psychic reader collection! i spent a lot of time and effort on this one, and i have not written something this long in awhile, so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do!
want to be tagged? let me know!
not proofread whoops again
credit to gif owner!
i.
"Why do you drink coffee when you don't even like it?" You were by the kitchenette as Spencer rolled up for his morning caffeine fix, caught off guard by the realization that he wasn't alone.
He turned to you, adding sugar into his beverage. "Caffeine is a stimulant that increases your brain and nervous system's alertness. We work really odd hours. I don't understand what you're asking." The flow of sugar didn't stop until he was almost done talking, your eyes widening every second he kept pouring.
"Yes but aren't there other drinks that get the same result? Why coffee when you obviously don't like the taste?" You watched as he stirred the sugar-with-a-dash-of-coffee drink together, combining the ingredients.
He shrugged as he pushed up his glasses to sit better on his nose. "It's what's easily available."
"Hmm." You scrunched your eyebrows together. "Do you like tea?"
"I much prefer tea, actually." A wisp of hair fell in front of his face, and you were tempted to push it away. You weren't going to, that was absurd. But you were tempted. You had just reached a truce not too long ago and put your differences aside, meaning you had to make every moment count if you wanted to keep the peace.
Reid surveyed the room before continuing, as to watch for any possible intruders. "Last time I walked in with tea though, Morgan commented on my cup and would only talk to me in a horrible British accent the rest of the day." A small smile crept onto his features. "Learned that lesson quite quickly."
Now that you didn't seethe at the sight of him, you were able to read Reid better. Six months into the BAU now and you were able to have civilized conversations with the genius, progress that you valued as you got to know him. He was skeptical of what you could do with your mind still, but at least he was less vocal about it.
Something was different this morning though, but that may just be on your side. Because at seven a.m. sharp Spencer walked into the bullpen with those frames of his adorning his face, something that he hadn't done since the first month you were here. Why was that a problem? Because you couldn't keep your eyes off of him.
Maybe it was the change, or maybe it was something else, but you were put into a daze the first few seconds you saw him.
You came back to reality just in time for him to make his leave, and you made the collective decision to make a pit stop on the way in tomorrow if there were no cases announced today. You needed a change of pace in your morning routine anyway. At least, that's what you told yourself as you walked back to your desk, getting Emily's attention before striking up a riveting conversation with her regarding her weekend plans.
--
The next day when you walked into the office, you were balancing two drinks, one pastry, and a load of anxiety in your hands. You were the first one there, showing up a half an hour early as Spencer appeared twenty minutes early on the dot without missing a day. You had stopped by the café next to your apartment on your way here, getting yourself a drink and ordering a tea for Spencer that felt right. You didn't know what he usually had, but your mind searched his the day before to get a good grasp of the basics.
You knew that he had a big thing with germs (which was completely justified) and so you delicately laid down a folded napkin as a coaster for his tea before writing a little note of what it was. You signed with your initials before rounding to your own desk, just in the nick of time. You glanced down at your watch as it struck twenty-to, and watched nonchalantly as Reid walked into the office, immediately noting your presence and giving an awkward wave. The rest of the team filed in not too long after, and before you knew it you had lost a few hours to paperwork. It wasn't until midday that you felt a presence near your desk, the energy telling you it was Reid before you even looked in his direction.
"You got me baked goods. And a drink. Why?"
"The tea is caffeinated, and it's green--I know some people have sensitivities to other bases but usually green is a safe bet. It was no big deal, I had a couple punch cards that I turned in for free goodies so please don't think you owe me anything."
He awkwardly leaned against the side of your desk, trying to find a place to stick his hands. "Why did you do it?"
"Why do you think I did it?"
"I'm not sure. I looked up the shop on the cup and it's ten minutes in the opposite direction from here, you didn't go out of your way did you?"
Yes, you totally did. "No not at all, it was on my way."
He squinted at you, knowing you were telling a fib but not confident enough to call it out.
"Plus, I get the feeling you like pastries of the sort."
A smile flashed across his face. "I do, actually, the one you got is my favorite type."
You shot him a wink. "I thought so. You like the drink too?"
His shoulders slumped into a more relaxed response as the conversation went on. "I did, I never had that type before, but it was quite nice. The flavors were all very balanced, and I appreciated the sugar packets you brought along with it." He stood up, beginning to head back to his desk. "Thank you."
"Anytime Reid."
Were you there long enough to use his first name? It was a tricky thing, names, because some didn't mind being on a first-name basis from the get-go, but Reid was different.
It almost fell from your lips just then too, as he was walking away.
Maybe today wasn't the day, but you hoped soon it would be.
ii.
You were called into a case before you could finish your Saturday morning routine, and by midday the jet was taking you to Kentucky. with the woods surrounding you on pretty much all sides. That plus the humidity ever present equaled a very irritable team.
It was two days in when the profile was given, but your focus was on one of the local cops at the department. You didn't want to make it a big deal, but your incessant glaring was clearly making him uncomfortable. He was hiding something. Prentiss was the one to cue you first, nudging your arm after realizing you weren't letting up on your stare down.
"What is it? Everything alright?" She crossed her arms as she followed your line of sight.
"Yeah, it's just something's off."
"What's off?" Spencer appeared seemingly from nowhere and perched himself on your other side.
"Oh, hey Reid." Emily nodded in your direction. "They're reading Mr. Cowboy Boots over there." Sure enough, the cop had a pair on that did not match the uniform at all.
"His aura is different." You squinted as he gathered up some paperwork. "Most of the people in this office have an uncomfortable energy, but his is just...different. Not a good different either." A moment of silence filled the air. "Plus, I hate that toupee of his. It looks like a joke." He turned towards the three of you and you all glanced in separate directions, trying but failing to look like you hadn't just been studying him.
"The way he flows just doesn't match the energy of the others, and I'm going to figure out why."
"How can you tell?" Spencer looked from the man in question to the other locals, trying to understand an inch of what you were saying.
You kicked off from the wall you were slouching against before starting on your way towards him. "I just can. Give me a minute." And off you went.
You just needed to strike up small talk with him, really look into his eyes to try and uncover your rising suspicions. You were in earshot of Emily and Reid still, and it didn't take you long to understand why you were feeling the way you were.
Nodding as an exit cue, you booked it toward your two coworkers. "Call Garcia." You closed your eyes for a second, focusing your thoughts. "He knows the unsub. I don't know how, but either through friendship or familial ties, Boots over there is familiar with these murders.
"All you did was discuss tomorrow's weather, how can you know?" Spencer looked at you, confusion written all over those chiseled cheekbones.
You hummed as you reached out to flick an invisible piece of dust from his sweater vest. "His heart, it tells a story. A story of betrayal, of protecting a secret. Not like a typical hidden truth, but something much, much darker. He's inserting himself into this case as much as he can because of it." He reached for his found to send Penelope your info, no matter how apprehensive he was about it. You could tell he was unsure, but if it meant getting one step closer to catching this killer, he wasn't going to question it. Not now at least.
He picked up his phone, adjusting his glasses as he did so. "Hey, Garcia? We need you to check something out."
Emily went to relay the information to Gideon, and you took a moment to admire the boy genius. You had to admit that ever since you two started getting along, you were seeing him in a new light. A light that you wished minded its own damn business. His awkwardness was adorable, and when he showed up to the case today wearing those glasses of his, well, you had to pencil in a cold shower for later.
Whether he knew it or not, he truly was gorgeous.
You weren't planning to acknowledge those feelings anytime soon though. There was a killer on the loose and this was the last thing you needed to be thinking about right now.
"He hasn't slept since the beginning of the case either. Those bags under his eyes are days old and he--" Spencer stared at you as he telephoned your information to Garcia's side. "He has a grass allergy. That last part isn't important, I just needed to let someone else know that I knew that too." You mumbled the last part of yourself, looking briefly out towards the cloudy evening.
He turned towards you, shooting you a confused look. He covered the phone with his hand. "You can tell if someone has an allergy?"
You shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I can." You squinted your eyes at him, and you two had worked together enough now that he knew you were reading him. "You're allergic to pollen." The lack of reaction from him was reaction enough. "And peaches? Cantaloupe, too."
The corner of his eye twitched, and you smirked at your victory. He resumed his attention to the phone. "Garcia, they're freaking me out again, reading my mind."
Maybe you two were friends. Friends call each other by their first names, right? You silently tested it out on your tongue.
Gideon's voice grabbed the two of you's attention before his name could fall from your lips.
iii.
You were not a fan of going undercover. It was a part of the job that you thankfully didn't have to exercise much of, but whenever the opportunity arose, you did your best to avoid it. It was uncomfortable, especially when you fit the victimology to a tee. You had a weapon tucked away as a fail-safe, but there you were, sitting alone in a bar with a glass untouched in front of you.
