summary: Derek and Emily find out about Spencer’s (unintentionally) secret kid.
wc: 0.5k
“You have a kid?” Derek gawked, Emily at the desk opposite with the same look on her face. Both staring at Reid.
“A daughter. She’s about to turn two.”
“Almost two years? And you never told us?
“The topic never came up.” Reid shrugged.
“Well you never showed- you don’t even have a photo of her on your desk!”
“Yes I do! Right here.” Reid picked up a framed photo that sat right next to his computer he rarely used.
The image was the Aurora Borealis, bright purple and green waves displayed in the sky.
Reid pointed to the corner of the image, it was him, you, and your daughter posing and smiling. You’d really have to look to notice you all in the corner, it’s not something your eye could pick up if you passed by the photo.
“Oh come on, you can barely see that. Don’t you have any other photos of her?”
Reid shifted in his seat, moving to grab his wallet out his back pocket.
Once it got it, he opened it and turned it to face the two across from him, the clear slot showing a small photo of a baby girl, wrapped up in a soft quilt and smiling.
Emily and Derek both looked at it with dropped jaws. Their eyes darted to Reid’s unbothered face, then back to the photo, then back to his face, then back to the photo again.
They were shocked at how unbothered Reid was by this. It was never a secret though, the conversation just really never came up. He’d let them know when he wanted to.
“You know Garcias gonna be pissed she never got to set up a baby shower for you.” Derek scoffed, breaking the trance he was in. Reid put his wallet back in his pocket.
“Well you said she’s gonna turn two soon, maybe she can help out with her birthday.” Emily added in.
“So you were there for all the big moments? Birth, first steps, first words? Even with all the cases we had?”
“I guess I got lucky.” Spencer shrugged.
“Lucky? I thought you didn’t believe in that, thought you were a man of science.” Derek mocked.
“I guess I was there at all the right times.”
It all began to click in Emily and Derek’s heads. All the days Reid was given a pass to do paperwork at home rather than being stuck in the office. Checking his cell phone more often. Seeming more busy on the weekends. Looking happier even though he was tired.
They knew it’d be something personal. They knew he had a partner, they knew you. They’ve met you before. But they never thought you’d have a child together.
“Wait, does Hotch know?” Emily said after stumbling over her words first, looking at Hotch's cracked open office door.
“Sharing details about Reid’s personal life is up to him, not me.” Hotch spoke, keeping his eyes focused on the papers he was writing on.
“Oh Garcia is gonna flip when she finds out you told him and not her!” Emily laughed while Garcia walked into the room.
“What? What am I gonna flip out about?” Garcia said, looking back and forth between everyone.
“Pretty boy over here has his own babygirl.”
“Babygirl? I thought we all knew you had a partner? Baby-girl. Baby girl? Oh. My. God!” Garcia's face dropped in shock and realization, she began to move around trying to find a place to put down her mug so she could properly freak out. “You have a daughter?”
back in business writing spencer fics!!!! oh yeah baby!!!!
In which Spencer helps you make your wet dream come true.
genre smut (18+)
cw established relationship, consensual somnophilia, groping, grinding, male masturbation, kinda perv!spence, tit play, oral (f receiving), p in v
wc 3,2k
a/n this turned out a lot sweeter and cuter than i expected it to be (still hot though) (hopefully) let me know if you enjoyed it! kinkfest: somnophilia
Spencer wasn’t made for summer weather. He hated how stuffy and thick the air felt. How it seemed to cling onto him, warming his skin like his sweater vests used to do during winter.
Getting through the day was difficult enough, but the nights? Those were horrendous.
You had bought him a cooling pillow, knowing how much he struggled in bed. In theory, it should work. They were made of a phase changing material, similar to the ones NASA invented for the temperature fluctuations of astronauts, but it seemed like the one you bought was a total scam. Or maybe he was so hot that he burned right through the fabric.
He turned his pillow over for the millionth time that night. He kept still as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the peaceful sounds of your sleeping in an attempt to find rest again.
For a minute, it seemed to work. He even closed his eyes, ready to drift off, but then his eyes shot open when he heard a small noise coming from you.
He tilted his head on the pillow, eyes adjusting to the dark room as your figure slowly materialized.
“You okay?” He whispered, carefully reaching out to brush a sticky strand of hair from your forehead.
You responded with another soft whine, followed by a small moan.
Spencer sat up straighter, slightly hovering over your form. “Having a nightmare, baby?”
He leaned in to press a kiss to your face, and that’s when he noticed it: you were burning up. You hadn’t mentioned being bothered by the heat before, probably seeing no use to it after his endless complaints. His stomach churned in guilt.
“Let’s get these blankets off of you, okay? It’ll help,” he speaks to you, although he doubted you heard him.
Carefully, so as not to disturb you, he pulls the thick material away. His hand stops mid-motion, swallowing when he reveals your naked upper body. It’s then that he notices your top and pajama pants are thrown in a heap on the floor, probably having taken them off in the middle of the night.
Enticed by curiosity, he pulls the blanket further down, and indeed, he finds you to be completely naked. The curve of your ass and the length of your legs are bare, covered only in a light layer of sweat.
For a moment he doesn’t know what to do. He just takes you in, counting every freckle on your skin. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked, far from it, but he usually sees you naked when having sex. And with sex comes him being too horny to take his time. Sure, he worships you and pays attention to your body. But it’s not like this. Now he has all the time in the world to just look at you.
Or, well, that was his plan before his cock started stirring in his pants.
Morning wood isn’t a rare occasion for Spencer. When he’s on his own, he’s a restless sleeper. It’s inevitable that all his moving and turning around leads to the stimulation of rubbing himself against the mattress. Not forgetting to mention the dreams of you. When he’s with you, though, there are other things plaguing him, like the warmth of your body, the sweet scent of your hair. He’s pulled in like a moth to the flame, and it’s only natural that his length stiffens when it’s pressed against the plush curve of your ass.
He’d often wake with your plump lips wrapped around his cock. Tongue swirling around the head before pulling back with a giggle. It was his favorite way to wake up, but he had never returned the favor. You’re so lucky, you know that? I spoil you too much, you had commented after one of your morning sessions. Your tone was playful, but he could tell there was a hidden annoyance.
It’s not like he didn’t want to return the favor. Jesus, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to wake you by making you come all over his tongue. His cock, even. But his mornings were either a rush to get to Quantico, or he was so fast asleep in your arms that you awoke before him.
But a situation like this has never occurred. Maybe he could—
Another small sound left your lips. “Spence.”
No.
You having a nightmare is not the moment.
Still, he could touch himself. Right?
There was not a lot of time to ponder over the decision, his hand already having made its way under his loose pajama pants, gripping his shaft tightly.
He hissed at the touch, his cock feeling hot and heavy in his fist as he tightened his hold around himself.
His head fell back onto the pillow, tilting his face to take you in. Your lips parted as you breathed softly (a sound Spencer couldn’t hear because of how hard his heart was beating in his chest), your chest rose and fell in the same gentle manner, and Spencer’s gaze fell to your breasts. He let out a grunt, seeing how your nipples stood perfectly peaked despite the warmth of the room.
With slow strokes, Spencer moved his hand along his length. All the tension and frustrations of the day melted away under his fingertips as he felt himself sink deeper into the mattress.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he muttered to the silence, swiping his thumb over his slit, coating the digit in precum.
He grew into a rhythm, intently watching you while pumping his cock. Every time you moaned or let out a small whine, he groaned in response, closing his eyes and imagining your moans were ones out of pleasure. It felt like he was dreaming, a dream so real he could almost reach out and touch it. But the only person who was dreaming was you.
Whatever fantasies were playing in your head, they led you closer to Spencer. He actually shuddered when the bare skin of your back made contact with the expanse of his chest. You hummed, wiggling your ass against his thighs and nudging further into him. Spencer gasped, fisting his hands to keep himself from pulling you flush against where he needed you most. He softly whined, cock aching in desperation now that he had removed his hand. A mirrored sound came from you, and he noticed the frown on your face and the pout on your lips.
You always wanted to be held, and your body instantly notices when he doesn’t have his arms wrapped around you. In no universe would he be able to deny your needs, so with a small sigh — one that started as resignation but he breathed out in content — he pulled you in. A sweet hum left your chest as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone.
Momentarily, he believed that he could forget about his situation. But you kept making those sweet, little sounds and rolling your hips into him.
“Baby,” he cried against your neck. “Can’t resist myself when you do that.”
He nipped at the curve of your neck, palm splayed flat across your stomach as he moved his thumb in soothing circles.
You wiggled in his grasp, legs moving around until you locked them around the covers. It was then that he noticed that your restlessness wasn’t a result of the heat, nor a result of needing his closeness, but a move you made out of pure desire.
With your thighs wrapped around the sheets, you start grinding your pussy. Moans tumbled from your lips each time you rubbed your swollen clit against the fresh cotton.
Spencer watched, slack-jawed, as you got yourself off right in front of him.
“Mhm, Spence—“
His brain finally caught up, and he let out a deep sound of longing, tightening his hold around you.
His hand trailed up from your stomach to your breast, firmly squeezing the skin. “My sweet girl, is this what you wanted?”
He watched the way you bucked your hips. A shiny, wet spot has formed on the cloth between your thighs.
Spencer tested the waters, twisting your nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, enticing you to sweetly moan his name.
“That’s right,” he hummed, attaching his pink lips to your neck. “It’s me. Even in your dreams you know that it’s only me who can make you feel this good.”
Spencer rasps his light stubble against you as his kisses make their way down the slope of your neck. He darts his tongue out at your sensitive spots, applying a wet pressure and heightening your senses by blowing gently on the skin.
You whined, arching your back into him. It was so easy to turn you around, pin you down on your stomach, and slide his throbbing cock into your warmth. But then he’d make the situation about him again, and today was all about pleasing you.
The bed creaked underneath you as Spencer hovered on top of you, placing a knee on each side of your body. He unlocked your legs that were wrapped tightly around the covers, groaning loudly seeing how your pussy glimmered in your wetness. It had dripped down your inner thighs, creating a reflection in the dark room, guiding Spencer precisely to where you needed him most.
Carefully — so not to wake you — he changed positions, lowering himself on his stomach in between your thighs while placing your legs on top of his shoulders. Your body easily obeyed, feeling light in his arms as he held you by your hips and scooted you forward.
He licked his lips, fighting the urge to attach them to your pussy and not stop until you’ve come on his tongue. Twice.
Instead, he diligently trailed a finger over your folds. He watches you clench around nothing, lifting your hips in search of more.
“Not yet, angel,” he teased. “Let’s warm you up first.”
His words were ironic due to the fact that it was the heat that had gotten you to this point.
Spencer traced his lips over your inner thighs, mapping out a road and marking his favorite locations by leaving red and purple bites, until he eventually reached his destination.
