le 💋

I switch fandoms like every week Spencer Reid FREAK 😛

[le480890]

imagine talking shit about me and I’m just in my room reading spencer reid porn on tumblr

[saudadebunny]

[spencerreid-criminalminds]

Him and his glasses against the world <3

[xxxsl33p-l0vr]

Going Up, Sir?

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

check out the masterlist for more! spencer requests welcome

summary: being the adventurous one of the pair, you liked to play with your boyfriend whenever and wherever you please. including the elevator! much to the humiliation and dismay of your poor, poor boyfriend, spencer.

tags and warnings: smut, sub!spencer x dom!reader, no sex u just make spencer cum in his pants, semi-public sex, exhibitionism kinda, almost caught (nobody catches u though), could qualify as dubcon, over the clothes stimulation, light choking

a/n: haha get it. going up. like his erection. his dick’s going up in his pants. anyway. spencer’s ramble in the beginning is very not subtly yoinked straight from the fibonacci episode because. well. writing my own spencer rambles is hard when the author isn’t as smart as him okay. ALSO THANKS FOR 1000 NOTES ON THE LAST SPENCE FIC!!! MORE TO COME AND MY REQUESTS R OPEN!

“It’s an irrational number known as phi, based on the ratio of line segments to each other and to the whole. I-It’s called the golden ratio, it’s a ratio we find all through life. In fact, most people we find conventionally attractive are based on that ratio. The unsub made an, uh, a reference to Leonardo Di Vinci, remember this? Di Vinci used it in a lot of his paintings. As a matter of fact, the last supper is the perfect example—”

The words tumbling out of Spencer’s mouth along with the pair of your footsteps are the only sounds echoing through the quiet halls of the rather antique hotel you were resting in for this case. A pleasant location. Clean carpets, which had Spencer pleased. Deep wood and golden light hanging above. The elevator was a bit on the slow side, however. Or maybe that was due to the building being so very towering in height. The ride to your room had to be at least a handful of minutes, and you and your boyfriend weren’t even sleeping at the very top.

As Spencer speaks, your eyes drift to the hanging lights above, the ones that stretch honeyed light across the winding hall. Normally, you would be nodding along, even if you couldn’t quite keep up with his mind. But this time, you stayed quiet. You just kept walking, Spencer trailing at your side, mouth moving like a motor as you both enter the old elevator as it groans and creaks.

Spencer, never one for social cues, seems entirely oblivious to your curious demeanor. Spencer keeps talking animatedly as the doors slide shut. “…and the Fibonacci sequence is directly related to phi! The way seashells spiral, flower petals arrange themselves— it’s all golden ratio-based. Even human faces… statistically speaking, facial symmetry aligned with phi correlates with perceived attractiveness at a 67% higher rate than average—” He pauses only to adjust his glasses and press the button for your floor. The silence from you feels normal to him. After all, you always listen quietly when he shares his mind.

Before the doors shut, you take a moment to peer around the enclosed space. Small, even for an elevator. The way you crane your neck around, it’s almost as though you're looking for something.

You press the floor button again before the doors can shut, and the glow of the number disappears, effectively stopping the elevator before it can begin its descent. Instead, you crouch down, absurdly choosing to press the floor at the very, very bottom, just shy of the basement.

“The whole concept is represented by the pendant the unsub had, including the logarithmic spiral created by… um…” Spencer starts to trail off, hands hovering in the air. “By- by using the fibonacci sequence, and if we pull up the towns all of the… missing are from— you, I, uh- I think you pressed the wrong floor?” He furrows his brow at your strange behavior, pointing to the row of numbers on the wall. With his infallible memory, he can be certain he had it right the first time.

But you're still poking your head about the elevator like you're looking for something, hardly acknowledging him. “Why’d you stop?” You ask.

“Uh… I mean…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I stopped because we’re going to the wrong floor. Our floor was 7? We’ll have to go all the way to the bottom now, why’d you do that?”

You step impossibly closer to him, shuffling in front of his body to create a barrier between him and the doors as they slide shut with a creak. “Go ahead, I was listening,” you nod encouragingly.

For a second, Spencer just stares at you with a suspicious look. Then, with a furrowed brow, he remembers his train of thought and resumes talking, albeit with slightly less energy than before. “So… phi is approximately 1.6180339887…”

The elevator has begun its descent. You watch above your shoulder as the aged dial begins to slide across the numbers at a snail’s pace.

The longer Spencer’s mouth moves, he almost becomes absorbed enough again to forget you were headed to the wrong floor. “It’s- it’s funny, actually, 11235 is a Fibonacci series, each number added to the number before. So it’s what the unsub’s ticks mean, subconsciously counting out fibonacci sequences over and over in his head! I mean…”

The elevator hums, you take another step even closer, taking advantage of the way he’s absorbed with his own ramblings again. With movements as casual as you could manage, you slide his cardigan off his shoulders, gently tugging his tie loose and popping open the top button of his shirt.

It doesn’t last long. His eyes are watching your every move and he slowly trails off as he stares at you with utter bewilderment. “… it’s a Fibonacci… series…?” He blinks. Once. Twice. “What- what, uh, what are you doing?” He makes no move to run from your hands, just looking back and forth between your fingers and your face, utterly lost.

Your lips hastily press to his with a force, and Spencer’s eyes blow open wide. His back thumps against the elevator wall. His lips move clumsily against yours by pure reflex. One hand hovers awkwardly near your waist while the other presses flat on the wall beside him for balance.

When you pull back, he pants, staring at you owlishly and looking delightfully vulnerable. “Wha— what?”

It all happens so fast. As the elevator hums and creaks with slow movements, your hands slide down his shirt, trailing from his neck to his chest, to his abdomen, then latching to his crotch and caressing his dick through the fabric of his khakis.

Spencer’s jaw falls open in a gasp, body slightly curling in on itself at the touch. He stares down at your hands on him, face burning red from his hairline to his collarbone. Then his eyes snap back up to you. “Hey! What are you- ah! Wh— wha— whatareyoudoing?” He tries to ask again, voice coming out a little too high.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You chuckle, batting your lashes up at him.

It looks like you're touching his penis. Through his khakis. In an elevator. But that doesn’t make sense, right?

“I-uh…” He can’t seem to form words. Just staring, wide-eyed and blushing furiously. “W— we’re in an elevator!” He whisper-yells.

“Uh-huh,” you keep rubbing circles over his cock, pressing the heel of your palm into the bulge of his head under his pants.

Spencer makes a tiny, strangled noise. His hands finally move. One flies up to cover his mouth. The other holds the wall behind him uselessly. His eyes dart across your face as he sputters, panicked. “There- there are generally cameras and microphones p-placed in— mmm! Placed in elevators f… for safety reasons!”

“I already checked. I didn’t see any cameras. This place is too old-fashioned.”

He whines girlishly as her palm presses more firmly against his straining cock. “Microphones, then! M-Microphones can be quite easily… oh, fuck… hidden from view if the owner of the establishment—”

“Then you better keep your voice down, huh?”

Spencer bites his lip hard, trying to muffle the onslaught of dirty sounds threatening to escape. “Y-Yes,” he whispers, nodding frantically. “Voice down… quiet… oh, god.”

He’s trying so hard to be obedient, but every rub and squeeze and brush sends electric pulses through him and he’s already throbbing. His breath comes in short, panicked little puffs through his nose like a startled rabbit.

“W-Why?” He nearly sobs.

You tilt your head innocently. “Why what?”

Spencer swallows, his throat bobbing. “W-Why are you… doing this? I mean— we’re in a public elevator. We have a case. And I-I was just talking about math.”

The elevator continues descending, dinging as it passes floors 16… 15…

You rub your thumb over the shape of his tip and Spencer’s knees feel weak. You just shrug, “‘Cause I like to tease you.”

He whines, humiliated. “I… I like your teasing too,” he admits in a tiny, breathless voice. “B-but usually with words. Not this.” He’s completely overwhelmed by your casual dominance over him, and panicking over how much it was turning him on.

He gasps sharply when you massage his bulge just right. “Please! Please, please— hey! don’tdon’tdon’tdon’t—”

Your hand stills slightly. “Don’t?”

Spencer squirms, watching you toy with him helplessly. “I mean— yes! Wait, no— I mean—” His voice cracks. “Please, please, I-I really don’t wanna cum right now...”

You chuckle, biting your lip. “You sure?”

Spencer nods rapidly, eyes wide with panic. “No. No— I mean— yes! Just not… not like this. Not in the elevator.”

“Oh, but I wanna play with you…” You pout.

“P-Playing is fine! I love playing!” he blurts, then sheepishly lowers his voice to a frantic whisper. “But maybe… maybe in our room? Where we can close the door and— and change clothes if needed?” He’s grimacing now from the touch, his expression twisting like he’s in pain.

“Oh, you don’t wanna cum in your pants, huh?” You tease.

He ducks his head into your shoulder to stifle the sounds. “N-No,” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. “I—I have a meeting in an hour. With Strauss. And my pants are… they’re not stain-resistant.”

“Aww! That’d be so cute!”

Spencer lifts his head slightly, horrified. “Cute?!” he squeaks. “What? No! Not cute. Embarrassing! P-professionally devastating!”

Ding! Just then, the elevator doors fly open as they reach the floor nearest to the basement.

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors open, practically leaping away from you, only to see an empty, dimly lit hallway. The second they close again, he exhales sharply, shoulders slumping.

You casually hit another button with your elbow. The elevator starts moving up to the very top.