Act as though you had a fresh break-up, he's going after people who seem heartbroken.
Make sure not to draw too much attention.
Let us know the moment he leads you out. Click the pen and we'll be sent an alert.
You were a decent actor, but it felt weird knowing that you were practically bait for this case. It didn't help that you hated the bar setting, the sticky floors, questionable seats, and dim lighting. Not to mention they were always overcrowded whenever you went. No, you'd much rather be at home, or honestly anywhere rather than here.
"Any updates?" Reid's voice sounded through your earpiece, relaxing you a little. The team was strategically placed outside the establishment, with Spencer also somewhere within the pool of people inhabiting this bar. Back-up, he called it, though you were pretty sure that you'd be a better shot than he was. Plus, he hated this setting even more than you. So why was he here?
You tried to search for him, attempting to find the brunette in the mass of people. You caught someone's eyes in the process, quickly locking theirs with your own before moving on.
Here we go.
The man fit the profile to a tee, and noticing that you were alone started to make his way to you.
You swirled your drink in your hand as he sauntered up to you. Even if you weren't here undercover, you wouldn't go near this guy with a jousting pole. Time to put on the charm.
"Well hey there, you look lonely."
You put on an overly friendly smile. "Oh, you're too kind."
"Mind if I take a seat?"
One glance at him and you knew. This was your guy. You clicked the alarm disguised as a pen, and now you just had to get him out of the bar. "Go right ahead."
It took ten minutes before you could get anywhere, and by the time you convinced him to leave with you, you wanted to retch--his grubby hands were laying on your shoulder, rubbing it as he walked alongside you, other hand on the small of your back.
You were definitely making sure that as a reward for putting up with this, you had your paperwork covered for at least a week.
One moment you felt the fresh evening air, the next you heard shouts from all sides. But then you felt cold metal against your neck, and you realized this was going to take a little longer than expected. This is exactly why you hated going undercover.
"Put the guns down or they get it." You hadn't been on this side of the job yet, being held hostage with your teammates staring down the possibility of what one wrong move could mean.
"Statistically, killers like you try to take the path of police-assisted suicide in a situation like this, but you can make it out with a life sentence if you're smart about it. Either way, you'll never see what life looks like out of cement walls." Reid's voice sounded from behind you, as you welcomed the wave of relief that swept over you as his voice hit your ears. "Choose wisely."
You sensed it before it happened. You kicked his kneecap in as he went to swipe at you, and though you ended up with pain lightly searing against your clavicle, there Reid was, handcuffing him before handing him over to Morgan.
Spencer noticed your wound and moved towards you. "Is it deep?"
You shook your head. "No, just stings."
"I had eyes on you the entire time. I know it was really busy in there, but I was there. Just in case. I didn't lose you, you were safe." He waited a second before continuing. "Let's go get that cleaned up, it's pretty nasty looking."
You sent a smile at the man. "Thank you. Seriously, Spen--"
Gideon called both of your names before you could finish the sentence, leaving his first name still unknown on your lips.
iv.
The weather was just starting to clear again. It wasn't humid in D.C. and the temperature was at a steady rise, though it was still bearable. You had been talking with Hotch about weekend plans, which you had to admit was a little odd.
It wasn't that you and Aaron didn't get along, per se, but you two had just never sought the other out during non-work hours. He was telling you about his partner, Hailey, who sounded lovely. You'd never seen the man as lively as when he was talking about her.
"And then she offered to go to the art gallery to see the new exhibit, which I didn't even know about."
"You like art?" You were leaning against his desk with a cup of coffee in hand.
"I do. What about you, any events planned?"
You shook your head. "No, just me and my fish catching up on some reading hopefully."
"You know Reid reads too?" Hotch looked over to the man of the hour who was coincidentally staring back, quickly glancing away as if caught.
"Reid reads. There has to be a pun in there." You snorted at your words, shrugging afterward. "He reads books that I have no interest in though, and I distinctly remember hearing about his disdain for fiction, which is my forte."
"I'm sure if you asked him, he would." He paused for a moment before shuffling some papers. "You two could start your own book club."
This was the thing with Aaron, you could never tell if he was joking.
"In fact, he's coming this way now." Surprise scribbled onto your face as you turned to look behind you. Sure enough, like he'd been summoned, there was Spencer striding over. His contacts must have been picked up because he was bare-faced today, which made no difference to you--your heart still skipped a beat. You noticed he was giving off lots of nervous energy as he approached, though from the outside he looked relatively relaxed.
"Why are you nervous Reid?" Never one to beat around the bush, you were.
That relaxation quickly dissipated as he looked towards you and Hotch. His eyes met yours. "How do you--never mind. Do you have a second?"
You nodded. "Hotch, tell me how the exhibit goes, yeah?" With a nod from Aaron, you met Spencer halfway, motioning him to lead the onward. "What's up?"
He didn't speak until you got to his desk. "First, before I say anything, know that I do not mind at all if you say no."
"Okay...?" You watched him skeptically as he fiddled with his hands, looking at you every few seconds before surveying the room. "What, are you about to ask me on a date or somet--"
"I have two tickets to the star show they're hosting at the planetarium on Saturday, and I know that you love the constellations. I've been once before and it was really nice, they tell you all about the patterns and legends behind each one and I think you'd really like it. Penelope suggested I ask you since you usually are relatively free on the weekends, which isn't a bad thing of course. In fact, I don't usually do much on the weekends besides going to the park and playing chess with the regulars there." He was rambling, truly on edge about how'd you respond. A smile started to rise on you. "It's later in the evening so when you leave the planetarium you can see the stars in question, but it's not too far from my place and you do not have to go if you're busy or don't want to, I just thought I'd ask."
His eyes were wide as you ate up every one of his words. His voice was like the harmony of your favorite song--you loved to pick it out and listen to how each of the words he spoke flowed. His face had a tint of rose on it, and a piece of hair had fallen into his eyes. You had to once more withhold from pushing it back into place.
"I would love to go, where would you like to meet?"
Shock was written all over his features at your accepting of his invitation, and you were pretty sure he was already preparing a proper response to a rejection when you said your words.
"You want to go?"
A nod accompanied you. "Yeah, you can teach me all about the science and I can teach you all about your star sign."
He shot you a quizzical glance before relaxing his shoulders. Man, he was really tense. "Okay. Okay, great! I can send you my address. We can walk there from my place, it's only about ten minutes away. It's at 7 pm, does that work?"
"Works perfect for me." A thought popped into your head, one that could make this outing seem to be much more than it really was. "That's a little past when I eat, want to grab dinner beforehand?"
He scrunched his eyebrows at you. Uneasiness started to form in your belly, maybe you were being a little too bold. "What type of dinner? Restaurant dinner or takeout dinner?"
"We could do takeout? You said you know a 24-hour Thai place around here, right? It's one of your favorite places in the area."
He was almost caught in a trance then, looking nearly through you, staring at you with an expression you had never really seen on his face before. "You remembered that?"
"Of course I did, I remember things about the people I care about."
He couldn't speak for a second after your words. Yeah, you were definitely being too bold.
"You--" His voice cracked and you almost chuckled as he cleared his throat. "--I'll grab some food from there before we head out. Want to stop by around six?"
"Six it is. See you there, boy wonder." You shot a wink his way. "And thank you for the invite, I cannot wait to go." His first name was on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out at the slightest egging on. He looked almost expectantly at you and you had to remind yourself of where you were and who you were with.
This wouldn't be considered a date, would it?
v.
Spencer totally thought this was a date. He could count the number of dates he'd been on on his hand, and most of them were with Ethan. It'd been a while since he'd gone out, and he was nervous.
What if he was overdressed? What if he was underdressed? What even was the dress code for the night? What if you didn't show up?
He tried to not let that last thought get to him because if it did then he would spiral and would all in all not have a good time tonight. This wasn't platonic, right? He didn't think it was. Did you? Did--
A knock at his door interrupted his ruminating. He scrambled to make sure he looked presentable, heart practically thrumming against his rib cage as he did so. There was just one problem.
He couldn't see.
It wasn't that he hated how he looked with his glasses on, but it made him feel self-conscious and he hated to wear the frames outside of his house. The only problem was that the last of his contacts had dried out, and he really wanted to look nice for your guys' outing. He could not see more than five feet in front of him for his life, which in retrospect kind of ruined the whole point of looking at the stars.
That didn't matter in his mind as long as it impressed you. He knew that he shouldn't dress to impress, but you and your alternative methods of profiling had snuck their way into his brain and refused to leave. He thought about whether you'd do the daily crossword with him almost every morning. He made sure to always bring an extra morning snack in the case that you got hungry. Hell, he was writing to his mother about you.