“Jesus, baby,” he muttered as he spread your folds open with his pointer fingers, revealing your aching cunt. Your clit stood swollen, begging for attention, and your labia looked just as puffy from your earlier ministrations against the blanket.
Driven by desire, Spencer stuck his tongue out and firmly lapped your clit. You twisted in the sheets, legs pulling up and a whine leaving your mouth.
“It’s okay,” Spencer cooed, placing a soft kiss on the bud. You moaned at that, a sweet, gentle sound, and he repeated the action until your body relaxed under his touch. Spencer drew lazy circles on your hips as his lips kissed you all over, coating his chin in your wetness as you got more and more excited.
Then, he tried again: tongue flicking out to tease your clit. This time a little whimper falls from your throat, and you keep your legs spread open. Spencer hums in satisfaction, circling the nub once more before closing his lips around it, gently sucking.
There was no sweeter sound than the moans you made. No sweeter taste than the honey that dripped out of your needy hole. With a groan, Spencer curved his knee on the mattress, the other leg still lying flat as he found himself in the perfect position to get off: his cock rubbing against the sheets every time he pulled himself up to drag his tongue over your folds.
“Spencer,” you murmur, your feet locking over his back.
He looked up at your face with hooded eyes, catching the fluttering of your eyelashes. You were waking up.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he spoke ever so softly, as if he wasn’t ravishing your cunt just a second before.
Little by little, you gained consciousness. You blinked. Once. Then twice. And then your lips curved up in the most lovable smile Spencer had ever seen.
“Good morning to me,” you breathed out in a pleased tone.
Spencer laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good morning, angel.”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you groan playfully, your hands tangling into his brown locks and pulling him in as you lift your hips.
“Not gonna,” he whispered, his mouth finding your pussy again.
A warm sensation spreads through your body, the feeling igniting sparks in the places you’re most sensitive. Spencer was so, so good at this, and with your mind still feeling sleepy, there was nothing to overthink. You could just lie down, accept the pleasure, give yourself over to the feeling, and let go.
Your orgasm doesn’t come in one smooth, long wave but in several shakes of your body, each one pulling you under more. Your toes curl around his back, the back of your head presses into the pillow underneath you, and cries of his name leave your lips as you grab fistfuls of his hair.
“Oh, that was so nice,” you giggle as you catch your breath.
Spencer returns your smile, sitting up on his knees and carefully taking your shaking legs off of his shoulders. Looking at his frame, you catch the length of his cock that’s proudly standing up. His tip shines an angry red, making you imagine how long he’s waited to take you.
With a firm grip, Spencer bends your knees and presses your legs toward your chest. The curve of your ass is slightly lifted off the mattress, and your pussy is on full display as your boyfriend hovers over you.
“Not done with you yet,” he announces and takes hold of his cock before rubbing the thick head over your folds.
With your cunt still soaking wet, it didn’t surprise you when he accidentally slipped in.
“Oh, angel,” Spencer whined. He folded you double by pressing his hands harder on your knees, giving him access to smoothly thrust into you.
In an instant, you had your hands on his face, pulling him in and roughly meeting his lips. Spencer didn’t waste any time, invading your mouth with his tongue, quickly dominating yours. Eagerly you returned the kiss. It was sloppy, not only the kiss, but the whole occurrence. Your whines matched the wet slaps of skin against skin, the rustling of the sheets sounded just as soft as the moans that tumbled from his lips, and the creaking of the bed frame added as a background noise to the melody that you created.
He slightly pulls back, his mouth attaching to your neck before a disappointed groan can leave your lips.
His hot breath tickles your ear. “What did you dream of?”
In hazy flashes, the memories in your mind returned, showing pictures of dreams where Spencer’s body was entangled with yours. “You.”
Spencer moaned, muffling his own longing sound by grazing his teeth against your ear. “And what did I do?”
Apparently it was possible to get more turned on than you already were.
“You… hmpf… you woke me up like this. With your mouth on me.”
His eyes searched for yours, hazel irises turned dark. “Yeah?”
You nod your head into the pillow. “And then you fucked me,” you recalled, letting your nails roam over his back. “Fucked me so deep, Spence.”
“Fuck,” he breathed out, and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you. He swallowed, leaning back and adjusting your legs so that they were wrapped around his torso. Then he leaned back in, his cock sinking into you.
“Like this?”
A sharp cry escaped your throat, feeling Spencer fill you up to the hilt. His hot body pressed against yours, your soft breasts embracing his solid chest.
“Y-yeah, like that. Fuck, that feels good.”
His thrusts are minimal. He wants to stay inside of you. Can’t even handle the idea of pulling his hips back before he dives back in. Instead, he grinds himself into you, rubbing that sweet spot inside of your pussy over and over again.
“I touched myself to you,” he admitted sheepishly, eyes locked onto yours as his curls fell over your face.
“You just— you looked so beautiful. You look so beautiful,” he corrects. “Couldn’t help myself.”
It was easy to picture: his large hand wrapped around his cock, thumb stroking the head in the way he likes so much. Hips bucking into the air. His teeth biting down on his bottom lip, turned pink and plump, trying to swallow his sounds of pleasure. Next time you’ll pretend to be asleep just so you can catch a glimpse of that.
“Did you know you moaned my name?” He asked in a groan, heart fluttering at the memory.
“Studies proved that dreams show a subconscious reflection of how you feel about a person.” He pressed his forehead to yours, looking at you in full awe. “Means so much to me, angel. That you think so well of me.”
“You are good, Spence,” you affirm. Tears pricked in your eyes because of the intimacy. “You are so good to me.”
He nodded, believing you, and then locked his lips with yours. You clenched around him in response, resulting in him pounding into you faster. He reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers, and then placed them above your hand, keeping the both of you grounded as you got lost in the heat of the moment.
At some point you had lost your ability to kiss him back, your lips too busy singing a melody of moans. That didn’t stop Spencer from kissing you, though. He had kissed the side of your mouth, his kisses then trailing to your chin and eventually ghosting over your neck. You felt him everywhere. He had enveloped all your senses, and besides that, your mind was fully consumed by him and the growing heat that flamed deep in your core.
Your nails dug into his skin, creating crescent moon indents as a reminder of tonight.
“Coming,” you gasped. You arched into his grasp, feeling like you were levitating as your orgasm washed over you.
Your vision was hazy, but you could make out the way Spencer’s mouth opened, the way his eyebrows scrunched. Your hearing was muffled, but you could understand his cries of your name. Your body felt numb, but you could feel his warm release filling you up.
Spencer’s legs gave out, and he gently let his head fall onto your chest, covering you up with his messy, sweaty curls.
You detached your fingers from his, wiggling them around to relax them from his tight grasp. When you got some feeling back in them, you used the back of your hand to gently caress his face.
“Should’ve returned the favor sooner,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the side of your breast.
You let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. This really made up for it.”
He tilted his head to look up at you, his hair tickling your chest. “Oh, we’re not done yet, angel. Just catching my breath.”
I am happy to invite you to a discord server of mine for fanfic writers AND readers.
The server has a divided space for SFW & NSFW content!
What you can expect from it is to find friends in the community!
The server has many fun channels such as one for edits, movies & shows, memes, fanfiction recommendations, many fanfiction writing/developing related ones + more!
a very welcoming community consisting of Harry Styles fanfic writers (and readers) ! ❤ | 3 members
I am happy to invite you to a discord server of mine for fanfic writers AND readers.
The server has a divided space for SFW & NSFW content!
What you can expect from it is to find friends in the community!
The server has many fun channels such as one for edits, movies & shows, memes, fanfiction recommendations, many fanfiction writing/developing related ones + more!
a very welcoming community consisting of Harry Styles fanfic writers (and readers) ! ❤ | 3 members
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!Reader
Category: Smut 18+ MDNI
Summary: You have several (stereotypical) assumptions about your nerdy coworker; he proves how wrong you are about them.
Content: 3.2k, early season dom!Spencer Reid, bratty reader, reader has hair that can be put in a ponytail, brat taming, BDSM dynamics, sensation play (feather tickler hehe), reader is ticklish, spanking, making out, thigh riding, coworkers hooking up (are we even fucking surprised), hopefully still soft and sweet and hot.
a/n: Listen I know I keep saying I’m taking a break but unfortunately I’m ovulating HARD; this is the last one for May, but there will be a part 2, I’m already planning it. I wrote this completely piss drunk (my friends can probably share screenshots as proof oops) and then sobered up enough to edit (might have missed some stuff). Based on a request that Tumblr ate 😭 but basically, BAU reader teases Spencer about sex only to find out he's a kinky BDSM dom. Hope u enjoy!
“What would you know about BDSM?” The question, spoken with a carefree laugh and just a hint of condescension, is directed at your coworker, who is currently stirring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee beside you.
Dressed in a tweed blazer that overwhelms his slight frame, Spencer Reid only tilts his head to the side, honey eyes keen and flashing with something you can’t quite place. You lean against the counter in the pantry, intrigued by his response. You’d expected a blush, chin tipping down, hair falling over his pretty eyes, lips uttering bashful, stuttering words.
Not… this. Regarding you with a frank, unblinking calm that has you shifting in place.
“Oh, right,” you roll your eyes teasingly, unwilling to let him see how easily his nonplussed reaction has fractured your easygoing facade, “You’ve read about it extensively, haven’t you? What do psychology textbooks have to say about whips and blindfolds, Dr. Reid?”
“Quite a lot,” he replies with a serenity that unnerves, “Some attribute it to the feeling of being safely back inside the womb.”
You scoff, “Right, because thinking of your mother during bondage is so sexy.”
“But,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you, patient but warning, “There’s often explanations that go hand in hand with biology. Deprivation of one sense tends to heighten the other. Physical restriction offers the same feeling, which then leads to altered states of pleasure. In a more emotional sense, surrendering your power to a partner communicates the highest level of trust, offering a deeper sense of intimacy for some people.”
So he does know a lot about it. Still, you don’t drop your teasing grin as you reply, “God, how do you manage to make BDSM sound so clinical?”
“Because it is a little clinical, if I’m just explaining it in polite conversation. The communication is better enjoyed if the actions match.
“Is that so?”
“Mhm hmm,” he smiles, dimples flashing, a show of innocence. A mask.
“And this information is from experience?” you tease.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
His tone carries implication and it settles upon your stomach, heavy and warm. That makes you perk up, but you fight the urge to show your intrigue. Instead, you scoff, “As if there’s anything to know.”
He’s quiet. Sipping at his coffee, honey eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug. It’s infuriating.
“No way.” you huff, finally breaking. The lightness of teasing leaves your voice, shifting to something darker, more accusatory, “You expect me to believe you have experience? In BDSM?”
“Announce it to the entire office, why don’t you?”
You pause, looking at him almost in betrayal. Really, how could you not? Spencer Reid, who looks like his nose would start bleeding from the slightest sexual attention from a living, breathing person, has BDSM experience? The man who wears sweater vests and slicks his hair back like he’s a seventy year old librarian? You survey him today, in all of his rumpled, mismatched glory, trying to find one hint of his apparent favored pastimes.