“Top floor?” he asks quietly, eyes wide with hope. “Our room is on 7…”

“We’re not going to our room, I’m fucking you here, silly.”

“H-here?!” he squeaks, eyes darting around the tiny elevator. “In this… this box? B-But the— the microphones! The elevators are monitored for safety violations and— and crimes! Public indecency is a crime!”

But he stops when your hand comes up to squeeze his throat, a thrill shooting through him and straight to his loins.

His lips part slightly as he stares at you with wide, glazed over eyes. “Why don’t you keep talking to me about your math sequences? Hm?” You coo, rubbing your thumb over his adam's apple.

“I-I…” He swallows hard against your palm. “F-Fibonacci sequence… um, mmm, it’s a recursive series wh-where each number is the sum of the, uh? Two preceding ones… and um…” It’s hard for him to remember when the majority of his blood flow was going straight to his cock.

“Yeah?” You encourage him with a nod, so Spencer keeps babbling, dazed and breathless.

“S-so 0, 1… then 1… and the next is, oh, the next is two, so it’s— it builds exponentially. Like a spiral! Mm-hm. A logarithmic spiral which relates to phi again because of the golden ratio division in geometry which creates perfect aesthetics like Da Vinci’s paintings or seashells or—”

He pauses when you squeeze his throat just slightly tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his voice crack cutely.

“…a-and the ratio of a shell’s chambers to its width follows, ah, phi exactly, which means nature uses math for beauty and-and symmetry, like how people are attracted to faces with phi proportions statistically but god, you’re squeezing my neck…”

You grin. “You like it?”

“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, “I mean, scientifically speaking… mild pressure to the carotid artery increases blood flow which could theoretically heighten arousal but—”

“You didn’t finish telling me,” you remind him, but math was the furthest thing from his mind.

Spencer thinks, trying to remember where he left off, but nope. All gone. Erased by your hand on his throat and the heat coiling low in his stomach. “I… uh…” He swallows hard under your fingers. “I forgot.”

“You forgot!” You laugh, “Oh, no you didn’t, you don’t forget anything.”

Spencer pouts. “I did! I swear!” he insists, voice high and flustered. “My brain… I can’t really… recall anything.”

You rub your nose against his affectionately. “Am I making you dizzy, my sweet boy?”

Spencer nods slowly, eyes half-lidded. “Yeah. Dizzy… and warm… and my heart’s going really fast.” It wasn’t only the pressure on his throat, or the hand caressing his throbbing cock. It was the way you looked at him, touched him like you wanted to devour him alive in this stupid elevator.

Dizzy wasn’t the right word, he was overloaded. But dizzy works.

“You’re so cute when you’re all spacey,” you whisper.

Spencer’s face scrunches up, embarrassed and deliriously happy. His lips twist into a tiny smile, but he quickly tries to hide it by shyly pressing his face back into her shoulder.

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums into your skin.

You glance over your shoulder to see another number lit up on the panel. “Uh, oh…” You bite back a smile.

Spencer lifts his head slowly. He doesn’t notice the new number lighting up, still lost in his stupid, blissed-out haze. “Huh?”

“We got a visitor!”

Spencer’s body tightens. He straightens up instantly, panic flashing across his face as his dizzy brain scrambles to come back online. “Oh, no,” he frantically smoothes down his shirt and fixes his tie with shaky hands. He combs his hands through his hair and wipes any trace of lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand. He shoots you a wide-eyed look that says what do we do?!

But you are the face of indifference. You detach yourself from his side and turn your back to him, folding your hands in your lap like someone simply riding the elevator while Spencer is still panting and sweating and struggling to not look suspicious at all.

As the doors ding open, Spencer ducks his head down and half-turns his body away to hide the erection straining against his pants from view, while you are all but the picture of inconspicuousness.

A hotel janitor in a blue uniform steps in, pushing a cleaning cart. He nods politely at you, to which you respond with a small, polite smile back, then glances briefly at Spencer.

Spencer keeps his head ducked, shoulders hunched like he’s studying the floor tiles. One hand grips the railing for balance; the other awkwardly crosses over his lap awkwardly to block his erection from sight.

The janitor presses button 3 and hums quietly to himself. And so, all the way back down you go, slow and quiet. Spencer stays statue-still, like he’s not allowed to breathe too loud. The janitor stands on the other side of the cart, occasionally glancing at his clipboard.

You remain perfectly calm. Not a single nervous twitch.

Every second feels like an eternity to him as they creep back down to floor 3 with this random man who could turn around and see his horribly suspicious posture at any given moment.

The elevator dings as it reaches floor 3. The janitor gathers his cleaning supplies and wheels the cart out without a word, leaving you and Spencer alone again, doors sliding shut behind him.

Spencer exhales like he’s been holding his breath for ten minutes straight. Only then does he finally unclench, shoulders dropping, and look at you with wide, traumatized eyes.

“Really? I mean, really! Th-this is why I said doing… that in an elevator was a-a ridiculous idea!”

“Doing what?” You hum as you casually press another floor on the console.

Spencer gapes. “Doing that!” he hisses, waving a hand vaguely at the space between you, where seconds ago you were touching him. “Right before, with th-the—! And the—! …You know what I mean!”

You turn around, and Spencer’s protests and complaints simply evaporate when you latch your lips onto his. Spencer makes a soft noise into your mouth and kisses back, clumsy but eager. His hands lift to cradle your face instinctively, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he tilts his head to deepen it.

Your thumb circles around the head of his cock through his pants. Spencer whimpers into the kiss, hips grinding forward slightly to chase the contact. He breaks the kiss for a second to gasp, forehead resting against yours. He breathes your name like a plea.

“Where were we?” You grin cheekily.

“We were… uh…” He swallows, eyes fixed to your lips. “I think you were— you were torturing me.” He leans in to kiss you again like your mouth was magnetic, which you greedily accept.

You laugh softly against his lips, massaging his pulsing cock once again, smoothing your palm over his bulge. “Not gonna stop until you cum for me, okay?”

The thought is terrifying and thrilling at the same time. He whines against your lips, squirming as you massage him through his pants with just enough pressure to drive him insane. “I—I can’t… I don’t wanna—” he stammers between kisses, but his hips betray him by rolling into your touch. “Please, I-I really don’t wanna ruin my underwear…”

But his body isn’t listening. Every rub of your hand sends sparks through him, and the coil in his stomach tightens dangerously.

“C’mon, it’d be so cute. I bet you’re all leaky under there anyway.”

Spencer whines, mortified. “I-I’m not leaky!”

You laugh at his childish protest.

He flushes. “I-I don’t… leak! I control my bodily functions!”

But then your hand squeezes again, firm this time, and all defensiveness withers as a sharp gasp and a whine escape him.

“Bet you wish you could fuck me, huh?”

He nods mindlessly. “Mhmm. Yeah, a lot.”

The elevator dings, finally reaching the top floor. The doors slide open to reveal a quiet, dimly lit hallway. He recognizes it. Your room is just down the corridor. Spencer stares at it like salvation, then back at you, eyes wide with hope.

But your hand doesn’t stop moving. Caressing him, toying with him, rubbing his bulge. You make no move to take the both of you back to your room to have sex properly. No, because it’d be silly of him to think you’d have any interest in proper sex.

What’s making his stomach sink, however, is the way you’re not pressing another button. The way you’re letting the heavy elevator doors stay wide open as you touch him, letting all his needy little noises escape into the corridors for any unfortunate passerby to overhear.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he whispers, “H-hey… the door… it’s open…?” He tugs weakly at your sleeve, eyes wide with nervousness. The hallway is silent now, but anyone could turn the corner. “People could, um… could see us?” He adds in a tiny, embarrassed squeak. He wants this, desperately, but not like this. Not out in the open where someone might walk by and see him panting, blushing, completely at your mercy.

You simply follow his eyes, glancing at the open door, considering it nonchalantly, then wordlessly return your focus back to him and his dick, much to his frustration.

“P-Please,” he whispers shakily. “Can we… go to our room? Just a few steps? Please?”

You sharply pat his cock right where he’s most sensitive, and it sends a jolt through him. “I told you, silly, I wanna play with you here.”

Spencer yelps. His knees buckle. “O-Ow!” It didn’t actually hurt, but it stung in that electrifying way that was making his cock throb even harder. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes from overwhelming sensation and your stubborn refusal to move this somewhere private.

Spencer bites his lip, eyes watering. “I-I don’t wanna— I don’t wanna cum in my pants… please, please…”

Teasing him, you ask, “Why not?”

Spencer blinks, baffled. “B-Because…” he stammers. “It’s messy! And— and I’ll have to change my clothes, and we didn’t pack extra underwear because we thought this trip would be short and— and—” He hesitates. “And I don’t— I just don’t wanna feel sticky and gross all day!” He whines miserably.

You chuckle, affectionately leaning your head on his shoulder like your hands aren’t down there working to make him explode. “But this cock is mine,” you murmur close to his ear.

He whimpers, tilting his head instinctively to give you better access to his ear. “I-I know… I know, I know,” he admits in a tiny voice, defeated but oddly turned on by how easily you claim him. “Yeah. Yours. But can I please cum in bed?”

You ignore him. “Mine, isn’t it? All mine? Mine to play with?”

Spencer nods frantically, eyes fluttering shut. “Y-Yours,” he breathes. “All yours. You can— you can play with me whenever you want.” The thought of being yours is almost as intoxicating as the physical sensations.

“Uh-huh. Then that’s all you need to worry about.”