He was in much farther than he knew.
A second round of knocks sounded at the door.
He opened it after looking through the peephole and nearly lost his breath.
You were stunning, and he felt more out of his element than he had in years.
Wow, he was really in deep.
"Phew, I thought I had the wrong address at first. I am so ready for some Thai and stars!" You entered his place, but his mind was still a few steps behind. "This place is beautiful, and so...you!" Neat piles of books were stacked in rows alongside his couch, and as he went to readjust one's positioning his lack of visual clarity made him trip.
Great.
You rushed over to him, careful to keep your distance but still close enough to offer help if he asked. "Woah, are you alright there?"
"Yeah, I-I just must've not seen where I was heading." He could feel the dust adorning his cheeks. He was totally making a fool out of himself. "Please, take a seat at the table, the food is still hot."
You smiled and nodded, taking in the contents of his home whilst sitting down. He went over and grabbed the Thai food, bringing it over to the table. He set the food down and went to sit, not knowing that this was the moment before a disaster. One of the chairs must not have been fully pushed in, and with the combination of his nerves, and his blurriness, his foot got caught right over it as he went to sit across from you.
Now, you fully respected and understood Spencer's hatred of germs, so you'd apologize later for coming to the rescue. That being said, you sensed it a half a second before it was going to happen, stood up, and reached out to catch him.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" His arms were on yours, bracing them for stability. "What's wrong? Are you sick?" He could feel your eyes looking him up and down for any signs of maladies. "We can reschedule and go another night if something's wrong." He really did not want to admit the reasoning behind his clumsiness. "I can take you to the doctor's if you're feeling ill." Now he definitely had to expose himself. How would he even explain this to a medical professional?
Oh hey doc, I got told repeatedly that I look better with contacts and now the one time I need them I don't have them which ironically is the one night in years that I had to chance to go out with someone who I think I'm starting to really like so can you please give me a fake diagnosis so they didn't drive me here for nothing?
Yeah, that wasn't going to work. He had to bite the bullet. "I'm not sick." He slowly removed himself from your grasp. "I just can't see."
A concerned look graced your features. "What? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, I just--"
"You just what Reid? You can talk to me. Your energy is super wonky right now. I'm getting a little worried for you."
This was stupid. He was acting stupid. He shouldn't be embarrassed by this. You were just looking out for him, that was all, it was all probably surface level anyway. It was all--
"Spencer, what's wrong?"
His breath stifled to a halt.
"What did you just say?"
Your concerned look deepened.
"I asked what was wrong."
You had never called him by his first name before.
He shook his head. "No, before that." His eyes met yours. "You've never said my first name before."
A flash of...regret? nerves? shot through your eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries. I should've asked--"
"Say it again." He properly sat down. "My name I mean, say it again. Please."
"You're not mad?" You were tentative with your words now, adding his name after a beat. "...Spencer?"
His name formed like the first rain shower after a draught on your lips, falling with the grace of the autumn leaves from your tongue.
"You've never called me that before." His expression was shy, and man he wished he could see more than your blurry figure right now. "I, uh, thought I could go without my glasses tonight, but I also don't have my contacts."
"Would you like me to call you that more?" You were going to make him go into freaking cardiac arrest. He nodded fervently. Your shoulders slightly lost some of their tension. "Why would you do that to yourself? You wouldn't be able to see."
"Statistically those who wea--"
"Spencer."
Oh, he was turning to putty now. You were going to kill him, and he didn't mind.
"I thought I would look better without them."
A scoff emitted from you. "If you need them to see, you need them to see. Don't change your appearance for the approval or interest of someone else." He felt the red rush up his neck, around his ears. "Plus," You added with a quieter tone. "I think you look plenty good with them on." You locked eyes. "Gorgeous, even. There's a reason Morgan calls you pretty boy, you know."
Gorgeous? You just called him gorgeous. No one had called him that before.
Simon doesn't care how he comes. He doesn't care if it's your smaller hand wrapped around his fattened cock, tugging it with a gentle twist, smearing the bead of arousal that's welled up from his slit with your thumb. Doesn't care that he usually fucks his fist roughly after a hard day's work with blood still crusted on his fingernails, hard enough to ache. The way you sit beside him, the soft swell of your breasts pressed against the corded muscle of his arm, murmuring words of praise that have his cheeks alight with a rosy glow—
He doesn't care if you use your mouth (you asked, ofc) your mouth is warm around him, the gummy inside of your cheeks slippery— the constricting back of your throat even more so. He sits still, like a good boy, not bucking his hips up, not pushing your head down to take as much of him as you can.
Doesn't care if you make him fuck your thighs— intercrural, you'd called it. How could he when your soft thighs are so smooth and pliable, enveloping his leaky cock with their warmth? Certainly doesn't mind when he glides his head along your slick folds, occasionally catching your swollen clit, hearing your little sharp intakes of breath.
Simon doesn't care where he comes, either. If it's a hand job, he spurts hot, viscous pleasure onto his pudgy stomach, coating the dark trail of hair below his navel and making a mess of your hand. (If you lick his come off your fingers, he's asking you to grow old with him asap)
If it's a blow job, he'll give you a heads-up with a rumbled, "'m, close, so close—" and that's your cue to either pull away, let him paint your cheeks with his spend, or swallow every single drop. (Or let it drip onto his jeans, none of it matters just don't stop)
He'll slicken your inner thighs with his sticky cum, scoop up some of it with his callused fingers, and slather it over your puffy pussy, using it as lube to rub you to completion.
So, when you casually ask him how he feels about a breeding kink as if you were commenting on the weather, his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Are you asking him for a kid?
But you don't notice how his pupils dilate a fraction or how the skin around his eyes tightens, the corners forming small creases as you continue. "Because I'd been thinking," a small pause, "to spice things up a little—" before he even gets a word in, you raise your hands up in a calming gesture. "Not like there's anything wrong with what we're doing now."
There's a subtle shake to your hands and the grooves of your palms catch the light. Sweaty. You're nervous. This isn't just about him filling you with his cum. He's already done that before— pressed his tip right into your swollen entrance mere moments before finishing. he lets you gather your thoughts, unsnag the words caught in your throat.
And when you finally steel your nerves and say what you want to say (garble, more like) the shrill ringing in his ears is deafening. "You wan' me to wear a rubber 'nd let you take it off." Had he misheard?
The way your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, gaze lowered to the ground, your fingers twisting and turning, uncertain. So he hadn't. Well. How could he say no? Granted, he doesn't understand it, but for his girl? Anything.
He comes to understand it the very first time it happens.
Rolling on the rubber hadn't been different. nor the way he gently stretched you with one finger, two. The spit he'd used as lube to cause you as little discomfort as possible mingling with your own slick, dripping down his rugged knuckles. He takes his time as always, slipping between your spread thighs, watching your face twist, kiss-swollen lips part as he sinks into your heat. He goes slow, hearing you hiss between your teeth, your blunt nails sinking into his chest. He'll have red, angry welts later alongside his dog tags. Claimed by both duty and his little love. "Marked like property," he'd joked once.
You hadn't found it so funny. (Johnny got it though.)
Even with the very small difference in sensation, you're still the best thing he's ever felt. You take him like you're meant for him and maybe you are, but he smothers that train of thought quickly with a heavy hand lest he finish when the fun's just begun.
He feels you shift, even with his body weight that presses down on you with the gravity of a boulder, and he sinks to the root— like a pebble falling into still waters. Your nails tear skin, draw blood. The biting sting of it sends a shiver that sweeps over his goosepimpled skin, arousal tangling in his spine. He bucks his hips in reflex, hard enough to jolt you upward. The discomfort on your face quickly melts away, the sweetened burn of his thick cock prying your tender walls apart finally bleeding into white-hot pleasure.
Simon thrusts again, this time deliberately. Again. And again. He keeps them shallow, dragging the ribbed edges of the condom along your sensitive nerves, gently trying to coax a lazy orgasm out of you— the ones that always leave you syrupy and warm.
He focuses on you. Swirls your peaked nipples with his thumb, nestles his face in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning over your heated skin. Simon licks a hot stripe over your fluttering pulse, presses a chaste kiss on it, nips your sensitive skin with a little too much pressure when you squeeze down around him—
Cheeky minx.
He snaps his hips, hard enough to rattle your spine, hard enough to hear the way the oxygen is ripped from your lungs. Simon keeps at it, resolute in getting you to the edge, dragging you with him, taking you over.
And then he hears you slur out a couple of words through your gasps. "C'ndom," you mewl, "the condom, off."