He looks almost smug as he meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side.
“No way.” you repeat.
“You possess an awfully limited vocabulary for today.”
“Shut up, stop pulling my leg,” your eyes narrow suspiciously, still in disbelief.
“I’m not pulling your leg,” he says, allowing a small, almost imperceptible smirk to curve up his lips for one split second, before his face gets hidden by the coffee cup again.
“Prove it, then.”
The words startle both of you, but you’re stubborn enough to see it through. Meeting his gaze with a confidence that would seem sincere to the untrained eye, but Spencer has worked with you long enough to know it’s all bravado.
He looks at you, unsure. “Prove it?”
“Look who's vocabulary is limited now.”
He scoffs and lowers his voice, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
“I know what I’m getting into, I’m a grown woman, thanks.”
“Then I’ll fax you a copy of my rules. If they still seem like something you’d want to try out, come to my apartment Saturday night—that is, if we aren’t called in for a case.”
You shrug, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Great, sounds like a plan. Don’t forget to fax.” You both know he wouldn’t.
By some universal twist of fate, that Saturday is devoid of any last minute cases. You spend the whole morning poring over the sixteen-page document that Spencer had sent over on Friday, reading through the risks—a lot of which you already know from your own research—his specific set of rules, and what he’d normally allow for a beginner. You don’t have the same perfect memory he does, but you’re sure you’ve memorized everything by the time you knock at his apartment.
“So you came,” he says, offering you a cool glass of lemonade, looking perfectly at ease as he leads you into his bedroom.
“Of course,” you say, looking around as you sip on the drink, taking it all in, “I was serious when I said prove it.” It’s dim, but nothing else is inside that rouses suspicion. It looks completely normal—a neat bed, a messy desk, haphazard piles of books—until your eyes land on the items on the dresser.
Silk ties. A paddle. Something that looks similar to a feather duster, but you assume it’s made with a different activity in mind. Your cheeks are aflame.
“You know the safe word?”
“Yes. Jupiter—you’re such a nerd, by the way.”
He laughs, taking you half finished glass and setting it down. “Do you have any objections to the terms I’d laid out? Additions?”
“I just need you to make a promise.”
“For what?”
“That this stays between us.” You face him, searching his eyes for any deceit. It’s always a risk, being a woman and engaging in anything that could be considered deviant, especially in an environment like the BAU, which is honestly a glorified boy’s club.
“You have my word. Everything that we do stays in this room.” he vows, stepping closer.
“And,” you bite your lip, “No sex, right?”
He shakes his head, “None. We’ll focus on sensations tonight, just to let you get a feel for things.”
It seems more intimate, just trusting him to tease and play with your body, but you’re glad that the boundary is set in place. Spencer seems to have gotten a lot of experience at this, and briefly, you wonder just how many other people has been in your place.
You push the thought away and smile at him. “Okay. Then that’s all on my end. I accept all your terms, and I remember the safe word.”
He hums, turning you around. Standing so closely behind you, his heat warms your back like a gentle fire. Long, elegant fingers that carry the lingering musk of old books and coffee gather your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. He secures it with a thin elastic, before leaning in, breath whispering goosebumps into your skin.
“Strip.”
There’s a sudden loss of heat as he steps back. You’re surprised to miss it, already, but even more surprised by his command. “What?”
“I said strip, angel.” he says, walking to your front with an expectant look on his face, “Down to your underwear.”
You sputter, looking up at him incredulously, but his face is serious. Patient, but serious.
“Do you need your safe word?”
You don’t reply, realizing that it’s begun and this is exactly what you agreed to do. To submit to him and his commands. The weight of this reality sinks in, rendering you mute and frozen, and he immediately softens.
Hands cupping your cheeks, Spencer looks at you with concern, “Hey, we can stop.”
“No,” you reply, forcefully. Stubborn pride pulsing through your veins—no way you’re stopping before you’ve even done anything, “I don’t want to stop, it’s okay. I just—okay. Strip.” you step back, nodding and muttering to yourself, “Okay, yes, I can do that.” Looking down, you fumble at the buttons of your blouse, undoing them with clumsy, unsure fingers.
He steps back to the dresser, retrieving the bundle of feathers, never averting his gaze. Wide brown eyes take you in as you lose your shirt, and then your pants, standing before him in matching lace underwear. A slow grin spreads over his lips, “You dressed up for me?”
You feel your cheeks burn, “No.”
“So you just wear expensive lace sets for no reason, even on Saturdays?”
“You don’t know what I like.”
A step closer, “I’m about to,” he says in a low, smug tone that has your breath catching, “Stay still.”
Stay still. Easy enough. Your eyes follow his movements, the way he brandishes the feathers in his hands. Your head cranes back as he circles you, and he tuts in disapproval.
“I said stay still,” he murmurs, hand cupping your jaw and adjusting your head forward.
“But—”
“But?”
“Nothing.” you squeak as you look ahead again. Your heart makes itself known, drumming in an exaggerated, hurried way that makes you want to shift. But Spencer said stay still, so you do.
A small part of you wants to scoff—why are you following Spencer Reid’s orders? This is ridiculous. Say the safe word and this would all be over. He’d never mention it to anyone else, like you both agreed earlier. You can get out, and you know for a fact that Spencer wouldn’t judge or protest.
But you don’t.
Because a larger, more significant part of you finds this whole thing incredibly hot.
Several seconds pass. Agonizingly slow. He’s drawing it out, you realize, testing how long he can get you to stay still. Or maybe he left. No, he wouldn’t—couldn’t, you’d hear his footsteps. Finally giving in, you look over your shoulder, brows knitted in confusion.
You’re met with a disapproving look and a shaking head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”
“You’re taking too long,” you pout.
“That’s the second time you’ve disobeyed me, angel,” he tuts. The heat of his body envelops you as he steps into your space again, his chest pressing to your back. A hand skims over your side, warm and firm as it finds the swell of your hip, and sits there. A warning. “You know what’s going to happen when you do it thrice, don’t you?”
Your mind flashes back to the conversation and the list, the rules he laid out so painstakingly for you. Thoughtful and attentive, Spencer had made you read through pages of what he expects from this dynamic, the rules you must follow as his submissive, the punishment that will be enforced should you disobey.
Three strikes and you get spanked.
“I do,” your words drift out the most delicate breath, heart hammering even more now. “I remember.”
He hums when you are finally still. Lips land on your bare shoulder, chaste and warm, while his hand travels up your side, featherlight and teasing. They skim up your ribcage and you can’t help but gasp, fighting every cell in your body to keep from moving. Your compliance is rewarded by another satisfied hum, and then finally it touches you.
The feather.
Crawling up the back of your left thigh, soft as a whisper.
Ticklish.
“Fuck,” you gasp, jerking away from his grasp in surprise. You find yourself missing the feel of his hand on your waist before you realize your mistake.
“That’s the third.” he says, shaking his head.
“I wasn’t expecting it on my thigh!” you snap, suddenly feeling so exposed. To shield yourself, your arms cross over your shoulder defensively, voice lowering by way of apology, “I’m ticklish!”
He considers it for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, but his eyes remain trained on you. Gauging your reaction, the same way he’d talk to a skittish witness. You find yourself shifting again, unused to being on the receiving end of such a stare. When he speaks, his voice is calm, as if he’s soothing a ruffled creature, “You’re welcome to say your safe word.”
The easy way out. But you’ve already gone this far, stripped out of your so-called armor, down to your lace underwear and allowed him to regard you in ways far too intimate for coworkers. It would be such a waste to back out now. Besides, he said the punishment would just be spanking, how bad could that be?
“No,” you reply finally, voice breaking through the silence that settled and swelled in the room, “No, I’m okay, I’ll—I’ll take the punishment, like I agreed to.”
He sits up straighter, “Are you sure?”
A gulp. “Yes.”
He pats his lap, “Come here then.”
You’ve lost count of how many times you felt warmth at your cheeks, but this feels like a wildfire has started now, smoothing over your face before spreading all over your body in an all consuming blaze. Flashes of those kinky magazines and news articles you’d rolled your eyes over flit through your mind, the models now replaced by the image of you and Spencer. He’s asking you to bend over on his lap to receive your punishment.
With a nod, you join him on the bed, your torso draping horizontally over his lap. Your legs are laid on the bed, and you hold yourself up by your elbows. From this position, he has perfect access to your ass, a large hand smoothing over one cheek.
You squirm, “Your hand’s cold.”
He laughs, “God, you never stop complaining, huh? I should add another one just for that.”
“Sorry, I can’t help it.”
He sighs, “I know. You’re doing fine, all things considered. I’ll just do three, okay? For every time you moved.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to count.”
You inhale so sharply you almost choke on nothing. That had no business being as hot as you found it. His hand is on your ass again, and you have to dig into your brain to focus and answer, “Okay.”
The first strike comes quickly, a sharp sting followed by a cool, gentle hand soothing over it. You exhale a gasp along with the word, “One.”
“Good girl.”
Jesus Christ.
Another smack, this time on the other cheek. “Two… three.”
It’s over before you know it, barely even lasting three minutes, but it’s still managed to take your every breath away. You find yourself wishing he had added another strike, just so you could feel the sharp sting again.
“Are you okay?” his voice pulls you from your reverie, hands helping you sit back up beside him, “Do you need a break? I could get you some lotion—”
You tune him out, staring as he offers different ways to soothe the stinging. His hands keep making lazy strokes up and down your arms, eyes completely focused on you. Words are flying past his lips, attempting to reach you through this haze, solutions and probably another reminder of your safe word, but all you can think about is how close he is, how pretty with his earnest brown eyes and pouty lips, but also how hot and since when was Spencer Reid hot?
A familiar sensation settles low in your belly, slickness between your thighs, and oh my god you just want to kiss him.
So you do.
His lips are soft, pausing mid sentence for just one moment, before he’s kissing you right back, open mouthed and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head, tilting it up so his tongue can dive deeper into your mouth. You moan, kissing him back with just as much fervor, scrambling forward in an attempt to get even closer. He tastes like mint and cinnamon, the oddest combination that has you sucking on his bottom lip, eager for more.
An arm wraps around your waist, and you find yourself on his lap again—no, on his thigh. Singular, straddling it with nothing but a tiny scrap of lace and his trousers in between your skin. Two degrees of separation. You moan again, biting down hard.
“Wait,” he pulls back, breathless, thrown off, “Wait this isn’t part of the agreement.”
You laugh, “I’m sorry, I don’t really care about it right now.”
Soft brown locks tickle your jaw as he ducks his head. Lips run over your collar, moist and gentle as he speaks, “I wasn’t really prepared for this. I don’t have a condom.”
“Oh.” you seem to deflate in his arms, despite the incessant pounding in your chest, the buzzing at your fingertips.