Spencer hides his face in your shoulder again, breathing fast and shallow. It’s terrifying, being exposed like this. But also… thrilling. The risk makes every touch feel ten times more intense.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel, Spencer,” you murmur to him sweetly.

“S-So good,” he whispers against your shirt, voice trembling. “You’re making me feel so good…” His face burns with shame and pleasure. “You’re… you’re the best, the best at this… I love it, I love you.” His hips seek more friction, rocking up into your touch.

“I love you too, my sweet boy. Are you getting close?”

Spencer nods against you, his breath coming in quick little puffs. “I-I think so… really, really close.”

You smile, feeling his tension, his breath picking up pace against your skin. You press a soft kiss to the top of his head before whispering, “That’s okay. You can cum if you want to.”

He swallows a moan, his body shaking. “I-I can… I can cum?”

“Uh-huh, you wanna cum for me? Wanna be my good boy and make a mess? Just for me?”

Spencer’s stomach flips. The words are filthy, and so tempting. He wants to, desperately, he’s so near to tipping over the edge. But the thought of actually doing it here and now, exposed and vulnerable, still worries him.

He whines softly. “Y-Yeah… but I’m scared.”

“Oh, baby,” you coo, “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Your voice, soft and loving, quells the fear, and for a moment Spencer is lulled into believing you two are in the privacy of your own bedroom. Your hand is perfect, moving with just the right pressure and rhythm.

“Fuck, feels really good. Feels really, really good,” he cries pathetically. He moans your name in a plea for mercy. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna…! Please, please, oh fuck! I think I’m gonna—”

Everything tightens. The coil in his stomach, his chest, his shoulders. He clutches your shirt like a lifeline as he stops denying himself and the pleasure crashes over him in sweet waves. A quiet gasp escapes him before he can stop it, and suddenly he’s cumming right there, still fully dressed, pressed flat against you. He moans like a girl into your skin, jaw falling open wide as his release coats the inside of his boxers. You keep working him through his orgasm diligently.

The afterglow hits, warm and floaty. But he can feel it as he pants, coming back down from his high: the horrific wetness against his skin. And when the wire in him fully snaps and he goes slack in your arms, he grimaces.

Spencer is a limp, dazed puddle. He’s panting, sweaty, and so embarrassed by the mess in his pants. He hides his face further in your shoulder with a tiny groan of humiliation.

You just hum, gently stroking his hair, quite pleased with yourself. You kiss the top of his head sweetly. “It’s okay,” you murmur, soothing. “Nobody else booked this floor, anyway.”

Spencer nods weakly against your, still hiding. “Okay…” he pants, voice muffled by fabric. “That’s… that’s good to know.”

The two of you are silent for a moment as Spencer recovers, the only sound his heavy huffs and the faint hum of the lights beyond the elevator. “…Did you like it?” You eventually ask.

Spencer lifts his head slowly, finally meeting your eyes, cheeks still pink. “Mm-hm,” he nods shyly. “A lot.”

You smile, letting out a warm chuckle. “Good.”

You press the button to slide the doors closed, giving the two of you a quiet moment in your little bubble before any reality can creep back in again. Holding his warm cheek, you press your lips to Spencer’s.

He quickly leans into your kiss, eyes fluttering shut, melting into you with lingering affection and arousal. When you part again, he sighs contentedly and rests his rests his forehead against yours.

Eventually, he interrupts the peace with a meek voice, “Can I… can I please go change my pants?”

You giggle at him and lovingly pat his cheek with a nod.

[awkwardbrunettegirl]

Real

[bfbkg]

Virgin bkg who’s so painfully stupid but acts so arrogant. And when it’s getting heated and you’re making out and want to see his dick… he gets all shy and embarrassed because he doesn’t know if it looks normal or as good as the other ones you’ve seen. When you ask what’s wrong he tells you it’s curved and you think it’s like BENT then he lets you see and it’s the prettiest most orgasm inducing upward curve you’ve ever seen on a dick.

bakugou katsuki knows why he is a virgin. it’s pretty simple really despite the fact he is surrounded by beautiful women often. socialites, the new buzzing influencers, actors and pro heroes like.

it’s because he’s obsessed with his job. always has been. since he was a child who was dreaming of becoming a hero, to his teenage years fighting wars to now in his twenties, working towards becoming number one.

women and mostly importantly, getting his dick wet, has never been number one on his list of priorities. sure when he’d go to film premiers for that hero franchise he loves, occasionally a gorgeous woman would talk to him.

but the thing about growing up uninterested in sex and the only women around him being his friends that share the same heroic goals… well bakugou has never been very good at flirting. which again, was mostly okay since he would just walk away when a woman was about to talk to him.

until he met you that is. the first woman to make him dream of more, that made him unable to get through a shower without tugging one out to the thought of you. that during patrols, he’d think about texting you. what are you up to? where are you? when the hell can he kiss you next?

anyone is experienced compared to bakugou. he’s kissed a girl once in his third year of ua. he’s made out with two in his early twenties.

but now at twenty six this is first time having a woman in his apartment, on his bed, on his lap. he feels like a rabid animal. unsure where to put his hands with the desperate need to touch everywhere so he leaves them on the globes of your ass, squeezing every few seconds when all the feelings inside of him gets intense.

he knows he’s flushed red. he knows his dick is hard and you can feel it through your leggings. but you’re so perfect, leading the moment, letting him react however the hell he wants.

bakugou releases a loud moan when you stick your tongue down his throat, breasts pressed against his chest like you want to live in his skin. he’s never felt a woman like this before, he feels as if the word virgin is in capital letters printed onto his forehead.

he hasn’t told you directly he is but he thinks you know.

“you’re so… fuck. this is so fucked up,” he breathes into your mouth and your fingers rake up into the hair on his nape.

your grin makes his heart skip a beat, falter slightly and he swears he gets winded.

you’re out of breath, chest heaving and your pussy is a centimetre away from sitting on his cock.

“why’s it fucked up? you okay?” you brush your nose against his softly, smoothing out his eyebrow with your thumb. “you look hot, do you want to take your top off?”

you’re being so sweet to him and he appreciates it, he does. but as soon as he knows what he’s doing he’s gonna treat you right. properly.

for now, he’s just worried he doesn’t have what it takes.

“oh, err, fuck. sorry, yeah i will,” he mumbles to you, yanking off his white tee from the neckline.

bakugou enjoys how your eyes glow, scanning his half naked body like it’s something you can eat. your hands immediately flatten against his chest. down his toned abdomen. up to his fat squishy pectorals. he’s never had someone touch him like this. he couldn’t be harder.

“you don’t have to apologise, you know. this is new for us both.”

“you’re not the fuckin’ virgin here.” he bites, “i’ve never even had a woman in my room.”

he can tell you like that idea. you inch closer to him on his lap, your hands are back on his shoulders. you brush your lips over his.

“i don’t know how. look at you.”

and you’re back to making out with him. slower this time. tasting all the flavour from his tongue.

you softly bite down on his bottom lip and like a ring of the doorbell, bakugou opens up to let you in. it’s wet peck after wet peck, tilting your head to taste more of him. he’s eager, too eager ducking closer to you, as to not waste any time with your lips off his. you can only think that if he kisses with this much passion, you’re dying to know how he’d fuck.

bakugou tightly grips your ass and without meaning to, he shoves you directly onto his cock.

you mewl like a cat, hips grinding down onto him like you can’t help it. “you feel so good, ‘tsuki.”

you feel good because of him. him.

your tongue sneaks into his mouth, twirls and brushes against his. he learns quickly, you’ll give him that. his tongue dances against yours, licking up everything you offer. you feel his body vibrate, his dick twitch. you begin sucking on his tongue and that’s when he releases a harsh grunt. you’re soaked.

“let me see it.” you palm his cock through his shorts, “let me see.”

bakugou opens his eyes, pulls away from your mouth for a moment.

“i… fuck.” he’s back to mumbling. then stupidly, he looks down at the lump in his fabric.

“you… you don’t have to?” you offer, unsure about his wide eyes, “we can keep kissing?”

“it’s just that… it’s just….,” bakugou looks up to the ceiling.

he’d love for you to touch him, do anything to him but nobodies seen his dick before. sure he’s seen some porn videos but he’s never seen a dick like his in them. he’s googled and nothing said there’s anything particularly wrong about his.

but what if you find it weird, what if it puts you off him completely?

“talk to me, baby,” you push, laying a kiss on his jaw. then making a line down his neck. “wanna make you feel good.”

he’d like that.

“listen. seriously.”

you pull off him at that, sitting up on his lap, your hands at his waist. he is stupidly gorgeous. puffy pink lips because of you. his long straight eyelashes. his beautiful cheekbones and that eyebrow slit.

“i’m listening. tell me anything.” you soften your tone, trying to get the horny out your eyes. your tits are basically spilling out your vest top and you don’t miss bakugou’s pupils darting to and from them every few seconds.

“i think…. i…”

you don’t speak.

katsuki takes a deep breath. he almost shouts without meaning to. “nobody has seen my dick before but me. right?”

you nod with a frown, unsure where this is going. “okay. nothing’s wrong with that.”

bakugou winces. he isn’t built for this. he’s always been attractive physically. his body works better than the average. can run at speed, stealthy, built for hero work. his quirk is best of the best and is only getting stronger by the day. but using his body for sex? that’s something he has no clue about.

“it might not be normal lookin’? like it works fine, i’ve never had any problems with it? but it might be odd for you.”

you’re immediately imagining the worst. it’s not small. you felt it a second ago between your legs. heck, you’ve seen it when he walks around in those stupid grey joggers. oddly coloured, oddly shaped? is it too big?