Right. He peels himself off of you. He'd almost forgotten —
You're impatient, pushing him away with your bare feet on his chest until he pulls out with a pop, trembling fingers reaching his twitching cock. The rubber comes off after a moment and while he's distracted by the creamy slick coating it, you're already putting him back in you, and your cunt feels sublime.
Divinity. He feels intoxicated.
The pleasure he felt before feels muted now, in comparison. Dull, almost. You feel hot, almost burning— swallowing him up, wet, so wet. The way your walls flutter around him jumbles his thoughts, tangles his tongue. He grinds down onto you with grit teeth, nostrils flared as he tries to keep the searing coil in his gut from unspooling, but he fears it's a losing battle. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he fucks into your tight cunt with a hunger that borders on desperation.
He can see, and hear, that it's different for you too. Your keens and mewls are loud, nails scoring trails of red down his back. Simon leans back a bit, enough to let you watch his cock split you open, strings of sticky arousal connecting between you two. When he changes angle, aiming for your (and his) favorite spot with precision, the squeal you let out stiffens his spine.
Simon needs to hear it again. He grabs you by the cheeks, forcing you to look at him with those pretty, glassy eyes that glimmer with tears. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of tasting salt. "Like tha'?" The delicate strands of your eyelashes are clumped together with overwhelming sensation.
When you don't answer, he gives your hood a gentle tap, striking right above your clit. "I asked you a question." He grunts when your pussy almost strangles his cock at his gravelly tone. Simon will remember that for later.
"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, god, just like that." As a reward, he uses his thumb to draw tight little circles over your pearl, fucking you with his full weight behind every thrust. The blissful expression on your features, spit glistening in the corner of your lips, your hand flat, fingers spread wide over your lower belly as if to feel him from the outside— it's enough to almost toss him over that crumbling edge.
But he takes more. Selfish, greedy. Takes what's his with fervor; wholly, unapologetically. "This," he pushes until he can go no more, his tip meeting a firm resistance, "is better than everythin' I've ever had." Maybe it's a stupid thing to say, right here when he's rearranging your guts around to make room for his fat cock, but he's drunk off of you.
There's no thinking clearly with the slick noises echoing in the stuffy room. There's no seeing clearly when his world has narrowed to a single point of contact.
You're squeezing around him like a vise, tight enough that his nerve endings prick with pain. But he keeps going. He takes, he gives, he yearns to watch you unfurl at the edges forever, on his fingertips, on his tongue, his cock but you—
You are both his ecstasy and ruin. He can see it in the way the corners of your pretty mouth curl upward, teasing, eyes glinting with mischief, with the same kind of trouble that ensnared him into your orbit that one lousy night.
"Come in me."
Bloody fucking trouble.
(He wants all of it. The you who'll complain about the hard surface of the kitchen table he'll bend you over. The purple marks he'll pepper on your neck, your collarbone. The you that fights tooth and nail over him eating beans on toast.)
He watches you with half-lidded eyes as his fingers and his cock toss you overboard into the tumultuous sea of euphoria and then— when you're a drooling, limp mess— only then, does he finally surrender, balls drawn up painfully tight,
and fills you to the brim, until there's no more room left in your swollen, greedy pussy. Until it spills from your hole in thick rivulets, until there's no more of him left to give.
(He doesn't do rings. It'll get the both of you killed should he ever get caught. Maybe a tattoo for him and a band for you? Gotta text Price in the morning.) <- oh what barebacking does to a simple man such as he.
this was supposed to have been a 600 word drabble hello. he's clingy and squishy and so sickeningly in his emotions.
Cw: home invasion misunderstanding, injury to a character(not reader), miscommunication?, over all silliness.
Enjoy!
Part 2
Price didn't know what to expect when he got home but it sure as hell was not the sight in front of him. The mission was rough on everybody, they have been fed false information that almost got them all killed, hell it even got him shot for goodness sake, the bullet barely grazed his shoulder,it hurt like a bitch but it was headed for his lieutenant's head and he sure was not going to let one of his comrades die on his watch. The thing is, it was a surface level wound. He definitely had worse, way worse. But Simon was acting like he was shot in the neck. The ride back was hell, he kept hovering over the medic's shoulder like a worried hen, and it got worse when the medic, feeling funny, made him stay in the infirmary back at the base for observation. Over a basic surface level wound. Of course that made Simon way more insufferable, Hovering over him, treating him like a new born, and it was obvious that Simon wasn't sleeping well, he was on his last legs,and yet he refused to leave his side, it was safe to say that the captain was at his wits end. So he devised a plan, he asked Simon to get him clothes from his house, ones that he doesn't need as he has a change of clothes at his room in the barracks, so he can get the fuck out of bed without anyone stopping him and get the fuck home to his very comfortable bed. Safe to say he got his wish.
John was flabbergasted. That was not a word he would use to describe himself often but it seems it fits the situation pretty well because in his living room was his lieutenant, tied to a chair by a bright red robe, and next to him was his pseudo wife/roommate in her pyjamas and....is that bunny slippers? Seemingly oblivious to his presence.
"what is going on in here" he asked harshly and that seems to bring her attention to him.
"John?" you say, your features are scrunched up in confusion then it turns into a bright smile "you are home" you say happily "wait why are you home you said you won't be in today"you ask.
He says your name cautiously then he asks again "what are you doing".That catches your attention and you turn back to a tied Simon and you smirk triumphantly "I caught him trying to rob our house"
"Why would Simon rob our house" he asks, very confused. This wipes the smirk right off of your face.
"wait! you know this man?" You ask hurriedly
"Yes he is my lieutenant, from work" he replies tiredly "now will you tell me why do you have him tied up in our living room" and you take a breath and regale him with a tale so strange that he gets a headache.
"why would you confront a burglar? that is Very stupid"
"I know alright you don't need to tell me that"
"Why is he so silent".You go quiet at the question then you mumble something. "What did you just say" he asks.
"i said that I hit him over the head with a frying pan and he might be mildly concussed"
In the time it takes you to finish that sentence he feels his blood pressure go through the roof.
"Why would you hit him over the head of a frying pan" he yells incredulously
"well I don't know John maybe it's because he sneaked into our house on the same day that you told me that there's a series of burglaries going around and I don't know about you but I don't wish to be a headline on the morning news" you replied sarcastically. "I could see it right now, 'a young woman died in a burglary gone wrong' and people would go oh what an unfortunate event and then the move on" you continue. In the two months that he knew you you never got mouthy with him so John was quite shocked at your reply.
"Besides, he will be totally fine" you added.
"The man is unconscious"
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I was alone in the house and then i was not, i go down to the kitchen to see the tallest man i have ever seen, standing in the kitchen wearing all black and covering his face. What was i supposed to assume” you say, suddenly tired.
“Alright yeah that is slightly suspicious” he conceded.
You move away from john towards the man you know now as Simon and grasp his shoulders, shaking him very lightly when he doesn’t respond you panic a little. "he will be okay" you say frantically, then you slap him on face gently "hey! Hey come on wake up" you say lightly.
Simon jerks awake, his entire body seizing. He looked confused for a moment, then he started struggling against his restraints.
"Hey calm down you're going to hurt yourself" you say firmly. Simon in his confused state tries to headbutt you but he misses and you barely manage to get away with your nose intact. John starts to intervene before anyone got more hurt “lieutenant, calm down” he says, firmly grasping Simon head. That seems to have done the trick because Simon’s eyes start to focus and he settles down.
“Captain?” He asks, his speech slightly slurred.
“That’s right lieutenant, can you tell me what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Coming down to your house….drinking water from the kitchen…bunnies” he’s replies. Then he gathers himself more, seemingly more lucid now “what happened” and he tugs at the robes restraining him “and why am I tied up”
“It seems that we all had a big misunderstanding” price replies.
“That the understatement of the of the century” you snickered to yourself but your comment brings Simons attention to you.
“Who the fuck are you”
You introduce yourself to him giving him a bright smile and then you say”let me get those robes off of you”. As you do that, price fills him in on what happened. From the frying pan to the time he woke up. Simon’s frown deepened “what kind of psycho keeps a frying pan in their room”
“I don’t know, what kind of psycho enters peoples house unannounced.” You rotate.
“I didn’t know you were here” he argued.
“Neither did i, wait john didn’t tell you i live here”
“No, i know you are the upstairs neighbour”
Once you untied him, he slowly got up from the chair rubbing his wrists. You turn your attention to john “you didn’t tell him i live with you” you ask.
“No, i seem to have forgotten” he replies.
“Forgotten? I just got off of the phone with you this morning. You told me to lock the doors to the house we share” you say angrily.