He looks up, surveys you like a puzzle to be solved. On his thigh, with barely anything on, practically throwing yourself at him. Muscle flexes and shifts beneath you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. It moves again, just as his hands hold onto your hips and keep you in place.
Your lips fall open, “Oh.” you repeat, but this time, it’s a low, breathy moan.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you with a small smirk, “Move those hips for me, angel.”
You don’t need to be told twice, pressing down hard onto his thigh. The pressure gives your clit enough stimulation, pulling another moan from your lips. Louder this time. Loud and pretty, as his hands keep you steady, and your arms wrap around his shoulder, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Oh god,” you gasp, staring right at him, at those intense hazel eyes that have turned nearly black. You ride his thigh shamelessly, finding a rhythm that you know will have the pleasure snapping within minutes. Paired with Spencer’s praise, the sweet kisses he’s laying on your jaw, you find yourself trembling in his arms as you rub yourself along his muscular thigh.
All of the anticipation seems to have built up to a fever pitch, his teasing, the spanking, it all floods back until your orgasm hits you like lightning. Razor sharp, every nerve of your body seems to sing and tremble from pleasure as Spencer keeps his thigh gently moving, helping you come down from your high.
“Fuck,” you whisper, burying your face into his neck.
He laughs, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay.”
Slender fingers card through the back of your head, tangles into your hair, “You did really well. We went a little off script, but it seems like you found it pleasurable, which is always the goal.”
Pleasurable is the understatement of the century, but your only response is a breathless chuckle. At the moment, that’s all you’re capable of.
“Okay,” you whisper into his neck, losing all ability to extricate yourself from him. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his hold on you just as tight, free hand rubbing warm circles over your bare back. “Okay, you’ve proved your point. You seriously are a dom.”
“Mhm.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“What? You can’t believe it? I literally just gave you one of the most hands on demonstrations anyone could ask for.” he says with a laugh. It rumbles through his chest, and the feeling makes something in your stomach clench pleasantly.
You lift your head, finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes flash with mischief when you reply, “I don’t know, I might need another one to fully understand it.”
He smiles back, wide and catlike, “Well then, I think that calls for an encore.”
Thank you for reading!!! also if you could give me some encouragement for my thesis that’d be much appreciated i’d give you so much brain kisses MUAH.
Song fics inspired by two of Tate McRae's albums: So Close To What & THINK LATER !
How does it work?
This is an event for criminal minds fic writers, where you can write a song fic based on a song from any of those two albums! (That's the only rule!) The fics can be x reader or x OC; sfw or nsfw; and be written about any character from the show!
How do you participate?
Send me a message with the song you picked to write to! It's simply for me to keep track of the songs that have been chosen. There aren't any limits on the number of fics per song!
"I want to participate, but don't know what song to pick!"
You can message me anyway, so I can help you choose. Please, make sure to let me know if you are planning to write a sfw or nsfw fic, so it makes it easier for me to give you a song. <3
Once your fic is ready, post it and don't forget to tag me and/or use a tag #SoCloseToWhat/THINKLATER!FicEvent
I will be collecting fics from now until July 5th! Missed the deadline? No worries, just message me after you post so I can get you added to the mastelist!
playlist is below the cut!
shout out to @beenreidingaboutyou because her event inspired me to make this one <3
Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader x Chip Taylor.
Category: smut 18+ MDNI
Summary: Pining after your coworker is a difficult thing, but you’re a bona fide professional. No hooking up with colleagues. As fate would have it, a case brings you to Louisiana, where you meet a man who looks frighteningly similar to one Dr. Spencer Reid and, well, the locals aren’t off limits, right? Except, Dr. Reid discovers your rendezvous, and you find yourself dealing with more than you bargained for.
Content: 7.5k words, porn with some plot, reader is horny and pervy (she’s ovulating guys it’s not her fault), reader wears a skirt, mentions of smoking, semi-public fingering, jealous!post prison!Spencer, PROBABLY OOC!!!, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, Chip is just there for the ride, dirty talk, threesome, edging, blow jobs, reader has a massive fucking praise kink, slight degradation (reader gets called needy and a slut but like, lovingly), spitroast, unprotected p in v, reader cries and Chip thinks it’s pretty, creampie, cum shot, slight overestimulation, POV changes without warning, aftercare because they adore reader so much.
A/N: Finally sat tf down and finished this. I’m heading into finals season and won’t be online as much, so I hope this makes up for the forthcoming absence; I figured I’d post it since I’ve been teasing it for so long. Don’t ask me the color of anything, I’m certain I blacked out while writing this. Most likely OOC but it’s hot so… I hope that forgives it. This was a request. I hope it’s to your liking, Eliza.
The universe must be playing you for a fool. Truly. How else do you explain this forced proximity—being paired off to interview potential witnesses, and then later having to share a room with the one man you shouldn’t be trusted alone with?
Louisiana is humid this time of year, and after having spent the day walking around the sleepy streets of the small town that have called for your help, Spencer has retreated into the shower of your shared motel room to wash the day off.
You’ve left the room; you don’t trust that you wouldn’t do anything stupid while he’s in there. Like trying to sniff his dirty clothes. Or worse, try to join him in the shower.
The thought makes your face flush, sweat trickling down the back of your neck tauntingly. A reminder of your lecherous thoughts. With a groan, you pace around the parking area, and when that doesn’t alleviate your restlessness, you walk through the perimeter of the motel as well. It’s a tiny town, this had been their only place of accommodation. Not that you mind, of course, you’re not really picky. A place to rest your head is all you need.
Rounding to the back is where you see him, leaning against the wall in a denim jacket. Curls haphazardly arranged over his forehead. Jesus Christ, why is he here?
“I thought you were showering?”
The man looks up, startled, and that’s when you notice the cigarette hanging from between his lips.
“When the hell did you start smoking?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. How strange. Even his clothes. You had never pegged Spencer to be a denim on denim kind of guy, even on casual days.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, but since I was seventeen.”
It’s here that you detect your mistake. His accent. Not as strong as Will’s, who you’ve met on a few occasions with JJ, but the unmistakable drawl is there, urging you to look closer. This man’s eyes are darker, his cheeks somehow more gaunt than your coworker’s, the stubble on his jaw more prominent. His hair is shorter too, reminding you of Spencer from a few years ago. But other than that, he looks nearly identical.
“Hey, miss, you alright?” He takes a tentative step closer, brows furrowing in the exact same way Spencer’s does when he’s confused.
You squeak and shuffle back, eyes wide.
“Okay, okay,” the man lifts his hands in apology, chuckling lightly, “God, I thought you’d be tougher, carrying around a gun like that.”
Your hand automatically rests on the gun at your holster, something familiar to keep your panic at bay. However, he seems to mistake it as a defensive move, because he steps away from you, both hands still in the air.
“Whoa, hey, hey, easy—”
“Sorry,” your voice returns, breathless from confusion. You hold your hands up as well, showing him you’re harmless, “Sorry, no, I wasn’t gonna—I’m sorry. You just remind me of someone, is all.”
He seems wary, but he lets one arm fall to his side, while the other lifts the cigarette from his mouth, “The one takin’ a shower?”
“Yeah,” you let out a soft chuckle, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Yeah, my colleague.”
“Ah,” he nods, something lighting up in his eyes, “You’re the fancy police that arrived this morning.”
“We are,” you look at him, marveling at how much he looks like Spencer, “My god, you’re nearly identical.”
“Must be a handsome guy, then.” The man smirks, boyish and lovely, and you see he even has dimples too, though they’re a little lower than Spencer’s.
You feel your cheeks warm at that, “He—uh, I guess you can say that.” So handsome you want to jump him at every opportunity.
The man laughs, venturing another step closer. This time, you relax enough to let him.
“What’s his name, then, this handsome coworker?”
“I—I don’t know if that’s any of your business.” you say, raising a brow at him.
He shrugs, another chuckle leaving his lips. You find that you like his laugh. It’s carefree, light. “All right, fair point. What’s yours?”
Your teeth catch your lower lip for a moment, before you relent and give him your name.
“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” he tips his head, “I’m Chip Taylor.”
“Chip. It’s nice to meet you.” you reply, leaning on the plaster wall, “Mind if I keep you company?”
“I’d never say no to a pretty woman,” he says, offering his cigarette. You shake your head, already imagining Spencer’s spiel about the effects of nicotine, and how secondhand smoke is just as bad, if not worse.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, taking a long drag. You can’t help but watch his lips wrap around the end, the way they purse together to blow out the smoke. He looks so much like Spencer. It’s easy to imagine those lips as Spencer’s lips, puckering for a kiss…
“Hey, you still with me?” he’s laughing, a light and teasing sound.
You feel warmth on your cheeks, looking away, “Yeah.”
Too late. He seems to have caught your staring, the single minded focus your eyes had on his lips, “See something you like, pretty girl?”
You huff, eyes flitting back up to glance at him. Relaxed, with an easy going smile on his face. And he looks like Spencer.
If you can’t have your coworker, then the next best thing is this handsome stranger, right? This doppelganger, who the universe seems to have dropped upon your lap as an apology. Besides, you’ll be gone after the case wraps. You’ll never see him again. The perfect hook up.
Your lips curve up, “Matter of fact, I did.”
His smile turns cocky, voice lowering to one laced with seduction, “Is that right?”
“Mhm,” you tilt your head to the side, lashes fluttering as he steps closer, caging you against the wall, “Just wondering what those lips would feel in other places.”
Chip tosses the cigarette to the ground, “Well, baby, you don’t have to wonder.”
His lips are on you in an instant, every glide against yours firm and sure. You’re forced to follow, mouth yielding to his, parting to open and accept the press of his tongue. A whimper is swallowed by his eager mouth, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, tilt your head back. His tongue pushes farther, the acrid, smoky taste of his marlboro reds filling your mouth. Your moans barely make it out of your mouth, muffled immediately by his breathtaking kiss. You’re first to pull away, panting heavily for breath.
His mouth travels down, leaving moist kisses along your jaw. Rough stubble scratches at your skin, but the sensation only sends shivers tingling across your spine. “Your fancy FBI man won’t take care of you, huh?” he whispers against your jaw, “Don’t worry baby, I got you.”
“I don’t have too long,” you mumble breathlessly, leaning back on the wall as he unbuttons the top of your blouse.
He chuckles, “Won’t need too long.” cocky words, but spoken with surprising tenderness. Your thighs clench in response. He abandons your blouse, the first three buttons undone, just enough to expose your collarbone and the tops of your chest. His hands find your skirt instead, tugging it up over your thighs. “Can I?”
“Yeah, please.”
A chuckle, and then a kiss to your throat. “So fucking polite.”
Chip’s hand finds the soaked fabric of your panties, running two fingers over them. A soft, croaky laugh leaves his lips when he makes contact with your arousal, and he latches on your collarbone. Teeth nips at the skin, before they are replaced by lips that suck rough and demanding, all while his fingers locate your clit through the lace. You moan as he laves your skin with kisses and his fingers rub soft little circles on your needy center.