“what’s wrong?” you tilt your head.

his whole face is flushed. a beautiful pink to the apples of his cheeks. you would kiss them if he wasn’t so serious right now.

he closes his eyes, leans his head back on his headboard. his hands stay on your thighs. you tap his chest.

“c’mon tell me.”

he exhales sharply.

“my dick is fuckin’ curved. to the left. i don’t know why.” he blurts, embarrassment written all over him, “it’s always been like that.”

for him to be this stressed about it, it must be abnormal. is it like a hook? you’ve seen one like that on one of those medical reality shows. would it be able to go inside if you? you so badly want him inside of you.

you shrug. you can’t imagine anything about this man being less than perfect. “it can’t be that bad, baby.”

you rub his chest soothingly but his face doesn’t soothe you one bit.

“i’m fuckin’ sorry. i brought you here and we’re goin’ so well and—,”

“let me see. let me see your dick, c’mon,” you smile softly.

you sink your hand to touch his crotch again.

“you sure? i don’t want you to be put off me like i’m a freak—,”

“katsuki. come on.”

it’s in slow motion. your mouth immediately start salivating, his hands grip the elastic waistband of his shorts. he pulls it down in one go with his underwear.

“oh katsuki. baby…. honey.”

this man has nothing to worry about. bakugou katsuki has on him a cock that can rival your favourite dildos. it curves to the left, a smooth pleasing curve that you already know will hit your softest spots. you swallow your spit, your hands inching up his thighs. it’s darker at the base, twitching under your attention with two round balls (one a little larger than the other) at the bottom.

he is hefty. heavy. thick like a tree trunk with veins darting up the sides. you imagine the weight of it in your mouth. the deep pinkish purplish head on your tongue. most of all, you imagine it curved inside, pushing a sweet orgasm out of you.

of course, this big idiot didn’t know what he had on him. part of you wants to lie, never let him know how good he has it so he doesn’t go around sharing his goods. but you need to, it’s written all over your face.

“you must be joking, katsuki,” you hum, delighted. you run your finger down his shaft.

his hips jolt, eyes lazing slightly from your attention. he’s so hard it’s getting painful.

“what? what? spit it out.”

“you need to fuck me. doesn’t have to be now but someday. you have to.” you whine, “you don’t get it at all.”

“what? it’s not a problem? this okay with you?” he stutters, unable to keep a steady head as you sink down the bed to rest your chest on his legs. now you’ve got your face right in front of his dick, as if you’re measuring the curve by degrees.

you want to lick him.

“you’ve got a pornstar dick. a dick they base dildos off,” you breathe. the look in your eye is wild, untamed. “you’d feel amazing. even if you don’t know how to use it. you need let me bounce on it.”

bakugou blinks down at you. he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing, fuck, he doesn’t know what to do about you. not one bit did he think you’d even have this reaction.

“w-what… i know how to use my own dick.” is all he can manage but you shake your head.

you flick your eyes up to him, “we’re gonna learn together, okay? can i… can i…” you flatten your tongue against his shaft and give him one lick up.

bakugou’s sure he’s about to come any second now.

“y-yes but be fuckin’ careful. i don’t wanna nut on your face.”

[bfbkg]

Um I’m obsessed with morning sex bkg so him coming to your place after like an 18 hour patrol in the morning and being so horny and sweaty and needy and just 😫 putting u through the mattress is so perfect

BIG REACTION.

bakugou loves getting a reaction out of you.

what’s coming up: smut, fluff, annoying bkg, established relationship, teasing, p in v, touching your clit, protected sex

this was written when i was taking requests. i am not now. it has been a WHILE since i have written smut.

“where’s the key i made you?”

one of the first things bakugou learnt about you, very early on in your relationship is that you are not a morning person. when he suggested a morning hike, you screwed up your face and refused. maybe an afternoon one? when he would sleep over and play his four am morning alarm loud enough to wake you both up, that was enough for you to consider breaking up with him.

but now you open your front door, complete in your pyjamas which consists of an oversized tshirt with his face on it and the capitalised lettering of DYNAMIGHT right underneath. it’s old merchandise he sold a few years back that you insist is your comfiest tee. you’re barefooted, no slippers which is proof he dragged you from your bed all disjointed and your bonnet lays atop your head lopsided. incredibly cute. but aside from his own snarling face looking back at him, he’s got your pretty face twisted in one too.

“it’s six am, kats.” you huff, opening the door wider to let him stomp in, head to toe in his hero gear.

he’s careful not to track any mud or dirt when he steps onto your doormat. he’s quick to take off his uniform, his dirty armour and multiple layers, all while you stand with your arms crossed, staring at him with sleep in your eyes and creases all over your cheeks. you’re having a halfhearted strop.

it’s at this point he decides what he wants.

“i fuckin’ know. i just did an eighteen hour.” he replies, looking to your pouted lips to how your t-shirt rides up with your crossed arms. you’re always so soft when you’re sleepy. “i left my keys at the agency. i forgot to pick them up.”

he wonders if you’re wearing panties.

bakugou pulls off his black kevlar long sleeve, leaving him in his twaron black tank top. then he sniffs, looks to the hem of your tee, “you wearin’ panties under that?”

you roll your eyes, tutting loud and annoyed. “no ‘good morning baby.’ no, ‘you look so beautiful this morning. sorry for waking you up.’ you’re asking if i have panties on. i should kick you out on the street.”

bakugou’s smirk grows, he can deal with you pissy in the morning. in fact, this is exactly how he wants you. looking at him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoe, ready to slap him across his face for being crude.

he’s missed you. he wants you.

you eye his golden biceps. muscled and juicy in his tight thick tank. the bulletproof material hugs his pectorals, every ab and points his nipples. you ignore your name tattooed in cursive on his collarbone, the first and last letters peeking out of either side of his left strap. there’s leftover black eye makeup under his eyebrow and sweet sweat all over his body that makes him look similar to a glazed doughnut. he pull off his trousers last, leaving him in these black shorts he wears underneath. you can see his thighs tense as he lands back on both feet, his stupid thigh tattoo being revealed for a split second before hiding beneath the fabric.

bakugou should be exhausted after working for eighteen hours straight, he usually is. but fuck, if you don’t give him a new lease of life.

“good morning my sweet baby,” he coos, almost mockingly, just enough syrup laced in the words to keep you looking at him, albeit still frowning. he steps in closer to you, fingers gripping your chin, “been thinkin’ about you.”

you look up, head tilted in his grasp expectantly. he should be kissing you, right smack on your lips as a hello, maybe even an apology for waking you up.

instead, you follow his ruby pupils as they flicker over your face. lastly, staring at your lips. not kissing them. you hate how easily your body reacts to his proximity after how long he’s been yours, after him being so annoying.

your heart races when you can feel the heat of his body beaming onto your shorter one. you relax at the touch of his hand, any second now and you’re about to lean into his palm. you hate how even the sweaty smell of working on the streets, lingers loudly and warms you from the centre out. you’re one big reactive nerve for your boyfriend, ready to jump and rub up on him like a cat in heat.

“sorry for wakin’ you from your beauty sleep, princess,” he bends in closer to you, his pretty face right in yours. plucked eyebrows, shaven face, a streak of dirt on his cheek. then he smirks, slow and sexy, “is that enough for you?”

at that, you yank out of his grip, slapping his hand off your face. “why are you being so annoying?” you whine, spinning around to go back to your bedroom. “don’t follow me!”

bakugou’s always been good with following rules but he’s choosing not to today. he bounces after you, right on your tail as you push open the door to your bedroom.

your crumpled white bedsheets, one side lifted over from where you were laying before. there’s a box of condoms on the side of your bed he claimed, left from the last time he was around.

“nuh-uh, i meant it. sorry for wakin’ you. i know you hate mornin’s,” he brushes his lips against your ear when he speaks, his hands finding your waist and he’s not surprised by how you lean into him.

“you need to go shower, stinky,” you mumble with a pout.

despite everything, you’re a fool for his attention.

“i will, i will,” he mumbles, slowly pushing you back onto your bed.

you fall back with ease, head on your pillow and bakugou climbs over on top of you. he’s got one of his knees between yours, hands on either side of your shoulders.

you adjust your hips to wrap your legs around his waist and ignoring his own face on your tee, he looks between your legs.

“ah, so you do have panties on,” he grins, hooking his finger on the fabric at your hip and pinging it to your skin.

you slap his hand, still in a mood, “ouch, idiot. obviously, i do.”

your fiery glare serves as loving warmth and heat at bakugou’s crotch. your eyebrows are furrowed yet your legs tighten around his waist. your fingers fiddle with his clothes, adjusting his tank making sure the straps are equal. you’re fighting against him with that cute little pout. bakugou likes when you’re about to snap, he hardly gets you like this.

“y’gonna let me take ‘em off, beautiful?” he plays, rubbing his thumbs over the fabric of them, your pubic hair peeping out the top.

you pinch his bronzed side, “no. say sorry and greet me properly.”

bakugou grunts a laugh, both hands finding your hips and pulling you to his crotch. he notices how you inhale at the feel of his thickness, blink a few extra times.

“i’m not sorry for wakin’ you up. i wanted to see you,” bakugou knows the rules. happy life, happy wife. agree with everything your girlfriend says. but he’s in the mood to push, play with you a little.

you stifle a yawn beneath your palm at the same time birds chime outside. the morning sun is peeping out below your curtains and in this moment, you’re both levelled with how quiet it is.