“It’s seems that john here is the source of the trouble” Simon mused.
In his long career, john have come to expect the unexpected, nothing surprises him that much anymore, and it what’s got him to keep a level head on the field. But he definitely didn’t expect this to be the end of his day when he got up in the morning. Just like he didn’t expect you to ask him to marry you, nor did he peg you for the kind of person to confront a robber and strike him over the head with a pan…that you keep in your room of all places. It seem that he will need to get reacquainted with the feeling again.
Spencer’s job has been hogging more of his time than usual, leaving you neglected, frustrated and bratty. He makes up for it by ever-so-kindly giving you exactly what you asked for.
Spencer Reid X AFAB! Reader
DISCLAIMER
This story is NSFW. It contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.
WARNING: Smut, penetration, PinV, word porn, no mention of protection/unprotected sex, use of pet names, BDSM elements (details in spoilers), basically just straight up word p0rn with almost no artistic licence and a sprinkle of fluff. Proceed at your own risk.
Word count: 7.2K
See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.
Do people ever get so pent up that everything their partner does becomes provocative? Their mind begins looking for any signs to give their body a reason for release, even if those signs are entirely made-up. And every time they’re denied that release, the desire that previously coursed through their veins becomes frustration.
It fills them until there’s no room left for it inside of them, pushing their limits, like water pressure challenging the confinement of a pipe. Eventually the pressure becomes too much for the pipe to handle. Just a little bit more pressure and that pipe inevitably bursts.
You don’t think you’ve ever been more frustrated in your life. Maybe it’s an exaggeration but sitting here, barely two feet away from your boyfriend, watching him flip through his work files might be the last amount of pressure you can handle before your pipe bursts.
Even if you somehow manage to compose yourself, you know you’ll burst not long from now. You can’t really blame yourself. It’s been almost two full weeks since you’ve had any sort of release. Scratch that, it’s been almost two full weeks since Spencer’s even properly acknowledged your presence.
You haven’t even bothered to try and hide your shameless ogling. Not once has he looked up in your direction. So you continue to stare at the way his fingers slide down every page as his mind absorbs the information, turning the page before you even blink.
They move so elegantly. You trace the veins on his hands with your eyes. They’d look so nice wrapped around your thro - Lord, you can’t do this. Taking a deep breath, you decide it’s time to alert him of your presence.
“Spence?” Not mentioning that your presence has been lingering for almost half an hour. No response. How oblivious does he have to be? “Spencer?”
“Hm?” Even when you finally get a response, it’s barely a half-hearted one. Not even a glance up.
“You wanna take a small break? You’ve been going through that same file for ages now.” You attempt to fuel a conversation anyway.
“Can’t.”
You want to be upset, you really do, but your eyes are locked in on his fingers working that damn paper. Your mind wanders to all the times they slid along your thighs, just like that. Knees squeezing against each other to try and suppress the electric jolt that just ran up in between your thighs.
“Do you want me to order you some food?” You try to distract yourself from your current predicament, by focusing on your boyfriend’s well-being instead.
“No thank you. Just order for yourself.” There was really no point in trying when Spencer entered this headspace, it was almost impossible to get him out of it.
“I’m going out tonight, remember? Going clubbing with my friends?” Was he really so focused that he wasn’t even aware of your plans? Plans that you made infront of him this morning, by the way.
“That’s great Honey.”
Yes, you suppose he really was.
This was basically another rejection in a long list of rejections from the past two weeks. You doubt that he was even aware. That desire surging through you just a second ago morphed to frustration once again. In an attempt to let it be known, you blow out an annoyed huff as you get up from your seat.
No response.
The problem wasn’t that he was busy because of his job. You knew his job, you completely understood when he had to leave home at bizarre times. The problem was that he had been bringing his job home with him. It was hard enough to have his attention when he was actually at work, now you had to fight for it in your own home?
You make your way around the couch and sneak up on him from behind, resting your arms on his shoulders. Starting from the top of his head, you begin planting small kisses down his face until you reach his ear.
“Spence, c’mon you’ve been doing this for hours.” He leans back towards you, bringing the file with him, but keeping his eyes - and fingers - on that file. Seriously?
“Honey, I really can’t right now. You should start getting ready now for your plans.” Wow so he was aware. You should be elated, those were the most words you’d gotten out of him all week.
A dazed exhale escaped him when you nibbled on his ear. His head rolled back, giving you room to keep kissing down his neck. He slightly turns his head towards you and his hand captures your jaw in a light grip. It pulls you away from him, his voice calls out your name in a stern tone.
“Stop that, I said I’m busy. Go get ready.” His eyes remain on the page the whole time.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You think. Your eyes roll on their own volition at the same time as you start to walk away.
“I saw that.” He warns.
“So do something about it.” You scoff in annoyance.
You’re actually hopeful that maybe he will do something about it. You remained hopeful for almost an hour while you got ready. Your hair gorgeously styled, seductive makeup enhancing your best features and now as you browse through your closet for a suitable dress to wear, there’s still no Spencer in sight.
You find a dress and make your way towards the dresser to see if it completes the look. You press the hanger against your shoulders, scanning from your neck-line down to your legs and unintentionally look towards your underwear drawer.
Just a few weeks ago, you were out shopping and were innocently asking for his opinion on a new set of lingerie you liked. When you hopped out of the dressing room to show him he didn’t even stop to look at it before he hauled your ass right back behind the curtain and re-dressed you himself.
Spencer may be the sweetest man alive, there’s no doubt about that, but most people don’t know that he’s possessive as hell. An idea pops into your head when you recall that he still hasn’t properly seen the under-wear.
You dig out the brand new set and take a second to admire how well it compliments your assets. You put the dress on over the lingerie and have to admit, you look really good. Anybody with half a brain could tell what you were wearing under the dress. Spencer would never let you leave the house like this, but he’d have to look at you first if he wants to stop you.
It’d be a shame if Spencer didn’t bother to pry his eyes away from his file so he could stop you. What would he do if he realised you’d been dancing around all night in nothing but a tiny dress that barely covers the promiscuous cloth under it? Not to mention the attached stockings it’s entirely unable to hide.
He’d spank you red, that’s what he’d do.
Either way, you’re going to get laid tonight. You get closer to the mirror by leaning into the dresser and spritz a few drops of your signature perfume around your pulse points. There’s still plenty of time left before you actually have to leave, but if you stay any longer you’re going to go insane watching Spencer use his fingers on anything other than yourself. You just need to get your keys from the kitchen counter, put on your shoes and you’re ready to go.
“I’m leaving now.” You yell out to Spencer. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s still sitting where you left him.
And yet again, no response. “How many files does he have in that satchel?” You wonder.
You reach for the keys on the counter and just as you grab them, Spencer’s hands surprise you by grabbing your waist. You almost squeal at the sudden contact. “Where do you think you’re going, hm?” His arms cross around your waist.
“Oh so you do remember I exist?” You snark, trying to play it cool.
You can’t let him have the upper hand just because he’s finally paying attention. He snakes a hand down to your thighs and lifts your dress up slightly, his body pushing against yours. He doesn’t even bother to comment on the jab you took at him.
“You still can’t respond properly.” You try for a response again.
Before you can comprehend his movements he’s stepped back and swung you around, his hands pressing on your hips, pushing your ass against the counter. He drinks in the sight in front of him as his eyes travel down your figure and back up, meeting yours. His tongue darts out and swipes across his lips, in true Spencer fashion. He lifts you up to sit on the counter as he steps in between your legs, closing the distance between you.
“Let me rephrase,” there’s a fire behind his eyes when he speaks, tone levelled, finger creeping inside the stocking’s band. He pulls it away from your skin when he speaks,
“where do you think you’re going…”
and lets it go
“...wearing this?”
The elastic slaps your thigh and adds to the emphasises of his last word. The close proximity, his lingering scent, voice, touch - your core was beginning to light up. It was dumb to think that you could keep the upper hand. Spencer had complete power over you and he knew that.
“I asked you a question.”
You were still going to try and challenge him, despite knowing better than to keep him waiting. It’s only fair, considering how long he made you wait. And how it took you acting out to make him notice you.
“The club, silly. With my friends. You keep forgetting.” You coyly answer, wrapping your arms around him as you lean in.
He raises both his brows in amusement and maintains eye contact, keeping his voice low and gentle.
“I haven’t forgotten. I just wonder why you want everybody else there ogling you. Don’t even try to deny it. It would only take a few drinks before you start stumbling on your ass, displaying yourself for anyone who wants a peak.” His grip on your thigh tightens.
Spencer didn’t actually care about what you wore, as long as he was the only one who saw what was underneath it. Your current attire went against that.