“So fucking wet, baby,” he cooes, finally pushing your panties to the side. He chuckles when he feels your hot core, folds and entrance completely dripping, “Jesus, what a needy little thing. Don’t worry, I got you.”
And he does. As if he’s taking your time crunch into consideration, he teases at your entrance only briefly, and slides a finger past it. Your pussy swallows the digit without problem, and it disappears inside you to the knuckle.
He chuckles, “There you go,” he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, then dips down to kiss your collarbone again, as though intent on leaving a mark there. You’re relieved he’s giving you a hickey somewhere you can easily conceal by clothes.
You clench around his fingers as they pump in and out of you, throwing your head back as your moan fills the humid evening air. “Need more.”
“Yeah? Not just needy huh, greedy too.” he chuckles, crooking his fingers as they are buried deep inside your pussy. It hits your g-spot perfectly, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body.
“God, yes!” you gasp, arms tightening around his neck. You lean into him with a whine, moving your hips to match the pace of his fingers, “Yes, just like that, Chip.”
“I gotcha, baby, I gotcha.” he murmurs, his voice sweet as he wraps his free arm around you. Held to his chest as he slides a third finger inside your pussy. It’s a snug fit, what with his long, thick fingers, and you’re stretched so deliciously you can’t help but moan again. You’re thankful for his arm around your waist, as your knees are shaking, ready to give out as he increases the pace of his fingers.
“Fuck, yes!” you moan, biting into his clothed shoulder. You hear him chuckle, and his thumb presses into your clit, adding another source of pleasure for you. “Chip!”
“Yeah? I can feel you clenching baby, you’re close, aren’t you?”
“Mhm hmm,” you nod, trying to breathe, trying to maintain some semblance of yourself, but everything is him. The smell of Marlboro reds and leather mixed with his sweat. It’s all so very hot, heady, your body pressed into a motel’s dingy walls by a handsome stranger and his familiar face, with three fingers buried deep inside your fluttering cunt.
“God, baby, can feel how tight you are,” he murmurs, pushing you harder into the wall. It gives him more leverage to increase both the speed and impact of his digits, pumping them into you deliberately, “What I’d give to feel this sweet pussy around my cock.”
That’s it. Words. Words tip you over the edge, not his fingers, not the tongue running over your ear, but those nasty words being uttered under his breath, into your ear. You groan, shuddering in his arms as your orgasm hits you. He continues to finger you, thumb rubbing figure eights on your clit, slowly helping you come down from your high.
“That’s it baby,” he pulls back slightly to watch your face, grinning as he takes you in. You’d been so lovely when he first laid eyes on you, put together and rigid, but now you’ve come undone in more ways than one. Completely dishevelled, skirt askew, shirt half unbuttoned. “Goddamn, you’re so pretty like this.”
You hum, smiling back at him as he slowly pulls his fingers out. They glisten even in the dim light, completely sticky with your cum. You can’t stop the gasp when he brings those fingers up to your mouth. Taking advantage of that, he pushes his index finger past your parted lips.
Your eyes flutter closed as you take it in, sucking on the digit as he pushes it deep into your mouth. The salty, bitter taste of yourself explodes in your mouth. His chuckle hits your ears, and you open your eyes to meet his heady gaze again.
“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out with a pop. He licks and sucks on the other two fingers, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. “You know, when that case of yours is done, come find me.”
“How will I know where you are?”
“I’m usually at the bar, babe,” he helps you button your shirt, his movements deft and gentle, “”And if I’m not, just ask old Deb, the bartender. She’ll give me a call.”
You understand what’s happening. Not even bothering to give you his number. It’s just a hookup, nothing more. Honestly, it’s what you need too, so you grin, “Deal. I’ll see you around, then.”
After helping you straighten up, he leans in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”
Spencer is pacing along your room when you return, his hair still weighed down by the water and curling at the ends. It makes you pause, seeing him in a plain t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looking so much like the man from the alley that you felt another burst of heat at your core.
“Where on earth were you?”
“Out.” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can.
“You’ve been gone for nine minutes and eighteen seconds,” he frowns, “But that’s not even counting the time I was in the bathroom.”
Your cheeks flush at the realization that you’d met a dude, hooked up with him, and came around his fingers in such a short amount of time. Under fifteen minutes. God, that’s a little pathetic.
“I just needed some fresh air, Spencer,” you say placatingly, ignoring the frown on his face as you brush past him. You rummage through your go bag quickly, finding the sleepwear you’ve brought with you, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take my shower.”
You wash away the trances of Chip from your body, letting the water cool your heated skin and drag the scent of cigarette smoke away, down down down the drain. After getting dressed, you pad back into the room, where Spencer is bent over his bed, poring over the case file. At the sound of your shuffling footsteps, he looks up, eyes narrowing but staying silent. The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shrink back. It's an obvious scrutiny, cold, a look that is meant to cast judgement upon you.
You smile at him and get to your bed. Wet hair and all.
The case resolves within the next few days, a conclusion so comically mundane in comparison to the severity of the crimes. Arrested in his home while he's mowing his lawn. With the search warrant, it had been easy to sweep the house and find evidence of the stalking, and the trophies he had kept of his victims.
Throughout the case, Spencer had been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you returned that one evening smelling of cigarettes and sweat, he’d been suspicious. The small, purple mark that poked through your tank top that same night simply raised his senses even more. Judging by the color, it’s new. He’s suspicious, wondering what the hell you’d gotten into while he was showering.
So when you tell Emily that you won’t be flying back with the rest of the team, he perks up. Once again, he doesn’t say anything to you, but he does make an excuse as well, telling Emily he liked Louisiana enough to spend more time there.
Emily had looked at him with the same suspicion he regards you with, but ultimately allowed him to stay.
It was easy enough to follow you (okay, so he enlisted the help of Garcia, offering to help her organize her office in exchange for her sworn secrecy), which is how he finds himself inside a seedy bar in the outskirts of the small town.
The heat is even more oppressive inside, a humidity that seems to press in from all sides. Spencer makes quick work of the scene, locating your figure with such an ease that one would think his eyes are magnetically drawn to you regardless of the circumstances. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he catches sight of the tall man leaning into your space, a hand resting on your hip.
Your body language, even from afar, tells Spencer that this isn’t the first time you’ve met this other man. That this is okay, encouraged even. He watches with narrowed eyes, hidden in plain sight amidst other bar regulars, as you lean into this stranger’s touch, how his fingers slip and settle upon the skin under your shirt. Such a casual assertion of familiarity. The heat that unfurls in his chest surprises him.
It’s ridiculous. You’re not together. He has no ground to stand on, no real reason to ask you to leave. Yet here he stands, fighting against the urge to tear you away from this other man’s grasp. Stupid. What had been his goal, coming here? Following you? Now that he knows you’re staying to hook up, what is he supposed to do? Obviously, he can’t try to change your mind. You’re a grown woman, after all, and completely single at that. It shouldn’t matter what you do during your free time. The case is wrapped up, who is he to judge you for however you want to celebrate that?
His feet refuse to move.
Unfortunately for him, he’s hovering right around the doors—which serve as both entrance and exit—so when the man leads you away from the counter, the collision is inevitable.
And for a moment, Spencer Reid’s world seemed to stop. Not out of jealousy or betrayal (which he, admittedly, is nurturing somewhere in his chest), but from sheer bewilderment.
Because the man you’re leaving with is identical to him.
“Spence!” your voice is uncharacteristically high when you see him, eyes wide with panic.
The strange man looks between you and Spencer, lips pulling into an easy smile, “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding. We really do look alike.”
Spencer is rooted on the spot. Genius mind, astronomically high IQ, none of them seem to matter when he realizes that you’re leaving, most likely to sleep with, a man who looks exactly like him.
“This is why you stayed back?” Spencer tries not to sound accusatory, he really does, and when you flinch at his tone, he softens immediately, “You—you don’t even know this man.”
“That’s kind of the point,” you reply, meeting his gaze squarely, “It’s just a one time thing and it’s not like he’s a total stranger. I met him before.”
Something in Spencer’s chest clenched as he watches you shuffle closer into the other man’s side, bodies flush.
Why him, he wants to scream, why sleep with someone who looks like me instead of just me?
Before he can articulate his thoughts into more acceptable words, you’re already rambling.
“This is Chip. It’s nothing serious, really, just you know, physical. I’ll be completely safe with him, I promise, I know it sounds stupid but—”
“Let me come with.”
Spencer doesn’t even realize that the words came from him, until he catches the look of confusion and surprise on your faces.
The other man, Chip, whistles in amusement, joining the conversation for the first time. His eyes glint in the lowlights of the bar, darting between Spencer and you, “To watch or to join?”
Spencer straightens, ignoring the drumming in his ears. He trains his eyes on you, ignoring the other man, as he answers, “To join. You’re not the only one who needs release after that case.”
You sputter, indignant and disbelieving, “J—join? Are you serious? Spence—”
He narrows his eyes, “What, afraid you can’t handle it?” There. Posed as a challenge, he knows you well enough to know that you’d never back down.
“Of course I can.”
Hook, line and sinker.
“But,” you turn to Chip, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you okay with this? It’s not exactly what we originally planned.”
Chip only smiles, “The more the merrier. Just as long as you’re sure you can handle it, baby.”
Spencer isn’t sure what he wants you to say. Stuck in some sort of limbo, he’s prepared for either option—to go to the motel alone, or to participate in an impromptu threesome with his beautiful co worker and a stranger who bears his face.
When you agree, he lets out a breath, unsure of whether it’s dread or relief.
The walk to the motel is inevitably awkward, almost businesslike. Talk of birth control and STDs—Chip assure you both that he’s clean, you tell them you’re on birth control. It must be a weird conversation to overhear from an outsider’s perspective. Once inside the room, Spencer finds himself oddly at ease. Level headed and calm, he closes and locks the door while the stranger, now identified as Chip Taylor, sinks into one of the motel chairs with a lightness that reminds Spencer of his own younger self.
“C’mere, baby,” Chip says to you, patting his lap enticingly.
Wide eyed and disoriented, you look at Spencer. His brows raise, taking in the shadows that seem to plague your cheeks, the confused expression on your face. “Well?”
You bite your lip, glancing at Chip who’s an open invitation, legs spread and smiling easily, before your eyes inevitably return to Spencer. Almost as if asking for permission.
Oh.
“Go ahead then.”
That’s all you needed to cross over the room and stand between Chip's thighs. Words. Spencer’s words, spoken so clearly they cut through the heady tension of the room. His instructions. Spencer is powerless to stop the smirk playing at his lips when he realizes.
Chip doesn’t miss it either. He laughs, good natured and teasing, “I see how it is, pretty girl.” His kisses on your neck are soft, slow, clearly taking his time getting you worked up, “Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”
Spencer finds himself shifting, pants beginning to feel tight as he catches sight of a pale pink tongue darting out, dragging over the hollow of your throat. Chip’s hands tug at your skirt, the fabric descending down your thighs and legs until they pool on the floor. Both men’s eyes admire your legs with openly hungry gazes, pinning you frozen on Chip’s lap. Your underwear follows, a scrap of lace landing on top of the twill, shockingly, scandalously red against black.