“say sorry for forgetting your keys and making me climb out of bed to get you.”

“but then i wouldn’t have you and your little attitude lookin’ like you wanna bite me.”

you flick his forehead, your voice in need of some water this early, “so this is an attempt to seduce me? annoying me out of my panties?”

bakugou shakes his head with a grin, his hair thick with the grime of the day. “i don’t needa seduce you anymore. i bet i could slide right in. i bet you want me to.”

you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. you refuse to touch him but your legs stay put.

“not true. we aren’t kids in a playground. you don’t have to be mean because you have a crush on me.”

“more than a crush. i love you,” he breathes, ducking into your neck to lay a few kisses down. he kisses a trail up to your jaw, lightly biting down on your skin. the angle pushes his cock between your legs and you fight the urge to grind up into him.

“you haven’t even kissed me hello,” you whine, gritting your teeth. “you’ve been mean to me.”

he lays a kiss to the corner of your lips. “is that all my baby wants? just a kiss?”

he’s got you all softened, he knows it. your eyes turn down at the edges, your lips keep twitching every time his face gets closer, your arms wrap around his neck to keep him close.

you nod slowly, “i’ve been telling you.”

“yeah? sorry, baby. it’s been a long day, f’me,” bakugou grins against your lips before slotting his over yours.

he focuses on your bottom lip. sucking your flesh until it’s tender, feeling all your limbs tighten around him and your hips rub against his cock. you’re so reactive when you’re sleepy, like your body is just acting on need and instinct.

once he gets a long sweet moan out of you, complete with a cute, “kats,” bakugou tilts his head to slink his tongue into your mouth. it’s wet, messy and slow. he works you like you’re a puzzle to unwind, to get you as relaxed as possible so he can fuck you back to sleep. you let him take control, all the fight slowly spilling out of your body.

it’s you that’s needy now, his plan all coming together.

he licks around your mouth. sucks on your tongue in order to draw a few more moans from you. you twitch beneath him, fingers grabbing at his tank top.

“kats, please,” you whine, spit connecting your lips to his.

bakugou kisses it away. he rumbles against you, gives you a grind against your core in return. it gets your back arching, a gasp pulled out of your throat.

“what, baby?” he grunts, so sure his arousal has taken over his face. “say it to me.”

“take off my panties. let me feel you,” you say loud and clear, never shy about your needs. bakugou’s always loved that about you, especially in the early days when he could never spit the words out.

bakugou works quickly, lifting your hips to grab your comfy floral panties. he pulls them up off your legs and he wants to stare at you, needy and ready for him but he’s distracted by something, “might need you to take off the tee too. don’t wanna be lookin’ at my face when i’m lovin’ you.”

you look down at his crumpled face, mid cursing in his hero uniform on your tee. “don’t wanna. it’s cold.” you pull up the fabric, resting it all on your breasts to reveal your stomach. “there.”

bakugou grunts, shoving the fabric under your chin. your breasts rise and fall with every breath and he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that prickle around your nipples, “there we go. i’ll keep you warm.”

you roll your eyes, a smile about to break, “get naked, hero. then i can go back to sleep.”

bakugou chuckles under his breath, unable to take his eyes off your face. the curve of a smile appearing and the squint of your eyes. he’s gonna treat you good, now and forever after.

bakugou pulls off his tank with the skill of a model in a perfume advertisement, sexy and purposeful, giving you enough time to skim down his body.

immediately, your hand flies to a spot just below his armpit, “you have a bruise! where were your sidekicks? did you take them?”

bakugou is quick to shush you, “wasn’t from patrol. was sparrin’ with them.”

“oh,” you whisper, resting your hand over the purplish spot, bakugou adjusts to shuffle out of his shorts and underwear in one go. “they need to go easier on you.”

then you look between his legs. you hope he doesn’t go easy on you.

“no the fuck they don’t. i let them have this one. they didn’t get ninety nine percent of their shots.” he replies, taking his cock in his hand before you can.

bakugou has a gorgeous cock, one you speak about when you’ve had too many cocktails and beg for when he walks out the shower with a towel low on his waist. you’re about to start, pulling him to you by your legs at the sight of his scarred hand looking somewhat small when he gives himself a few pumps.

“okay, honourable senpai. you’re so kind letting your protégés hit you for a confidence boost.”

bakugou smirks, just like he knows how to rile you up, you know how to him. “you sure you wanna talk like this now?”

you smile, ignoring him, “get a condom, you’re already leaking.”

you brush your thumb over his head, swiping his pre and sticking it in your mouth.

“fuck,” bakugou gulps, stretching to grab one from his bedside table. “you win, whatever.”

“yay me.”

it’s exactly what you both wanted. bakugou stuffs a pillow under your back, grips your hips and slides completely into you.

you’re a little tight this morning with no foreplay but it’s a stretch you welcome. bakugou’s already panting, stumbles of swears and even a “get it to-fuckin’-gether,” to himself when you accidentally clench around him.

“h-hold on, baby,” you say, eyes closed as you find the best spot.

he feels so good inside you, thick and hugging, so close to prodding your favourite parts.

“you good?” he flicks his gaze away from where you join to your face, lips parted.

“hm, yeah. there we go,” you only needed a few seconds. “move. move, kats.”

bakugou begins his thrusts short and controlled, testing the waters before he can really go how he wants. you feel incredible, amazing, wet and warm and like the love of his life.

he’s already given you his soul, but during sex is when he offers you more and more.

“i love you. fuckin’ love you so much,” he stutters through pants. every thrust louder with a pat pat pat. “been thinkin’ about you all day. comin’ to you. seein’ your lil face.”

you’re listening to every word but you can’t manage to reply to each comment. “faster, baby. harder.”

you can really smell him now. the smell of the day now becoming sweaty sex. your eyes roll back into your head, your clit pulses in need.

bakugou listens like you’re his north star guiding him home. he plants his knees into your mattress and thrusts. harder, controlled yet always careful of you.

“oh fuck,” you moan, slapping your hands onto his back to pull him in closer to you. his thrusts are strong, every single one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “fuck, fuck, fuck, kats. oh, i love you. love this so much.”

you’re rambling, unable to think straight and the harder bakugou goes, your headboard begins to rattle against the wall.

you both couldn’t care less.

it’s a bundle of moans, body parts that have no beginning or end. your bonnet is falling off your head, some of bakugou’s left over eye makeup has smudged into a sweaty substance by his eyebrow. it gets too much when he pushes your knees by your temples, getting you into a mating press.

you sneak your pointer and middle fingers between your legs to rub on your clit. you do swift circles, already lubricated by your own come.

every thrust has you inching further up the bed to the point, bakugou stops thrusting for a second to pull you to the centre of the bed.

“pillow. under your head baby,” he reminds you and as soon as you move to grab it, he’s back to those sweet skilful thrusts.

one hand on your clit, another flat on his clenched abdomen.

“you’re so—,” you start, losing yourself as a spark of electricity shakes down your legs. your dam is about to break any second now. “so beautiful.”

bakugou huffs, sweat beads bumbling on his forehead. your breasts jiggle with every motion, your hand falling on his chest with every shake.

“thank you, baby. you’re everythin’ to me. you know that.”

you nod, eyes lazed, “i do. i know.” then your mouth gapes open and you release a long mewl. you grab at his side, back arching as your hand speeds up on your clit. “i’m gonna come. i’m gonna come, baby.”

bakugou keeps up his pace, ignoring the tightness of his lower stomach. you’re always first. “i’ll look after you. come on, baby.”

you fall apart loudly. incoherent mumbles where bakugou can only make out wisps of his name and a screech from the back of your throat that makes him grin. your body jolts up and down your bed throughout it all, your toes going numb as your legs stiffen in the air. the pleasure is immense, a stream of rushing waves slapping against rocks. you want to tell him to slow down but he knows without you saying.

bakugou does slow down and the second he does, he spills into the condom with a grunt deep enough to make you come again. it comes from the pit of his stomach, all the exhaustion and stress of the day falling off his shoulders and into this bed with you.

bakugou pulls the condom off, ties it and throws it in your bin across the room. then does he finally, lay beside you in bed.

“thanks for that. needed it,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder.

both of you lay with your eyes closed, too sweaty to touch the other so you just brush your fingertips against his.

“you’re welcome,” you giggle before turning into a downturned smile, “we need to shower—.”

bakugou pulls up the duvet over your bodies, mentally resigned, “no, we can do that when we wake up and change the sheets.”

“but—,”

“you’re about to fall asleep. let yourself,” he whispers, adjusting your tee down your body and spooning you from behind. he kisses the top of your head, “goodnight, baby.”

“it’s the morning.”

“i said goodnight.”

bakugou looks for your snappy reply back but you’re already gone, fast asleep with a palm under your head.

comments and reblogs are appreciated. no part 2 comments, thanks!

[mistiemoon]

Revelations

Spencer reid x roommate fem!reader

Summary: despite saying it was the last time, you crawled back into Spencers bed again, needing to completely claim him as your own.

Warnings: 3k words 18+ MDNI, porn with little plot, soft!dom reader, sub!spencer he eats you out like a man starved, blowjob, unprotected p in v, kinda fluff and angst if you really squint.

Part One - One Last Time.

You got home around midnight, unlocking the door as quietly as you could, placing your bag down and shimmying off your shoes, kicking them vaguely off to where they lived. 

After spending your evening surrounded by your friends gushing about how in love they are whilst you had to sit in silence, only speaking to congratulate yet another engagement or couple event - had you feeling dangerously lonely. 