It took everything in you to not crash your lips on him right then. You wanted to feel him so bad but you couldn’t, not just yet. You pull out your most doe-eyed pout, eye contact still in place.
“If I can’t get my own boyfriend to pay attention to me then I’m going to have to get that attention from somewhere else.” An empty threat, you both knew that. Nobody else's attention mattered to you.
“Have I really neglected you so much?” He swallowed, not even blinking as he stared back.
Maybe you’ve been reading the signals wrong. You expected anger or annoyance, but the man in front of you looks almost…apologetic? You lean your head back slightly so you can read his face better. His expression is entirely apologetic, causing you to soften your features as well.
“Spencer I didn’t mean-”
“I know you didn’t.” He cuts in before you can finish. “I’m asking if I’ve been too neglectful.”
His hands roam from your thighs to your waist from under your dress, his fingers massaging you. You can’t pick up on his mood. He leans in and kisses your cheek.
“I’ve been ignoring you. I’m sorry” He reaches for your forehead and gives you a kiss there too, before coming back down to your other cheek. “Let me make it up to you.”
You expected him to punish you for acting up, his soft demeanour was throwing you off entirely.
“Spence, it’s okay. You can finish your work. I have to leave soon anyways.” You lied, unsure of how to act.
“No you don’t. Even if you leave an hour from now, you’ll still make it on time.” He moves to your jaw, leaving a kiss there. You melt at his tender touch. “Let me make it up to you. Anything you want, just ask.” He insists.
You wanted to resist, to reassure him, to make him feel less guilty. It had just been so long and your head was getting so cloudy. His lips felt so, so good against your skin.
“Ask.” He whispers, his voice so painfully sweet.
Your hand runs through his hair, the other one dragging along his back lightly. He pushes his clothed, but clearly hard, length against you and a soft whimper finds its way out of you. He was clearly just as turned on as you were.
“Please fuck me Spencer. Make me cum. Please.”
He pulls your dress over your head and throws it somewhere on the floor, leaving you only in your lingerie and returns to your neck. The grip in his hair becomes slightly tighter as you grind against him. He takes this as permission, grabbing you by your legs to pull you as close to him as possible and takes you in a deep, hungry kiss. Another whimper leaves you, travelling from your mouth into his.
He glides his tongue against yours, arms tightly hugging your waist. You’re both heated, panting heavily as you kiss, grinding against one another. Before things go any further, he pulls away.
“You wanna cum?” He glides his hands all the way up your torso, cupping your jaw in his hands.
“Mhm,” You nod, cupping his wrists “Please.”
He gives you a clumsy peck.
“I can help you do that. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll make you come. Would you like that, Princess?” His voice sounds so raspy, he’s almost whispering.
You don’t entirely trust his sweet demeanour, he’s never this nice when you’ve broken as many rules as you have. But fuuuckkk. You were so turned on right now and he looks so beautiful.
“Yes please!” You enthusiastically bounce off the counter, kissing him as you start to walk backwards. He doesn’t let the kiss fully break, walking with you, your hands feeling whatever part of each other they could.
You manage to find your way to the bedroom with some minor collisions against furniture, giggling every time. Your motions come to a halt when you reach the edge of the bed, the kiss deepens again.
Your hands start fumbling with his shirt and he works his belt, functioning as quickly as you can to get him undressed. His boxers slide off and you can’t help but break the kiss again to gawk at his shaft. Fucking hell, you’d seen it so many times and it’s still just as pretty. He kisses your forehead and chuckles.
“Like what you see, Princess?”
You smile, biting your lip in response but not taking your eyes off his length. He lifts your head back up by hooking his finger under your chin to meet his gaze and he returns to your kiss. You reach around your back to unclasp your bra and he grabs it in the middle, pushing you down on the bed gently.
The mattress catches you, but your bra is ripped away in his grasp. Spencer remains standing over you, eyeing your figure beneath him as he discards the laced bra on the floor.
“Well Handsome, you gonna join me or what?”
This earns you another chuckle as he leans down towards you, the mattress dipping from his weight. You shuffle back on the bed together, sharing another passionate kiss on the way. Both of you refuse to break away until you finally reach a place you mutually decide is comfortable.
Or at least, til Spencer decided it was comfortable enough and yanked you towards him until both your cores were completely pressed against together.
The only thing restricting complete contact was a flimsy piece of fabric and it was barely enough, judging by the needy whine that you let out when the underside of his cock brushed against your heat.
“So wet. So pretty.” Spencer groaned, kissing his way down your neck again.
His hands freely roam up your body again, stopping to cup and knead your breasts. He takes his time using his mouth, sucking on the flesh as he makes his way down from your collarbones to my sternum.
This must be your punishment. You’ll have to leave the house covered with his markings on your skin, warning anyone else who even thinks about touching you, that you belong to him.
“Fuck, Spencer.” You breathe out in desperation and grind your hips against him, earning you a gravelly moan. Your hands come off the bed and back into his hair, trapping him against you without applying pressure so that he can move about as he pleases.
When he’s satisfied with the bruises he’s stained you with, he licks a path from your sternum to your left tit, leaving his hand to continue playing with your right one. He sucks, nibbles, kisses and licks your nipple all while pinching and rolling the other one between his fingers.
“Spence, please!” You gasp, unable to control your hips.
“Mmm, my needy little whore.” He mumbles and begins a trail of kisses back down your torso, stopping just above your mound, but abandoning the region altogether as he diverts his path to your thigh instead. You whine at his delay to satiate the fire that he ignited.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he coos “patience Princess.”
You whine harder and he pinches your nipple, earning him a yelp.
He continues his motions up your thigh, kissing all the way to your knee before switching legs and trailing back down from your knee to your thigh. Every kiss sends electricity through your core, hands still in his hair, following his head wherever it moves.
“As much as I love you, if you don’t stop teasing me I’m going to fucking lose it.” You interrupt his foreplay, deciding that he had done enough priming.
He lets out a breathy chuckle, and it sends chills through your spine. Your body jerks up in reaction and he takes this opportunity to slide off your panties, leaving you bare, save for your stockings.
Cold air hits your heat and before you have the time to adjust to the feeling, he runs his tongue up your slit, flattening it entirely to cover as much surface area as possible. A loud, rippled moan emerges out of you, arch intensifying. Your hands tighten the grip on his hair automatically.
“Fuuuccckkkk.” is all you can muster in that moment, your brain short-circuiting.
Spencer focuses the tip of his tongue at the edge of your entrance, sampling the taste of your arousal before fully dipping in. His arms hold your legs apart in place and he sneaks his thumb to your clit.
You feel euphoric, you could float away. The feeling of his tongue pushing in and out of you was enough to leave you grabbing at his shoulders, digging your nails in slightly. Your hips started rocking against his face, Spencer had to physically hold them down as he shifted his mouth's attention from your entrance to your clit.
“Hold still,” he ordered in the most gentle tone, the vibrations from his voice causing goosebumps, “you’re doing so well, Sweet Girl.”
You squeaked when you felt his mouth circle around your bud, sucking gently. As he worked you with his tongue, You felt him enter a finger inside you. His name rolled off your tongue in a sigh, your hand back in his hair pulling slightly and causing him to erotically groan.
The sounds coming from between your legs were so sinful and lewd, only amplifying when he added a second finger. His pace increased with the addition, fingers curling slightly while he pumped.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, vocabulary reduced to filthy swears and moans. You could feel your orgasm pending below my abdomen. Spencer didn’t slow down, even when you tried to buck away from his touch.
He was persistent in following you, his head moving wherever you tried to escape to. When he felt that he couldn’t keep up, he held you down by applying the entire pressure of his forearm against your pelvis.
“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer!” Each repetition got louder, you didn’t know what you were trying to say. He only sucked harder at your cries.
“So, so, so, so, clo - mmmh” Was all you could manage to say, your head lolling back into the bed.
“So good for me.” He uttered, making your thighs squeeze around his head. Spencer knew just what to say to get you to the edge. Your senses began to cloud in ecstasy, you were on the brink of your orgasm.
His slender fingers were working you from the inside, his skilled tongue was working you from the outside, you could barely keep your breathing in order. Your walls started clenching around the intrusion, your legs dug into the mattress, one hand pulling on his curls and the other hand digging into his forearm holding you down.
You were just on the verge of cumming when Spencer pulled out his fingers and stopped his motions. The whine you let out was visceral.
“What the fuck?” It was a genuine question.
The only response he gave was a puppy eyed stare, so full of adoration as he trailed his way back up to you with more tender kisses. You propped yourself on your elbows, trying to read into his expression.
You were so confused. Were you being punished?