Chip shifts, arms straining as he rearranges you on his lap so that you’re straddled over his thighs, but facing Spencer. You let him, completely pliant in his arms. You can’t decide if your cheeks are burning from embarrassment or desire. Spencer’s eyes are wide, nearly black as he takes you in, your spread legs revealing an already glistening pussy.
“Why don’t we show Dr. Reid right here how you like to be touched, huh?” Chip murmurs, rough pads of his fingers making gentle circles on your clit. Your neck arches back, head slotting perfectly on the crook of Chip’s shoulder. Your mouth parts ever so slightly, a rosebud on the cusp if bloom, emitting soft sighs of pleasure.
The sight makes Spencer stagger onto the bed, chest rapidly rising and falling as he takes in the scene in front of him. Inappropriate. No, it goes beyond that, he’s sure there’s at least twenty rules he’s crossing right now, social boundaries and work rules. Somewhere in the back of his cloudy mind, he thinks this is headed towards sexual deviance, but the years of training and his eidetic memory are no match for how utterly arresting this is.
He can’t tear his eyes away from the smooth line of your neck, the goosebumps on your bare arms and thighs as this other man—Chip—plays with the slick folds between your thighs. Completely enthralled as two long fingers find your entrance and push into it. Knuckle deep, Chip twists his fingers the same way he had done a few days ago, an action that has you letting out the most pornographic sounds.
Unable to help himself, Spencer’s palm presses into his crotch, palming his erection through his trousers. For the first time, one of his sounds join the twisted melody of the room, a soft groan escaping from his lips as a result of the delicious friction from his hand. The sound seems to excite you, as you squirm in Chip’s arms. Your head lifts from Chip’s shoulder, hazy eyes focusing just enough to meet Spencer’s gaze.
Chip laughs, “I think the lady wants you,” he tells Spencer.
Spencer stares at you, eyes dark, feeling petty, of all fucking things. “Does she? She seems perfectly content right there,” he raises a brow, “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” The nickname is spoken with such cloying sweetness it makes you flinch.
The cool haughtiness of his tone doesn’t escape you. It’s a struggle to sit up a little straighter, seem a little more respectable (how do you even achieve that when they’re being fingered right in front of their coworker?), but really you’re just trying to get a better glimpse of Spencer.
The sight that greets you doesn’t disappoint. There he is, Spencer Reid, your normally calm coworker, sitting on the edge of the bed, fondling his obvious erection through his trousers. You moan again, walls clamping hard around Chip’s fingers.
“Is that right?” Chip’s teeth nip at your earlobe, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey, “See, I’m not a jealous man, babe, but I think Dr. Reid’s a little different.” He crooks his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside, and you squirm in his lap. Ruthlessly, Chip continues the pace, pumping his fingers in and out while he murmurs in your ear so casually one would think he’s simply exchanging pleasantries with someone on the street. “I think he’s a little upset that you went out of your way to find me, and that we’ve shared something real special a few days ago. I think he wants his share of you too, baby, and I know I’m making you feel real good, but you don’t want him to feel left out, do you?”
“N-no, I don’t.” your voice sounds foreign. Is this really you, breathless and nearly pornographic?
“Of course not,” Chip coos, “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
You clench tightly around his fingers. He laughs, grinding the palm of his hand to your clit while his fingers work your walls relentlessly.
“You’re so close, huh? Can feel you clenching.”
And then the pressure is gone, so quickly you’re left in confusion. Blinking rapidly, you look at Chip with a wounded expression, which only makes him grin.
“No cumming yet, baby, the night’s still young.” he kisses the tip of your nose, a tender move amidst the wanton craziness happening, “Now, go and give poor Dr. Reid some attention.”
Spencer has been silent this entire time, eyes regarding you with an intensity that feels as though it’s sinking into every pore of your skin. Even with Chip’s steadying hands on your waist, you stumble as you climb off his lap and cross the short space over to your coworker. Strangely, your heart’s drumming in your chest, and you’re suddenly unsure of what to do. Chip had been easy—eager to start, lavishing you with so much attention you didn’t really have to do anything but take it.
Spencer… Well, you don’t even know what Spencer is like one on one, much less right now when the presence of a third person hangs heavy in the room. Much less when he’s like this—jealous, was that what Chip had said? In your fantasies, Spencer is thorough and attentive, honey eyes full of unadulterated adoration.
Right now, he’s staring at you with a mixture of lust and haughty disdain.
And heaven forbid, it’s making you even wetter.
“You like that, huh?” he says finally, so softly you have to strain to hear him, “Like being touched by some stranger?”
“Yeah.”
Hands splay over your thighs, and you can distinctly tell the difference between his touch and Chip’s. Spencer’s is softer, certain calluses formed at specific points from writing with a pen and holding a gun, but otherwise, his fingertips are smooth. They sink into your flesh with ease. You gasp at the strength, not expecting such a display. Chip’s hands may be rougher, but Spencer holds onto you with the intention to possess—unyielding and firm.
It’s gone just as quickly.
“Get on your knees.” he says.
Oh, shit. Without needing to be told twice, you kneel in front of him. Behind you, you hear Chip’s carefree chuckle, and your cheeks burn. You like this, some sick voice in your head whispers, and you flush even more, the warmth spreading down your chest.
“God,” Spencer hisses. You watch as he undoes his pants, and his cock springs free. It’s already bright red, viscous liquid leaking from the tip, evidence that your little performance with Chip had gotten to whom you had assumed is an impassive coworker. Almost automatically, your hand wraps around the base, stroking up.
A low, throaty laugh escapes Spencer’s mouth, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re just so eager, huh?” his hips buck into your hand, head thrown back, curls hanging off his head haphazardly. “Use your mouth, come on you know you want to.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You lean in, alarmingly hasty, dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. He lets out a groan, so you continue, licking his length teasingly, before moving to the tip. Your tongue swirls around the swollen head, collecting the salty precum and gliding back and forth over the tip. It twitches against your tongue, an affirmation that what you’re doing feels good.
Peeking up from beneath your lashes, you make sure Spencer’s eyes are focused on you. For a second, you simply look at him, your own eyes blazing with desire and confidence, every single notion of embarrassment seems to have been expelled from your person. And then you wrap your lips around the tip.
Spencer’s eyes slip shut, head thrown back as you suck at the head of his cock while your hand pumps up and down the rest of his length. His hands come to your hair, tucking the strands back with his long fingers. In response, you work his cock deeper into your mouth, cheeks hollowing out as you continue to suck. Another moan joins the wet sounds of your union, but Spencer is in a breathless, silent daze.
Chip has taken things upon himself, stroking his cock as he watches you give head to his lookalike. “Goddamn, this is surreal.” he chuckles, craning his neck for a better view, “Like a mirror, but not quite.”
Spencer manages to reply, looking down at you, “Mhm. A mirror—ah—that’s right, she’s just eager for some cock. Weren’t you?”
“Wanted yours specifically.” Chip points out through a breathy moan.
“Yeah?” Spencer tugs your hair, forcing your head back so he can look more clearly into your eyes. His cock twitches at the sight of you—cheeks hollowed, eyes watering from how deep he’s making you take him— and he smirks, “Wanted me so bad you would fuck a random stranger just because he looked like me, huh? That’s how low you would go, sweetheart?”
You moan around his length, unable to answer. It sends vibrations up his spine, and you feel his cock pulsing as it rests heavily against your tongue. Bringing up a hand, you cup his balls in your palm, adding another layer of stimulation for your coworker.
“That’s enough.” Roughly, he tugs you away from his crotch, “Get on the bed.”
You stay kneeling for another moment, trying to catch your breath, but then Spencer hauls you by your hips and tosses you unceremoniously on the bed. You squeak as you bounce on it, clutching the sheets to steady yourself.
“H-how do you want me?” you ask, voice hoarse and meek. How embarrassing.
“Hands and knees.”
Chip lets out a whistle as he approaches, “Am I allowed in on the fun, bossman?” he grins at Spencer, completely undeterred by the resemblance. In his mind, there’s a stunning woman who wants to be pleasured, and he’s more than willing to help out, weirdness be damned.
“Sure,” Spencer says, undoing the buttons on his shirt and tossing it somewhere on the floor, “She said it herself, didn’t she? She can take us both.”
Your gaze travels between them alternatively, watching as they both strip off their clothes and reveal more and more skin. Chip’s blue collar lifestyle once again bears witness in the lines of his body, lean muscles obviously honed from working with his hands. Spencer’s arms are wiry, but his stomach is softer, skin paler from always being in long sleeved button downs.
You scramble to your hands and knees, your head near the edge from where Chip stands. Meanwhile, Spencer settles beside you, sitting down and cupping the swell of your ass with one hand. Two fingers slide into your pussy. With a quick curl, Spencer finds that sensitive part within your walls, fingertips dragging against it as he thrusts his fingers in and out.
“God, he wasn’t kidding,” Spencer murmurs, brows knit as he marvels at how soaked you are, “You really are needy. One man wasn’t enough for you, huh? Got yourself worked up over the thought of taking two cocks?”
He’s right, you realize. You’re eating up the attention, arms and thighs shaking not from the strain of holding yourself up, but from anticipation.
“Y-yes,” you manage to reply, squirming from his assault. You’re pulled taunt, desperate to come, having been denied by Chip earlier.
“You’re just a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” Spencer’s harsh words are tempered by the soft coo of his voice. He doesn't wait for a response, adding a third finger. It stretches you out deliciously, and pulls a breathless cry from your lips. His fingers fill your walls, finding a rhythm that has you mewling as he assails your g-spot with quick movements. Spencer chuckles, marveling at how prettily your pussy flutters around his digits, “Such a needy, needy girl. Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”
Never, in your entire career, have you heard Spencer speak this way. There’s something exhilarating about it, allowing yourself to be at mercy. Complete submission turns you on, apparently, and so does degradation. Being confronted with this fact makes you moan, tightening around his fingers in response.
“Needy and obedient.” Chip agrees. He’s been surveying the scene with that easy smirk, as though debating the best way to join. You help him make a decision by opening your mouth. He chuckles, cupping your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip. “And so pretty.” he murmurs before pressing his thumb flat on your tongue. Immediately, you close your mouth around it and begin to suck.
“That's it,” Chip chuckles, eyes dark as he takes you in, “You just like having your holes filled, don't you baby?”
At that, you feel a sudden emptiness at your core, Spencer having pulled out his fingers, “Course she does.”
At your muffled whine of protest, your coworker laughs, “See, your pussy already misses being stuffed.”