You stared at your bedroom door for a moment, before your eyes traitorously drifted towards Spencers. You told him after last time that it really was the last time you’d end up in his bed. 

He had just smiled and agreed, but the pair of you knew that inevitably either one of you would come crawling back. And after the evening you had, you felt that you deserved a little pick me up. 

Decision made, you opened the door slowly. You expected him to be asleep, but instead you were met with Spencer reading, his back resting against the backboard, the room only illuminated by the lamp in the corner of the room. 

He didn’t say anything, just watched as you walked to the stand at the end of the bed, his eyes greedily taking you in, sweeping up and down. 

You kept your eyes fixed on his as you slowly started to peel your top off your body over your head, throwing it on the ground with little regard. 

Spencer sat his book aside, his eyes never leaving yours as he sat up a little straighter. 

You tucked your thumbs under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it down antagonisingly slowly. Spencer swallowed and his eyes widened as it hit the floor with a small thump. 

Despite seeing you naked on numerous occasions, he never seemed to take it for granted. He always looked at you like it was the first time. 

You carried on until you were completely bare in front of him, taking your hairclip out to allow your hair to fall free. Spencer's hands flexed at his sides momentarily. 

You crawled towards him deliberately slowly, your hair falling over one shoulder.  His hand came up to touch your arm, you swatted it away. 

Leaning in close to his face, your lips inches away from his, you whispered. “Are you going to be good for me?” 

“Yes” he stammered out, voice thick and shaky. Nodding as he spoke. 

You loved when Spencer took the reins, when he pounded into you and made you cum over and over again, but it took little real investigation to know that this side was within him. You saw it in the way you would grip his hair, bite him, stick your thumb in his mouth. 

“Good boy” you say. “Lie flat” 

Spencer listened to your command with no obligation, sliding down the headboard and resting his head on his pillow. 

You made your way further up his body until your knees sat either side of his head, his hands automatically resting on your thighs. You put one hand on the headboard, the other threading through his hair. 

Spencer didn't hesitate. He surged upward, his tongue darting out to swipe a long, wet stroke all the way up to your clit. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his head firmly against you. 

He began to lap at you with a feverish pace, his tongue flat and broad, tasting every drop of your arousal. He groaned into your folds, the sound vibrating through your entire body, as he used his lips to suck your clit into his mouth, pulling and swirling it with a rhythmic intensity.

You arched your back, your hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he worked. He was thorough, his tongue flicking rapidly against your most sensitive spot while his hands squeezed your thighs, anchoring you to him. 

He was eating you like he were starving, his nose buried in your scent, making wet, sloppy sounds that filled the quiet room.

You could feel the tension building in your lower belly, the familiar coil of an orgasm tightening. As you felt the first wave of your climax hit, you pushed yourself down harder against his face, muffling his moans with your wetness. 

You shuddered, your internal muscles pulsing violently against his tongue as you came, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping your lips. Spencer didn't pull away. 

Even as you trembled, he continued to lick and suck, cleaning every drop of your come from your skin with a devotion that bordered on worship.

Once the tremors subsided, you slowly lifted yourself off him, leaving him breathless and glistening. You looked down at him, a smirk playing on your lips.

You reached your hand down between both your bodies to rub his cock through his boxers. He whined, leaning forward to try to kiss you. 

Tutting, you leaned back, sly smile on your face. “Nuh Uh” 

You slipped your fingers underneath his waistband and pulled them off quickly. Leaving his cock aching and twitching in the cool air. 

You watched him squirm beneath you, his hips twitching instinctively as you avoided the very thing he was craving. Every kiss you pressed into his inner thigh or the soft skin of his hip made him gasp, his breath hitching in a desperate rhythm. He was a taut string, vibrating with a need so intense it was almost tangible in the air between you.

Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes hooded, seeing the sheer agony of desire etched into his features. His cock was fully erect, a thick, pulsing vein running along the side, leaking a bead of pre-cum that glistened under the dim light of the lamp.

Without a word, you leaned in and swiped your tongue along the length of him, from the base all the way to the head, groaning at the taste of the salt and musk of him. 

Spencer let out a strangled moan, his head slamming back against the pillow, his fingers curling into the bedsheets.

You opened your mouth and took him in, sliding your lips over the head of his cock with a wet, sloppy sound. 

You didn't just suck; you focused your attention on the sensitive underside, the frenulum, flicking your tongue rapidly against the most nerve-dense part of him. 

You swirled your tongue around the rim, creating a vacuum of heat and moisture that made him shudder violently.

"Please," he whimpered, his voice a broken rasp.

You ignored his plea, increasing the pace. You took him deeper, your throat tightening around him, while your tongue continued to tease and lash at the underside of his shaft. 

Spencer was losing it. His thighs trembled, and his hips began to buck upward, driven by a primal urge to thrust into your mouth. But as soon as he moved too much, you paused, pulling back just an inch and giving him a warning look. 

He froze instantly, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and glazed. He stayed still, enduring the exquisite torture of your mouth, his hands gripping the comforter so hard his knuckles were white.

You went back to work, becoming even more precise, using your tongue to work in small, frantic circles on the underside, driving him closer and closer to the edge. He was twitching now, his entire body humming with tension, his breath coming in short and jagged. 

Just when he was teetering on the edge, you pulled back completely with a smirk. Releasing him with a soft, wet pop. 

Spencer's eyes remained completely screwed shut, his hips shifting and twitching, trying to fight back his orgasm. You had never thought he had looked more beautiful. You wanted to end his torture, but you didn’t. You both knew the end result would be better off if you prolonged. 

“You can only come when I tell you you can” You say as you straddle his lap, placing your hands flat against his chest. 

He whined at your words, but nodded anyway. You took his hands and placed them above his head.

“Don’t move your hands. If you do, I’ll have to punish you” 

The words that left your mouth surprised you. Being this horny apparently turned you into some sort of succubus. Perhaps your version of Spencer's Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. 

You angled your hips just right, so his cock rested at your entrance. You pushed down until only his tip entered, leaving it inside for one brief moment to pull back. You repeated this process until Spencer was a blubbering mess beneath you, whining and twitching with impatience. 

His hands still remained above his head throughout it all, you rewarded his good behaviour with a kiss and finally sinking down all the way to the hilt. 

Your head lazily rolled all the way around as you groaned, feeling impossibly full from him. He was always the perfect fit, nothing could ever compare. Perhaps that was one of the reasons no matter what you said, there would never be a last time. 

You stayed still for a moment, savoring the friction and the sheer heat of his cock buried deep inside. Spencer let out a sound that was half-sob, half-groan, his chest heaving beneath your palms. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide and glazed with a mixture of desperation and devotion. 

He looked like he was on the verge of shattering, his entire body vibrating with the effort of keeping his hands pinned above his head.

"You're so... fuck, you're so tight," he gasped, his voice trembling.

You smirked, leaning forward so your breasts brushed against his chest, your hair falling like a curtain around both your faces. "Am I, Spencer? Do I feel good?"

"Yes... please... god, yes," he whimpered, his hips giving a small, involuntary twitch upward.

You didn't let him move. Instead, you gripped his shoulders, pinning him further into the mattress, and began to move. You started slow, lifting yourself just enough to let the head of his cock slip out before slamming back down, burying him to the hilt with a wet, slapping sound.

The rhythm was deliberate and punishing. You weren't just fucking him, you were claiming him, even if you had no right to do so. 

Every time you descended, you felt him pulse inside you, his cock swelling even further as he fought the urge to thrust back. You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles were locked tight, his body a coiled spring of pure sexual frustration.

"Keep those hands still, good boy," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry command.

You increased the pace, your movements becoming more frantic and primal. You began to grind your clit against the base of his shaft, seeking your own pleasure while driving him further into the red. 

Spencer was no longer just moaning, he was making guttural, animalistic sounds. He was right on the edge, his breathing coming in ragged, desperate hitches. You could feel him twitching inside you, the tell-tale signs that he was seconds away from blowing.

You felt your own orgasm building, a tight coil of heat in your belly that threatened to snap. You leaned down, biting his earlobe hard enough to make him yelp, your voice a commanding hiss.

"I can feel you, Spencer. I can feel how badly you want to cum for me."

"I do... I'm... I'm right there... please!" he begged, his voice breaking.

You paused abruptly, freezing your hips mid-stroke, leaving him suspended in the most agonizing moment of anticipation. You looked down at him, seeing the sheer desperation in his eyes, the way he was practically vibrating beneath you.

"Not yet," you whispered, a cruel, beautiful smile on your lips. "I didn't tell you that you could."

You shifted your weight, lifting your hips. You reached up, grabbing his wrists and dragging his hands down from above his head, guiding them with a firm grip until his palms were pressed flat against the underside of your thighs.

Slowly, you fell forward, pressing your chest flush against his, your skin slick with sweat and heat, feeling of his racing heart hammering against your own ribs. 

Spencer froze for a second, his breath hitching. He knew the rules, but the placement of his hands was an invitation he couldn't ignore. He began to move, his hips bucking upward in slow, agonizingly deliberate thrusts. 

Because he was already balanced on the edge of climax, he was moving with cautious, trembling precision, terrified that one too-deep plunge would shatter his control and send him over the edge.

You had planned this perfectly. By giving him the physical means to drive himself into you, you had increased his torture. Now, the responsibility of his restraint lay entirely in his own muscles, and you could feel him shaking under the pressure. 

He was no longer just a passive recipient of your pleasure; he was fighting his own body, struggling to maintain the pace you demanded while his cock pulsed violently inside your tight, wet walls.