He must’ve picked up on your thoughts because he skipped over your chest entirely to whisper in your ear.
“I’m sorry Princess.” He pecks your cheek, dragging his lips across your face to your lips.
You return the kiss, but don’t hesitate to question his motives once you’re finally able to find your words.
“Why’d you stop?” Tone pathetically whiney.
He kisses you again, stronger this time as he rests his fingers under your chin.
“I want to fuck you.”
He turns your head slightly to the side so he can whisper in your ear again.
“I want to fuck you until cum on my cock. Is that something you want me to do Princess?”
His voice sounded like he was whispering sweet affirmations, but his words were so filthy. The contrast had you clenching around nothing. Spencer loved hearing you confirm how bad you wanted him.
“Princess?” He turns your face to him again, so he can look into your eyes. “I asked you something.”
The eye contact feels so intense, it causes your breath to hitch a little.
“Yes.”
He moves in just a little closer, lips grazing.
“Yes?” He was testing you.
You should be grateful he was only testing you instead of tying you up and edging you all night for being a brat. That was still a possibility and you really don’t have the patience to wait anymore. You knew exactly what you had to say.
“Yes, please! I want to you to fuck me until I cum on your cock.”
That was all it took for his lips to come crashing down on yours. This kiss felt different to all the others tonight.
Almost like it held a hidden meaning.
He hooked his arms around your thighs and wrapped you around his waist. Neither of you pulls away, until you both gasp into each other’s mouths as he finally enters you.
He fills you up slowly, until there’s no more of him left to give and your arms instinctively drape against his shoulders. The second your bodies adjust comfortably, he pulls out slowly until just the tip is left in you, thrusting back in after a second.
You moan at the intrusion, pulling him closer for another kiss. He continues thrusting in and out, your make-out getting more careless as you moan into each other and his pace gradually picks up.
Your bodies move in sync, chasing a mutual high. His moans only encourage you to keep meeting his thrusts. He lifts one of your legs higher along his side, the tip of his shaft lightly bumping your cervix with every thrust from this angle.
“Feels..so..good...” You moan against his mouth.
“Yea?” He questions softly.
“Mhm.”
“How does this feel?” He reaches between your bodies to play with your clit as he fucks you. Your fingers dig into his back at the sensation, brows furrowing in an attempt to hold it together.
“Reall- fuck, really good.” You choke on your words from the intense pleasure.
He keeps up his pace and you feel yourself getting close.
“Spencer, I’m clos-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, Spencer interrupting you with his lips on yours.
“Cum for me Pretty Girl.” He coaxes, pulling away.
“I wanna finish together.” You plead, hoping he was as close as he seemed from the way he was grunting.
“We will. Just let yourself go Princess. I’ve got you.” There was mischief laced with his promise, but you didn’t pick up on it.
The coil in you was almost at its breaking point. It only took a few deep thrusts and you felt it snap. The feeling forced your eyes to the back of your head and your mouth aimlessly spewed random obscenities.
Your orgasm had been brewing for almost two whole weeks and when you were finally allowed release, well, the release was really intense. Spencer was no longer moving inside you once you finally came down from your high.
“Thank yo-” your gratitude was cut off by a loud wail when you felt Spencer slam back into you. You hadn’t noticed him shift into an up-right position, his hands pinning you to the bed by your hips as he continues fucking you with a brutal pace.
“Oh I’m sorry,” his demeanour shifted to demanding, “what were you saying?”
“Spence, fuck-” You couldn’t think properly with the way he was pounding into you. “What-” Your inability to speak matched your inability to think.
He abruptly pulls out of you, flips you over and pulls you up by your hair. He then grabs your wrists with his free hand and pins both your hands behind your back, pulling your back to rest against his chest so he could whisper directly in your ear.
“You asked me to fuck you. I’m just giving you what you want.” His tone remained soft, but it was laced with a harsh, taunting aura.
You were utterly flabbergasted. You had pissed him off. Spencer played you. His previous notion of ‘wanting to make it up to you was a decoy. He planned to properly punish you the whole time, buttering you up for his own entertainment.
Letting go of your hair, he pushes you back into the mattress, ass up in the air. He keeps your arms pinned and before you can make any noise, the air cracks to the sound of him spanking you.
Hard.
You squirm, burying your face into the mattress to muffle a surprised shriek. He leans down against you, re-aligning his lips to your ear.
“I’m going to count as I spank you. And for every single one, I want you to tell me one thing you did wrong tonight. Do you understand?” The setting had shifted entirely. Spencer had fully embraced his dominant role and you knew you had to be careful if you didn’t want the punishment to be too prolonged.
“Yes Sir!”
“One.” His first smack was lighter than the one he surprised you with just a second ago.
“I rolled my eyes.”
“Two.” Hand hitting over the exact same spot as before.
“I was mouthy.”
“Three.” This time he hit the other cheek.
“I- I don’t know-” You really didn’t.
Well you did, but whenever Spencer punished you, your brain turned to mush. You couldn’t think, it turned you on so much that you became stupid.
“Wrong. You dressed like a whore just to get a reaction out of me. We’re going to start again.” The force he hit with that time was unforgiving. you wailed at the sting.
“One.”
You had to restart at least two more times, your recall ability getting weaker with each blow. By the time Spencer finished, both cheeks were stinging.
He runs his middle finger through your slit, collecting your arousal and pushes it inside you. “Of course you’re even wetter now.” He snickers, you could only moan in response.
“Nothing? You had so much to say before.” He finally lets go of your wrists, allowing them to fall to the sides and he rubs your sensitive behind.
“I’m sorry for being a brat.” You muster as you try to flip around and face him.
“You will be.” He stops you and twists you back into position.
Face down, ass up.
“Get comfortable Princess, I’m not done with you yet.”
With that, he enters you in one quick motion, building to the brutal pace he originally set in no time. You swear it’s like you feel more of him now than you could before. Your hands rush to grip the bed sheets to try and keep yourself grounded.
“Spencer- ah-” He grips a handful of your flesh to shut you up.
“The only sounds I want coming out of you right now are the ones where you scream my name. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yessir!” You cry out from the pain.
He’s practically fucking you into the mattress at this point, every thrust so harsh, so precise, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over. Everytime his body meets your behind the sting intensifies, as if he keeps adding fuel to the fire he set on your skin, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.
“Shit- Spen-” You can’t hold yourself back, the only thing on your mind is him, his name falling from your lips as if it was a song stuck on a broken record.
Your senses were on overload. He was consuming your entire being. You could feel every inch of him inside you and you didn’t want to stop. Your core began to tingle, feeling another orgasm approach you, reducing you to a blubbering mess. The room was filled with sounds of your moans and skin slapping against each other.
“I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, gonn-” Your words fade out.
“Go ahead, cum.” Spencer orders in between thrusts. “Cum all over my cock.”
His permission is all it takes for stars to come down from the sky and take hold in your vision. The sheets aren’t enough to keep you anchored and if it weren’t for Spencer’s grip on you, you’d have fallen flat against the bed.
It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, knuckles white from how hard you scrunched the sheets in your fingers. He’s still inside you when you come down again, just watching without saying a word.
“Colour?” Spencer leans in above you from behind, planting a kiss on your shoulder. A reminder of his promise that he’s got you.
“Green.” You wearily whisper. Your legs were burning, your body was utterly exhausted, but you enjoyed it when he used you in spite of the fact.
“Good. You’re going to give me one more.”
He plants another kiss and wraps a hand around your neck, the other sneaking between your breasts. Without using any force, he pulls you up in his lap, your back to his chest. A whimper chokes out of you when his length brushes against your inflamed bud.
“You look so pretty like this Princess.” He coos in short breaths. “All red and fucked out for me. Only me.”
He lowers his hand from the apex of your breast to his shaft, so that he can align himself with your entrance again. You subconsciously arch in anticipation, eager to have him fill you again despite your physical debilitation.
Once he’s lined up, his hand travels up again, stopping at the height of your hip. He pushes you down at the same time as he moves up, a loud moan erupting from both of you.
“You take me so well Princess.” Spencer praises.
Your eyes roll to the back for a second time tonight as your head falls against his collarbone. While his initial pace was slow, it didn’t take long for him to speed it back up to ruthless - you have to admire his stamina.
He lowers his mouth to just below your jaw, his fingers tightening around the sides of your neck, limiting the blood supply to your brain. At the same time, he starts sucking another hickey on your skin and your jaw hangs open to allow passage to a series of moans as a result.
“You enjoy being fucked like a whore hmm?”
The contrast between praise and degradation had you clenching, resulting in desperate grumbles from him. His grip only tightens more when you take too long to answer.