Immediately, you feel movement behind you. Slick, warm thighs position against the backs of your own. The bed dips from his weight, and Spencer's unmistakable erection presses into your ass. You feel it pass through your folds, the blunt tip collecting your slick, sending shivers of pleasure in the process.
Eyes flutter close. Something thick and burning unfurls deep inside you, simultaneously in your chest and the pit of your stomach.
“Ah, ah,”Chip pats your cheek gently, “Open your eyes, pretty girl.”
With a muffled whimper, you obey.
A grunt of assent comes from behind you. Spencer's hand lands on the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to make you arch your back just a little more. “There you go.” he murmurs, his tip teasing at your sodden entrance. Slowly, you feel him push forward, the engorged head of his cock spreading your hole farther than it has ever been tonight, and you find yourself tensing.
“Shhh, you’re doing so well.” Chip coos, dragging his thumb out of your lips when he notices the crease at your brow. He bends down, kissing you lightly, tenderly, coaxing his tongue into your mouth. Doing your best to keep up with his sure movements, you focus on the way his lips move, the lingering taste of whiskey mixing with the acrid cigarette smoke that clings to him. He kisses you deeply, distracting you enough that you lose your rigidity. This allows you to relax, and Spencer takes advantage of that, plunging the rest of his cock inside your walls.
Chip’s mouth muffles your cry of surprise. There’s a slight sting as you flutter around Spencer’s length, your pussy adjusting to accommodate all of him.
Despite every inch of his body yelling at him to move, to take you and give in to the overwhelming bliss that spreads to every muscle, Spencer steadies himself. He lets you get used to the intrusion, knowing that this snug fit could potentially cause pain. No amount of his pleasure would ever surpass his concern for your comfort. Large palms skim over your hips in slow circles, while he keeps himself alert, feeling you relax and loosen the heavy grip you had on his cock.
He gives a tentative roll of his hips, shallow thrusts to test your readiness, eyes trained on your figure while you engage in a heated, messy kiss with Chip. You seem receptive, slick and at ease, so he builds up a steady pace, holding your hips still as he fucks into your warm cunt.
The motion completely makes you lose focus, your mouth falling slack against Chip’s, who only laughs and pulls back. The man straightens up, watching as Spencer finally fucks you from behind, before lining up his own cock at your parted lips.
“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see you make good on your promise.” he murmurs, letting the heavy tip rest on your bottom lip. Spencer doesn’t stop thrusting into you, and the impact has you rocking forward slightly, smearing Chip’s precum all over your lips and chin. With a groan, you wrap a hand around the base of Chip’s cock, helping guide it into your mouth.
You listen triumphantly at Chip’s low moan, the sound telling you that you’re doing a good job. Humming in the back of your throat, you bob your head down, taking in more of his cock. A hand wraps around your hair tightly, making you halt your movements. You wait, bleary eyed but eager, sucking on the tip as Chip considers the scene.
He is watching Spencer’s rhythm, studying the way every plunge of the other man’s length sends you careening forward. Pushing down Chip’s cock deeper into your throat. Once he has it figured out, Chip moves, his own hips tilting into yours every time Spencer thrusts in, ensuring that you’re stuffed deep and full at the exact same time.
You can do nothing but take it, eyes blinking with a lethargic slowness as you remind yourself to hollow your cheeks around the cock in your mouth. You’re rewarded by a groan from Chip, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pushes into your throat. Tears fill your eyes and your entire body tenses, squeezing around Spencer’s cock just as he’s pulling out of you.
“God,” your coworker hisses, “You’re so tight.”
He thrusts in, roughly, and the impact tips your body forward again, sending Chip’s length deep inside your throat. The helplessness of this moment should make you feel scared, worried. You can barely move, too busy balancing yourself on this wobbly motel bed, too cock drunk to really make any sound decisions, physical or otherwise. Instead, being caught between two men as they insert themselves into your holes just makes your entire body sing with pleasure. Goosebumps erupting over exposed skin, toes curled and tucked tight into themselves, hands digging white knuckled at the sheets.
You come apart under Spencer’s expert thrusts, his cock hitting that delicious spot deep inside you with a nearly terrifying precision. The orgasm hits you hard, elbows nearly giving out, if it weren’t for Chip’s hands—one aty your jaw, the other at your head—holding onto you firmly enough that he’s able to help you hold your upper body.
But Spencer’s not done. He speeds up, the sound of his sweat slick thighs hitting your ass filling the room. His cockhead brushes against your cervix, and you’re sure you lose your vision for a moment.
It’s an assault to all your senses, what little air you can breathe reeks of sweat and musk and leather, your skin feels white hot and ready to burst into flames at any given moment, and the tangy, bitter taste of Chip’s length is so distinct you’re sure you’ll be tasting him on your tongue for weeks.
You love every single moment of it.
You don’t even squirm when Spencer’s fingers find your oversensitive bud, circling it over and over again as he coaxes you into another orgasm.
“Come on, sweetheart, I know you have another one in you.” he murmurs, one hand gripping your hip tight.
Chip’s thumbs come up to your cheeks, brushing them away as he pulls his cock almost all the way out, allowing you to suck on the tip. “That’s it, baby, be a good girl and come again for us.” he cooes, “You’re so pretty like this, tears running down your face. You’re taking us so well, baby.”
Your face scrunches up in pleasure, their words pushing you to the edge as another climax hits you. This time, you’ve no more strength to hold yourself up, arms trembling and giving away. Chip’s cock slips from your lips but he doesn’t seem to mind, his soft chuckle fills your ears as you succumb face first into the sheets. Body shaking as Spencer fucks you through your orgasm, rough pads of his fingers gently pinching your clit.
“Mind flipping her over?” Chip’s voice fills the air, “Wanna mark up her pretty face.”
Your pussy clenches deliciously around Spencer’s cock in response. Your coworker makes a sound that’s half groa, half laugh, quickly easing himself out of your hole. His hands guide you to lay on your back, a welcome reprieve that has you moaning in relief. This way, you see both of them too—Chip standing over your head, pumping his fist up and down his cock, Spencer parting your thighs and reentering your heat to chase his high.
“God, you’re so good.” Spencer murmurs, fucking into you with quick, decisive strokes, “Gripping my cock so tight—”
At that moment, Chip groans, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His cum spurts out in long, thick ropes aimed right at your face. You open your mouth, tongue sticking out in hope of catching some of them inside. The warm liquid paints your face, and the very act of being marked in this way makes you squirm, the familiar heat building up again low in your belly.
“You look so good like this, baby.” Chip murmurs, still stroking his still erect cock and collapsing beside you on the bed, “Bet you’ll look even prettier with some dripping out of you.”
You moan, loud and clear for the first time, back arching off the bed as they whisper praise to you, sweet, filthy words that join the wet sounds of sex.
“God—fuck, sweetheart, I’m coming.” Spencer groans, collapsing on top of you, his body twitching as he buries his cock inside you. Warmth shoots up inside your walls, filling you up as his cock pulses out his load. You bite into his shoulder, tears streaking down your face and mixing with Chip’s release.
Stillness invades the room for several long moments, stark contrast to the previous, sex riddled chaos. And then Spencer pulls out slowly, kissing your sweaty neck in the process.
“You okay? Did we hurt you?”
“I’m good.” you’re exhausted, mind empty except for the memory of pleasure that still lingers, the perfect cocktail of hormones that leaves you limp and soft.
You hear a laugh from Chip, feel the bed shift as he moves. “Here,” his footsteps fade, and reappear, an arm extending to your coworker. He’d dampened a washcloth from the bathroom for you.
Spencer looks up, smiling in acknowledgement before taking the warm washcloth from Chip. Gently, he wipes your face, chasing away the traces of Chip’s drying cum from your skin. As he moves down to clean between your legs, Chip guides your head onto his lap, fingertips gliding tenderly across your cheeks.
“You sure you’re good, baby?” Chip asks, thumbs making mindless circles on your skin.
“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes closing.
“Don’t fall asleep on us yet,” Spencer speaks up, slowly cleaning away between your thighs, making sure not to put too much pressure on your oversensitive, swollen folds. “You need to pee.”
“D’I hafta?” you slur your words, nuzzling into Chip’s touch.
“Yes, sweetheart, unless you want a UTI.” Spencer says, tossing the washcloth aside.
“Can’t feel my legs.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Chip laughs, propping you up, “Don’t worry, pretty girl, we’ll help you.”
And just as they’d done previously, they guide your pliant body between them, this time not to chase and provide pleasure, but to make sure you properly come down from it. Once you’ve peed and slipped into Spencer’s button down, they tuck you to bed where you fall asleep almost immediately, curled up in between their warm bodies.
it's two am where i am btw. i feel feverish. thank you for reading
cw; +18 content, minors dni!, post prison! spencer reid (my beloved), no description whatsoever of reader, spencer turning into a psychopath, pervert! spencer, violence towards second characters, stalking, kidnapping, use of chloroform, spencer being completely and utterly obsessed, masturbation (spencer), blood, mutual attraction, fighting, reader being held hostage, spencer being basically a sugar daddy, manipulation, cursing, noncon/dubcon in sexual acts (reader likes it ??), fingering, multiple orgasms every time, squirting, oral sex (r! receiving), pussy talking, piv sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), spencer is hunggg, cervix kissing, spencer’s wishful thinking about fucking into your womb, breeding kink, lots of cum, reader saying no but not really meaning it, dirty talking, praise, choking, hair pulling, scratching, pet names, etc. please read all the warnings!!
dark! psychopathic! spencer who has changed. maeve’s death broke his soul. jail; his body and mind. all that was left was a brilliant brain and the broken carcass of the man that had been ripped apart by the world.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had given up on being happy. on love. until he saw you. you with that bright smile of yours, that sweet tone on your voice when you’d wish a good day to the clients on the coffee shop… his eyes met yours and it had felt as if the world —the one that had stopped moving for him— started right back up again.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who knew he had to have you when;
“sweet guy, right?” you inquired him and he frowned.
“i’m sorry?”
you smiled brighter. “you seem like one of them. let me guess...” you talked to him as you brewed a new order. “loooots of sugar in your coffee, right?” his mouth gaped and you giggled.
god. that sound. he’d kill for that sound.
“how did… how did you know?”
you shrugged. “call it barista’s intuition.”
“well...” he red out your name from your tag. and the way it rolled off his tongue. god. “you’re right.” he smiled. a real truthful smile. one he hadn’t given anyone in what it seemed like forever.
you hummed with a smile, proud of yourself —and kind of completely and utterly smitten with this man, but that was not the case, or your job.— “and what can i get you…?” your eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat. god, reid, get it together.
“spencer. spencer reid.” he gave you his name and you wrote it down on the clear to-go cup.
“well, what can i get you, spencer?” he had to bite down a groan. fuck, a moan. ‘cause the way you said his name? jesus christ. he wanted to hear you saying it over and over again. no, better-moaning it.