"That's it," you whispered into the crook of his neck, your voice thick with desire. "Slow... just like that. Don't ruin this by rushing."

Spencer let out a broken sound, a whimpering groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you to him as he pushed up again, the wet, squelching sound of your pussy gripping his shaft filling the air. He was gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut in a mask of pure, concentrated ecstasy and desperation.

He was fighting for every second, his hips twitching with the instinctive urge to slam into you with everything he had, but he held back, terrified of the punishment—or the loss of your approval. You could feel the pre-cum leaking from him, lubricating the friction as he continued to grind upward.

You arched your back, grinding your clit hard against the base of his cock, your own climax beginning to ripple through you. You loved the way he was struggling, the way he was completely at your mercy even while he was the one doing the thrusting.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you breathed, your voice a teasing caress. "So close... I can feel you trembling. Do you want to let go? Do you want to fill me up?"

"Please..." he sobbed, his voice barely a whisper, his hips giving a sudden, sharp jerk that nearly sent him over. "Please, I can't... I can't hold it..."

“Make me cum and you can,” 

Spencer gasped, the words barely leaving his lips before his restraint snapped.

The slow, agonizing torture was over. He clearly didn't care about the rules anymore; he didn't care about the permission he had been begging for. He must’ve been able feel the tremors racking your body, the way your internal muscles were beginning to squeeze his cock in rhythmic, desperate pulses. He knew you were right there, balanced on the same edge as he was, and the realization triggered something primal in him.

With a guttural groan, Spencer stopped the cautious movements. He gripped your thighs with bruising force, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and began to buck upward with violent, unrestrained power.

The change in pace was electric. The slow grinds were replaced by hard, slapping thrusts that drove his cock deep into you, bottoming out with a wet, heavy thud every single time.

He was fucking you with a desperate, starving intensity, his entire body shaking with the effort. He wasn't just seeking his own release anymore; he was hunting for yours. He drove himself into you harder and faster, his cock rubbing aggressively against your G-spot and grinding into your clit with every upward surge.

"Come for me," he groaned, his voice raw and commanding, a sudden flip in the power dynamic as he focused entirely on your pleasure. "Fuck, you're so tight... just come already!"

You let out a loud, piercing scream, your head falling into the crook of his neck as the friction became unbearable in the best way possible. The sheer force of his thrusts was overloading your senses, pushing you past the point of no return. 

Your walls clamped down on him, tightening around his shaft with violent contractions that nearly sent him over the edge instantly, but he pushed through it, determined to see you shatter first.

He hammered into you one last time, a deep, punishing plunge that just near hit your cervix, sending a massive electrical shock through your entire nervous system.

Your orgasm ripped through you in waves of blinding intensity, your pussy gripping his cock in a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that sucked him deeper into your heat. You collapsed against his chest, sobbing and shaking, your body vibrating with the aftershocks of a massive climax.

The moment you peaked, Spencer lost every shred of control he had left. The feeling of your orgasm clamping around him was the final straw. He let out a choked, animalistic sound and gave one final, powerful thrust, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go.

He stiffened, his back arching off the bed as he finally exploded. You could feel the hot, thick ropes of his cum pulsing violently inside you, filling you up with wave after wave heat. 

He groaned loudly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he spent himself completely, his cock throbbing inside you while he shuddered in the grip of a long-overdue, crashing release.

Re remained inside of you as you stayed laying on top of him, his hands tracing indistinct shapes on your back softly.

Spencer gently squeezed your behind, the touch was a stark contrast to the bruising grip he’d had on you just moments ago. You leaned up, your skin still flushed and humming, just enough to lock eyes with him.

His gaze was soft, the pupils still blown wide from the rush of endorphins, filled with a complicated devotion. He reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek with a lightness that felt almost sacred, and slowly pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

In that quiet look, the realization hit you again.  He had systematically ruined every other man for you. No one else knew the exact rhythm of your body, the precise way to push you to the edge, or how to surrender to you so completely. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The silence was broken by a voice that sounded frayed, barely a whisper.

“I can’t do this again,” he said quietly.

The words landed like a physical blow. For as long as this had been going on, it had always been you playing the part of the one trying to walk away, with Spencer simply agreeing, both of you knowing you were lying. 

You had spent months in a cycle of desperate returns, crawling back to each other the moment the distance became unbearable. Hearing him be the one to draw the line hurt deeply, a sharp ache in your chest that mirrored the fading throb of your orgasm.

But as you looked at him, the pain shifted into a sudden, crystalline clarity.

Slowly, you pulled away from him. The sudden absence of his heat, the loss of him filling you, left you feeling cold and exposed. 

You leaned back in, pressing your lips to his in the smallest of kisses. In any other context, it would have felt like a final goodbye, a closing of a chapter. But here, it felt like reassurance. It was a promise whispered without words.

You stood up and walked out of his room, the door clicking softly behind you.

As you moved down the hallway, the smile remained on your face.

Despite the finality in his tone, you knew Spencer better than he knew himself. He wasn't pushing you away because he wanted you gone; he was pushing you away because the hunger had evolved into something he could no longer control. 

He was terrified of that truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before he realized it too.

a.n I couldn't not write again for these two. There's something so sexy about everything left unspoken 🫦

TAGLIST: @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @moonz33@throughmylifetimesiwatchtheworld @pinkpantheris

-Mistie x

[mistiemoon]

Spencer is the hottest when he’s the slightly arrogant about his intelligence.

Like when Morgan asks him if he’s sure and he gives him that look??! So flipping hot.

Also Prince Charming Reid my beloved.

[spencereidluver]

Uncle Rossi's Dinner Party (part 38)

The Bookstore

summary: It’s Spencer’s birthday, and he spends it the only way he knows how…quietly, in a bookstore, buying you more books than anyone reasonably needs. Watching him spend money on you without a second thought does something dangerous to you.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: fem!reader, rossi’s-neice!reader, established relationship, age gap (26x19), literally just smut. oral, (m receiving), public sex, needy!spencer, kind of sugar daddy spencer i guess, hair pulling, use of ‘good girl,’ praise kink, light face fucking…i think thats it

_____

Spencer’s birthday started the way all of his most enjoyable days did. Quietly, with too many books, and with you. 

You spent nearly two hours following him through the aisles of the big downtown bookstore he loved. He pulled out every single book that he thought you’d like and presented it to you like an offering.

“This one has the essay collection you mentioned last month,” he said, voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the quiet store. “And this poetry volume, the reviews say the imagery is exceptionally vivid. I thought… maybe you’d like it.”

You watched him add yet another book to the growing stack in his arms without even checking the price. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t calculate. Didn’t do that little mental math most people did when they bought things for someone else. He just got them. Because he thought you’d like them. Because it made him happy to get you things. 

The casual, effortless way he did it, like spending money on you was the most natural thing in the world, gave you a feeling you didn’t really expect it to.

He’s buying me things on his own birthday. 

By the time you reached the history section he was already carrying three books for you and one slim hardcover for himself that he kept trying to hide under the others. You caught him anyway. 

He blushed and muttered something about “supporting local authors” while you smiled and he added it to the stack. Every time his fingers brushed yours when he handed you another title, the heat under your skin climbed a little higher. You could feel it in your cheeks, in the way your pulse had started to pick up. 

Something about the quiet generosity of it, about Spencer Reid, who overthought everything, treating you like you were worth every dollar without a second though, was doing things to you that had nothing to do with books.

At the register he insisted on paying for everything. The cashier raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of titles, but Spencer just pushed his glasses up and handed over his card like it was the most natural thing in the world. You watched the soft, pleased look on his face as she bagged them. He looked happy. Really happy. And it was his birthday.

The second the bags were in your hands and you’d stepped away from the counter, the heat under your skin tipped over into something more.

You didn’t even make it out of the store.

You caught his wrist, pulling him between two tall shelves in the quiet back corner where the academic essays and dissertations were, aka, no foot traffic. You push him back against the shelf with both hands. His eyes go wide in confusion, his lips parting. You kissed him before he could ask what you were doing. 

You bring one hand to fist the front of his shirt and the other one comes up to pull him down by the back of his neck. He made a startled sound into your mouth that turned into a shaky moan as you pressed your body against his. His hands hovered near your waist for a second, like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you in public. 

You could feel him hardening against your hip. The silence of the bookstore, the possibility of someone rounding the corner at any second, the way he'd spent so much money on you without even blinking, and the feeling of his hands finally finding your waist, his fingers curling into your shirt as he kissed you back just as desperately, it all mixed together until you were left dizzy. 

Spencer broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, voice already breathless.

“W-we shouldn’t. Someone could walk by. This is a public space and the probability of being observed is statistically higher than–”

You cut him off with another kiss, deeper this time, sucking lightly on his bottom lip. He whimpered softly and kissed you harder, one hand sliding up to cup the side of your neck like he couldn’t help himself.

When you finally let him breathe again his  glasses were slightly fogged.

“I’m serious,” he managed, even as his hips shifted forward against yours. “Public displays of intimacy have–” you kiss him again. “Have measurable social consequences and I really don’t want anyone to see you like this or–” another kiss. “Or me like this, I mean look at me, I’m already–”

You kissed the words right out of his mouth again. He groaned quietly, the sound vibrating against your lips, and his hands tightened on your waist. You could feel how hard he was getting, pressing insistently against your stomach through his slacks. He pulled back once more, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard.