“Yessir-” You stifle, brain going fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. He loosens his grip and smiles, lips grazing your cheek.
You’re beside yourself, all your control had been relinquished to this man long ago. You feel him play with your clit, circling and flicking the bud. It’s already swollen from previous use, the overstimulation is too much for your body to handle. Unable to squirm away from him, you grasp at his wrist, attempting to push him away.
Spencer doesn’t relent and you’re too weak to use any force. Everything he does is pushing you over the edge and all you’re able to do is whine and moan.
“Use your words Princess? What do you want? Do you want me to stop?” He sneers, knowing that’s not at all what you want.
“N-No Sir.”
“No? You want me to keep going? Want me to make you cum again?” Small grunts slip from him when he speaks, fingers speeding up between your legs. “You gonna be a good little slut and give me one more?”
“I ca-can’t, it’s to-ah - too much-''
“Oh so now it’s too much for you?”
There’s nothing romantic about your current disposition. It was purely salacious- his hand on your neck, the other between your legs, you practically kneeling against him with your back to his chest as he pounds into you from behind, the sounds created from your bodies melding and pouring from your throats.
You’re practically a free use doll for him. Your need to release from earlier today was nothing compared to how bad you need to cum now. You feel like you might explode from the extreme pleasure.
“Spen-Spence- fuck- pleasepleaseplease-”
“Oh my poor, sweet little Princess, doesn’t even know what she wants. Can’t even think because her brain’s too fucked out. Maybe I should stop, let you get a break.” Spencer mocks.
“Nononono, please! So close, Im so-fuck!”
Spencer keeps his pace on your clit, but slows down his hips when speaking.
“I think we should stop here.” He taunts. “Just look at you! You’re a mess. I don’t think you know what you want.”
“Yes-Yes I do- I do! Please Spence- don’t stop!”
“I can’t help you if you’re not making sense. Speak clearly, what do you want me to do?” Your desperation was thrilling for him. He wanted to draw it out as long as he could by teasing you.
“I’m so-close, I c-can’t!”
His fingers tighten around your throat again.
“Yes you can. You can and you will. Use your words, what do you want?”
“Ple-ease Sir, let me c-cum.”
He purposely thrusts as hard as he can when you speak to throw you off, so you have to repeat yourself.
“I said clearly, Princess. That was not clear enough.” He teases, smugly.
You inhale deeply.
“Please let me cum, Sir.”
Satiated with your answer, Spencer releases your throat and speeds up again. It doesn’t take long before he becomes sloppy with his movements. The final few thrusts are buried as deep within you as physically possible and you surrender to your climax.
Not even a moment after you finish, Spencer empties himself inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you up as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. A synched, loud moan concludes your tango and you fall limp against each other before you tumble onto the mattress.
Both take a moment, heaving intensely as you lay side by side. Spencer’s hand finds yours and he rubs small, soothing circles on the back of it.
“What was that?” You ask when you feel enough air fill your lungs.
He gradually turns his head to you, eyes darting as if he was searching for something in the back of his mind.
“Malicious compliance. For a lack of better wording.” He answers in a whisper, trying to catch his breath. You snort weakly, not much energy in your body to spare.
“You should maliciously comply more often.”
“I don’t think you actually want me to maliciously comply.” He pants.
Re-adjusting to face him and you just stare at each other for a moment. A breathless fit of giggles sparks amongst you. When you fall silent again, you just lie there, staring deeply into each other's eyes.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Hmm?” He intertwines his fingers with yours.
“How you have any energy left to get up is beyond me.”
“Oh believe me, I don’t,” still panting, “but I really want to take care of you right now.”
“You just did.” You counter.
There’s a hint of penitence in his eyes, so fleeting that you almost miss it. you want to question it, but it’s quickly replaced by the expression of rapture.
“Come on Honey.” He implores and you make a mental note to ask him later.
He takes your hands and pulls you up with him. You both lazily make your way to the bathroom, you hold on to him the whole way, scared that your legs alone won’t be strong enough to carry you right now.
Immediately upon seeing your reflection, you laugh awkwardly. Mascara was running down your face, your lipstick all smudged, you truly looked like a mess. Spencer kisses your temple and turns on the shower, returning to you while you wait for the water to heat up.
He props you on the bathroom counter, removing your stockings for you, peppering you in thankful kisses. You reach over for your make-up remover and Spencer grabs the cotton wipes, insistent on removing it for you. His touch is light as he carefully wipes cosmetic residue from your face.
The bathroom fogs up and you finally get in the shower. Neither of you speak, reserving your strength to keep you standing. Instead, you wrap your arms around each other, letting go only to aid in washing your bodies. Both of you stay in the shower for a little bit longer than intended, just holding the other.
“I’m going to make us some tea. Will you be okay to finish off here by yourself?” He speaks up after a little while.
“Yea I’ll be fine. I’ll join you in a minute.”
He gives you a quick peck, then two, before he leaves. You take your time, peeing after your shower when you remember Spencer’s lecture on avoiding UTIs from when you first started dating. Once you’re all nice and clean, you slip into one of Spencer’s shirts and some fresh underwear.
You walk into the living room to find Spencer sitting on the couch, two cups of tea on the coffee table, while he fiddles with his files again. Great. Opting to ignore it due to your fatigue, you march into the kitchen to grab your phone.
Your abandoned dress is neatly draped on one of the dining chairs. Spencer must've picked it up when he was making tea. You grab your phone to find many missed calls from your friends. Fuck. You had forgotten about your plans.
You quickly shoot them a text to apologise and make some excuse for your absence, promising to make it up to them soon.
“Honey, you okay?” Spencer calls out from the living room.
You make your way back to him upon hearing his voice. “Yea, I was just texting my friends.”
“Would you like to do that sitting down? Your tea’s getting cold.” He extends his hand out to you from the couch and you take it, sinking into his embrace.
“Don’t you have to go back to your files?” When you look around, the files are nowhere to be seen.
“No. No more working on files.” He sighs
“Spence, what’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away from his arms. “You have that look on your face again.”
“I’ve been neglecting you. And I’m sorry.”
That’s what it was.
“Oh, Honey. It’s okay, I mean I get it. It’s your job.”
“You don’t have to do that. This isn’t part of my job. It’s just this one case that’s really getting to me and I’ve let it take over my life outside the job.” Guilt rides his features. You cup his face in your hands and he takes hold of your wrist.
“I won’t lie to you. It’s hard, but I know how much the BAU means to you.” You console.
“It does mean a lot. But so do you.” He shakes his head as he pulls you into another hug. “I’ve seen what this job does to people. To relationships. I value you too deeply to let that happen to us. I promise that from now, work stays at work. When I come home, I’m all yours.”
“Jesus I love this man.” You proclaim to yourself silently. “Thank you for that.” is what you say aloud.
“Infact,” Spencer's the one to pull away this time. He reaches over for his phone and begins texting someone, “just give me a second.”
“What are you doing?”
It takes him some time to reply. Texting is not one of his strong suits, he needs to pay a little more attention to the task than most people.
“I’ve just texted Hotch for some time off. I hope you don’t have any plans this weekend, because you and I are going to spend the entirety of it together.” He smiles goofily.
“I love you.” You blurt out with more passion than you were expecting.
“And I love you.” He replies with equal enthusiasm, leaning in his lips against yours.
The kiss is so emotional, so raw, so perfect.
“Now,” He brushes your hair behind your ear, “let’s finish this tea and get to bed. I have two weeks worth of cuddling to make up for, I believe.”
“So you’ve been counting too?” You laugh.
“I count every second I don’t spend with you so that I know to make up for it properly.” He confides.
You almost jump at him for another kiss, unable to contain your emotions. This man was perfect in every sense of the word to you.
As the two of you sat there, just talking, desire surged through your body once again, but in a different way this time. It was more than a desire for pleasure. It was a desire for the man you’re lucky enough to call your boyfriend. A desire to just be in his presence, to be loved by him and to love him in his entirety. A desire for Spencer Reid.
AN - Hey guys I’m beginning to sense that I might be incapable of not writing fluff in every story and I recognise it may need to stop. Anyways when imagining this, my brain decided it should include vanilla, soft dom and mean dom Spencer all in one, I’m sorry for that.
Shoutout to all the smut writers out there, this is my first smut piece and it was so fucking complicated to write. There’s only so many ways you can write smut, y’all are dedicated.
To all my virgins out there: please keep in mind that this does not represent real sex and barely is sex ever even slightly close to as good as we imagine in fanfics. Also women's bodies do not react the way we read most of the time.
Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve :)
Added AN - Just re-read this, I am deeply sorry for all the grammatical errors. I fixed what I could just now, but the reposts won't update with the edits. My bad people!