“what do you recommend?”
you smiled. “let me surprise you.” and you winked at him. winked.
later, when you called his name once again and gave him his order, he couldn’t suppress the groan that left his throat in delight when the sugary drink hit his taste buds, and when he saw the little smile you had drawn next to his name? he couldn’t suppress the sick need to have you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who found each and every one of your social media accounts within a few hours and may have not stalked them every day since, touching himself to your posts, to your stories. he couldn’t get enough. he would be shooting blanks and still couldn’t stop stroking his swollen —yet still painfully hard— cock.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who memorized your scheduled. he knew when you’d have a morning shift. when you’d have an afternoon one. time you’d clock in, and when you’d clock out. the color of your car. your designed parking spot…
dark! psychopathic! spencer who kept visiting you over and over again, asking for the same drink you’d made for him the first day he had met you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had learned your address by following you back to your place. he had to. to make sure you made it safe and sound. right?
dark! psychopathic! spencer who would stay near the coffee machines or sit at the bar to have a better view of you, and for a chance to chat.
dark! psychopathic! spencer whose obsession only grew when you started drawing hearts along with the smiley face on his cups —cups he never trashed and kept hidden and safe—.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d get jealous at anyone who approached you, that smiled at you, that talked to you…
dark! psychopathic! spencer who has been near to killing multiple men who had danced with you, touched you, tried to kiss you while you’d be out with your friends, sending them with critical wounds to the hospital without feeling any type of remorse or guilt. no one could touch you. only him could.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d also grow more and more scared by the passing days. with the field in which he worked in? he believed anything bad could happen to you at any given moment. he had already lost maeve. he couldn’t lose you. he had to protect you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer’s mind. who starts to scatter.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows he has to do this. for you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who whispers soft ‘sorry’s into your ear when you’re closing for the night, pressing a damped-in chloroform napkin to your nose until you were passing out onto his arms.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when he finally, feels your body pressed against him, who gets hard just by sniffing the coconut shampoo you used for your hair. fuck. you just smelled as sweet as you were. would you taste as sweet too? he had to take deep breaths to not bust in his pants.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows how to make you disappear with no trace left behind. who knows what to not do to not get caught.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who’s right there by your said when your eyes snap open once again. you’re in a bed you’ve never met. in a place you’ve never seen before. “hi angel.” he’d smile, brushing off hair from your face, helping you when you hint you want to sit up.
“spencer? what-? what’s going on? where am i?” you question and he keeps that sweet smile of his, but still frowns.
“what do you mean, honey? you’re home.” and that’s when you frown looking at your surroundings.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had brought your furniture over to this renovated-basement wonderland he had spent all his money on and created just for you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had also hacked your internet search, your pinterest… and bought you your entire wishlist. that new couch you had been saving for? paid in cash. that kitchen isle you’d been dreamed of having since you were a kid? taken care of and built on your right. and that incredible brewing machine you’d been drooling over? right on the new and shiny kitchen counter, ready for you to use.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had not only bought and built you your wished apartment —in a basement, but who cares about that?—, but had stocked your wardrobe with the pieces on that said wishlist. all brands you could only dream of having. dresses, tops, skirts, jeans, heels, shoes… hell, even the latest and most beautiful bags. and jewelry. sooo many pieces of the prettiest jewelry in the world.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who had spent his whole life living off the most basic things, saving all his money. money he wanted to spend on you. solely you. because you deserved it.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who doesn’t understand when you panic. when you try to get away from him. when you beg him to let you go.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who stays calm, ‘cause he knows you must be in shock. he can read your expressions, your body, almost your brain. he was trained to do so. so he knows just the right things to say, when to touch you. when to not touch you.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who gives you space. who waits for you to get comfortable.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who is just waiting… to finally pounce. like predator lurking on its prey.
and the moment finally comes. and spencer is a great predator.
dark! psychopathic! spencer that groans as he kisses you like you’re the last woman he’ll ever kiss. you will be. forcefully pushing his tongue into your mouth.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when you harshly bite down on his lip, filling up his mouth with blood.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who only pulls you closer despite your fighting. “keep going darling, i love it when you fight me. but you know this is just a facade you’re putting up. you know you can’t keep fighting me forever.”
you shook your head as he kissed and nipped at the skin down your neck.
“you think i wouldn’t see it? that i wouldn’t notice it? the way you looked at me that first day? how your eyes kept fleeting back to my lips when i spoke? how you’ll seek to touch me? how your body posture will change while being near me? you like me.”
“no.”
“i bet you dreamed of this, didn’t you? of me getting you all to myself… keeping you hidden where no one could see you… touch you… except for me.” you shook your head. “then why are you letting me touch you, huh? why aren’t you pushing me away?”
your back arched as his fingers met your hardened nipples. what. the. fuck? why weren’t you fighting? why were you letting this happen? why were you… liking it?
he ripped off your pajama bottoms and panties, exposing your soaking folds to his hungry eyes.
spencer hummed. “look at you. poor thing. have i broken you yet? so wet and i haven’t even toyed with you yet...”
a pitiful moan got ripped out of your chest as his fingers —long, beautiful fingers you had of course not thought about before— met your core and spencer cursed. “fuck baby. you’re dripping. all this for me?” he sucked at your neck, his fingers moving up and down in between your slick lips, fingertips meeting your engorged clit. and a gasp leaves you, hips canting for more. “spencer…” you whine and he sighs right against your ear, as if he were in pain.
and he was. he had never been this fucking hard. be was sure his cock was about to rip through his slacks.
“fuck. juuust like that, baby. moan my name just like that.”
dark! psychopathic! spencer who fingers you soooo good… deep and slow, the hard and fast. until you’re a blabbering and squirting mess, begging him to stop. but you really don’t want him to, ‘cause it feels so good…
dark! psychopathic! spencer who then leaves you to take care of his raging boner, sucking and sniffing the fingers he had fucked you with and coming so hard his sight goes white.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who slowly starts to feed you more and more of that unforgettable pleasure; sucking your nipples until they’re raw and sensitive, fingering you until unconsciousness, rubbing his hard clothed cock against your naked core to leave stains of your cum on them —which he may or may not proudly wear to work, telling the team it’s just coffee that had spilled on them—.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who spends so much time in between your thighs eating you out that his jaw will hurt for days.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who, when he finally fucks you, you’re crying. ‘cause you know you should hate him, hate all of this. but he has broken you. with his pretty face, his soft touch and way of treating you —like a goddamn goddess—, with his fingers, with his tongue, with his huge fucking cock. and you can’t help but be this wet. to want this. him.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who can’t believe just how fucking tight you are, praising you, going slow at first so you could feel every vein, every ridge, and he could feel every bump, every clench of your walls around him.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who then starts really fucking you. pounding into you until your screams filled the flat, until your nails are scratching down his back so hard your drawing blood. and he’s growling “yes baby, mark me up. i’m yours. fucking yours.”
dark! psychopathic! spencer who chokes you, who pulls your hair, making you feel a new kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. and you want more, more, more.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who —after he’s made you cum like crazy—, nears his own release and pushes your legs onto your chest, leaving you in just the perfect mating press that pushes the head of his cock against your cervix over and over again. god, how he wished he could fuck through it and fuck into your womb. pump you full of his cum. well, i guess, just one of those things he could do.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who tells you so. just how hard he’s gonna cum. how he’s gonna fill you up with his cum, and you shake your head, telling him that he can’t come inside, that you were not on the pill.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who just smirks and chuckles as your meek voice tells him you don’t want it. “you don’t want it? are you sure about that? ‘cause this pretty thing down here sure as hell does. just listen to her. so fucking wet and ready for it. to be bred. to take my babies.” and the you moan. you fucking moan.
your face flushed. your hands clamp over your mouth. and you’re mortified. ‘cause the thought of it has you so close to the edge once again…
you’re sick.
“you want it, doll? want my baby? want me to leave you dripping?” and you shake your head, begging him to not do it, but your body betrays you, your cunt getting slicker, tighter, nipples pebbling and back arching, legs falling apart for him, inviting him deeper. “shhhhh.” he hushes your little ‘no’s. “now keep your legs like that for me. gooood fucking girl. open up. take it. take it all baby. fuck. take my fucking cum.” and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when his fingers pinch your clit and his cum fills your womb in thick heavy spurts. “fuuuuck yeah.” he groans as he feels you cumming once again, squirting all over his stomach, his thighs, his cock, drenching the sheets. “that’s it angel. milk that cock. good fucking girl.”
dark! psychopathic! spencer who that night fucks so much cum into you that you are a dripping mess for days.
dark! psychopathic! spencer who then slowly starts to starve you from the pleasure, to make you dependent of him. to make you obsessed with him. to turn his obsession reciprocate. and it works. of course it works.
a/n; this kind of got out of hand (but i kinda love it)
Song fics inspired by 5 Seconds of Summer’s 2018 album, Youngblood
How does it work?
I’m asking my fellow criminal minds fic writers to write a song fic based on a song from this album! (literally, that’s the only rule) It can be x reader or x OC; sfw or nsfw; any character from Criminal Minds.
Want to participate?
Send me a message with the song you’d like to choose! There’s not a limit to fics per song, but I’m trying to keep track of which ones haven’t been chosen so I can write a fic for it. Don’t know what song to choose? Message me and I’ll give you one.
Once your fic is written, make sure to tag me and/or use the tag #ElizasYoungbloodEvent
I’ll be collecting fics from now until 5/20. Miss the deadline? No problem, just shoot me a message after you post so I can get you added to the masterlist!
song list is below the cut
Songs to choose from:
✦ Youngblood
✦ Want You Back
✦ Lie to Me
✦ Valentine
✦ Talk Fast
✦ Moving Along
✦ If Walls Could Talk
✦ Better Man
✦ More
✦ Why Won’t You Love Me
✦ Woke Up in Japan
✦ Empty Wallets
✦ Ghost of You
✦ Monster Among Men
✦ Meet You There
✦ Babylon
✦ When You Walk Away
✦ Best Friend
✦ Midnight
Am I the only one that can change the name of the project AND the banner because as I develop the plot the old ones seem off...?
it's still the same story though 😅
i wasn't calling you a racist and that's why i apologized and took back my words because I realised i was being unreasonable and looking too deep into the situation mostly because I'm constantly seeing (kinda implied) white reader like banners. i, like many others, see the moodboard of like a what's going on in the story. but that wasn't fair to you and you're entitled to the way you feel, just wanted to clear that up.
(also, that yeahhhh, was meant to sound like this https://youtube.com/shorts/8spi0nxLqwQ?si=WzCtT2kbvFZTya4Y doesn't really mean to make anything better)
I honestly feel like this was an unnecessary interaction. We both could have had a better day, if it didn’t happen. However, I also would like to apologize for going straight into the defensive mode. As a considerate person, I don’t write or imply the race by any means. I exclude descriptions of skin, hair and even body shape from my work (or at least I try too). I must admit, some people have tendencies to write self insert fiction without consideration of differences between people, making reading it unrelatable for some. Hope this clears the air <3