“Y/N… this is a bookstore. There are cameras. And children. And… and I can’t believe how much I want you to keep kissing me right now even though every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea–”

You nipped at his lower lip and he made another soft, helpless sound. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, pulling you closer even as he kept talking with a quiet, frantic, completely turned-on voice.

“Someone is going to know and I should care about that more than I currently do but your mouth feels so good and you smell so good and I–”

You kissed him again, slower this time, deeper, swallowing the rest of his anxious babbling until he was just melting against the bookshelves, soft little whimpers slipping out between every press of your lips. Then you pulled back just enough to look at him.

His eyes were glassy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling too fast. He looked completely wrecked already and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet. You held his gaze as you slowly sank to your knees right there between the shelves. His breath caught. His hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice cracking. “We really, really shouldn’t.”

But he didn’t stop you.

You reached for his belt, fingers steady even as your own pulse hammered in your ears. The soft click of the buckle sounded far too loud in the quiet store. Spencer’s hands sat on your shoulders, trembling, like he wanted to pull you up and also desperately wanted you to keep going. You popped the button of his slacks, pulling the zipper down carefully, and eased them open, as if doing it faster would’ve made too loud of a sound. 

You looked up at him once more. His face was flushed deep pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Behind his glasses his eyes were wide and dark and a little panicked.

“Someone could come around the corner,” he whispered, even as his hips twitched forward the tiniest bit. “This is– this is so inappropriate. The risk is–”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down just far enough to free him. His cock sprang out, already fully hard, flushed a deep rosy color, the tip shiny with precum. It twitched in the cool air of the bookstore, threatening to drip. Spencer made a soft sound at the sudden exposure.

You wrapped your fingers loosely around the base, feeling the heat of him as he pulsed in your hand. You leaned in and dragged your tongue flat slowly up the underside, from the base all the way to the head. Spencer’s whole body jerked. A high, broken whimper escaped before he could bite it back. One of his hands finally settled in your hair, not pushing, just resting there like he needed the contact to stay upright.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Your mouth–”

You took the head between your lips and sucked gently, swirling your tongue around the slit. More precum spilled onto your tongue immediately. His hips stuttered forward again as he clamped his free hand over his own mouth, trying to muffle the soft, continuous sounds that kept slipping out of him. 

You take him farther, into your mouth, letting your tongue press along the vein on the underside of his cock. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder as you pulled back, then sank down again, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Every time you took him deeper Spencer’s breathing hitched and another soft, desperate little noise broke past his hands.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, the curse soft and sounding like it surprised him. “Your mouth feels so good. I can’t–” he squeezes his eyes shut. But his hand in your hair tightened just a fraction, and his hips kept making helpless thrusts like he couldn’t stop himself.

You hummed around him, the vibration making his knees buckle for a second. He caught himself on the bookshelf behind him with a soft thud, the books shifting slightly. Another thick pulse of precum filled your mouth. You swallowed it and kept going, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit, the other braced on his trembling thigh.

Spencer was a mess above you. Continuous whimpers and little muffled moans kept falling out of him no matter how hard he tried to bite them back. His hand in your hair flexed and released, like he was fighting the urge to guide you. Every time you took him especially deep his hips jerked and a high, desperate sound escaped.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, voice shaking. “i can’t believe– I should stop you but I-I don’t want you to s-stop. Please, please don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You sucked him harder. His free hand came up to cover his mouth again, but the muffled whimpers still came through. His cock throbbed heavily on your tongue. His thighs shook under your palm. His breathing was ragged and uneven and getting louder. And louder. Too loud.

You take your mouth completely off of him, leaving his cock shiny, dripping, and twitching erratically in the open air. He made a wrecked, almost pained sound, his hips chasing your mouth for a second before he caught himself.

You looked up at him, lips still wet, and whispered, “We have to stop.”

He nodded frantically, looking devastated and desperate in equal measure. His cock was dark red and rock-hard, the head glistening, a thin string of saliva and precum still connecting it to your lower lip. You carefully tucked him back into his boxers, then into the waistband of his pants so the hard length was pressed up against his lower stomach, trapped and aching. He fixed his shirt with shaking hands, glasses completely fogged, and followed you out of the aisle like he was in a trance.

The walk back to the car was pure torture for him.

He stayed glued to your side, the hand carrying the bag of books constantly brushing yours, the other shoved deep in his pocket like he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he was. Every few steps he shifted his weight, jaw tight, soft little exhales leaving him whenever the fabric dragged against the sensitive head. You could still see his print straining against his slacks. By the time you reached the parking garage he looked miserable and desperate. 

And so. fucking. hot. 

The second the car doors shut he dropped his forehead against the steering wheel with a low, frustrated sound.

“This is so wrong,” he said, voice strained and quiet, “but I can’t wait until we’re back.”

You reached over and rested a hand high on his thigh, thumb brushing the tense muscle. “I can continue  here.”

His head snapped up so fast his glasses slipped. “B-but it’s daytime… there are people… cameras possibly…”

“Okay. And?”

He stared at you, torn. You could practically see the war happening behind his eyes: want versus propriety versus the very real ache between his legs. 

“Drive to the top of the garage,” you said softly. “We’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, breathing hard. You could see him calculating risk.

“…Or we can wait until we get back to your apartment,” you added, “but that’s like 45 minutes.”

Spencer made a low, almost pained sound and started the car. “I cannot believe I’m doing this.”

He drove up the ramps in the garage, all the way to the top. His knuckles were white from his grip on the wheel, his free hand gripping roughly on your thigh. There were only a few distant cars on the top floor, but they were empty. He could easily park all the way at the end, and everything would most likely be fine. 

He turns the engine off and just sits there, staring at the dashboard like it might give him permission. You put the center console up as he shifted to face you slightly. Your hands move to his pants, working to free him again.

He was still fully hard, or maybe again fully hard, it’s hard to tell. But based on the deep red color of his entire cock, you’re best guess would be still. The head was still shiny with precum that had soaked a small spot onto his boxers. You only have a second to admire him before he’s begging.

“Please, please, Y/N. Just–” he whined, voice cracking. “I need your mouth, I can’t, I’ve been hard since the bookstore and it hurts.”

You shut him up by leaning down and taking him into your mouth once again.

This time he didn’t even try to stay quiet.

The second your mouth closed around him a continuous stream of whimpers came out of him, mixed with low groans. His cock twitched hard against your tongue, already leaking more precum. You could taste how desperate he was. The skin was burning hot against your lips. 

God, he’s so needy like this.

His hand came up to gather your hair, holding it back in a loose ponytail so he could watch. At first the touch was tentative, just keeping the strands out of your face, fingers trembling slightly. Then, as you took him deeper and hollowed your cheeks, his fingers tightened experimentally. He started guiding your head with gentle, careful pulls, setting a rhythm that matched what he needed. Every time he tugged a little harder a louder moan escaped him, the sound raw and helpless in the quiet car.

“Fuck! Your mouth. Just like that. Please–”

You let him. You relaxed your jaw and let him use your mouth, let him pull your hair and rock up into it. His free hand gripped the edge of the seat so tightly his knuckles went white. You could feel his thigh trembling under your palm, the muscle jumping every time you took him especially deep.

“You’re so good at this,” he gasped, voice high and shaky. “You’re such a good girl for me, Y/N.”

The praise shot straight through you. Heat flooded your face and between your legs so fast it almost made you dizzy.

Good girl.

The way he said it made you moan around him. The vibration pulled another broken sound out of him. You sucked harder, taking him deeper, wanting more of that voice, more of that praise. Your own arousal was starting to ache between your thighs. Spencer could sense it. His hips stuttered and a wrecked sound tore out of him.

“Oh my god, You liked that,” he whispered, almost in awe. “You-you’re getting wet just from me calling you that, aren’t you?” 

You hummed around him, showing him that yes, you did like that, and you were in fact getting wet from him calling you that. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling just a little firmer, guiding you down farther until the head of his cock nudged the back of your throat. The stretch made your eyes water slightly. 

“Good girl. Just like that. Take it,” he groaned.

You did. You had no idea where he learned to talk like that, but you weren’t complaining. You let him fuck your mouth in short, careful thrusts, his hand controlling the pace while whimpers spilled out of him. His thighs trembled harder under your palm. His breathing was ragged and uneven, catching every time you swallowed around him. 

“I’m close.” He moaned. “I’m so close. Don’t stop, please. Don’t stop, Y/N.”

You didn’t. You let him use your mouth exactly how he needed, let him pull your hair and rock up into it until the overstimulation from having held it for so long started to hit him hard. His hips jerked unevenly. The first real tears slipped out from under his glasses and tracked down his flushed cheeks, not from pain, but from how overwhelmingly good it felt. His voice cracked into soft, whimpers that sounded almost like sobs.

“It’s so much. You’re so– please.” He chokes through a sob. You’re not sure he even knows what he’s begging for.

More tears followed, spilling freely now. His free hand came up to clumsily wipe at his face but only smeared them. He kept fucking your mouth in short, desperate thrusts, soft broken sounds leaving him with every movement, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto the collar of his shirt.

“Y/N I’m gonna– I can’t hold it–” he warned, only moments before cumming with a broken, overwhelmed sob of a moan. He pulsed hard against your tongue, spilling hot against the back of your throat. You swallowed around him as he kept whimpering and sobbing through it.

After he’s through it and you’ve swallowed one last time around him, you pull off, looking up at him smiling. He’s an absolute wreck above you, his face still red and his glasses fogged. He was still panting, and looking at you like you’d just rewritten his entire understanding of birthdays.

“Happy birthday,” you grin, wiping the corner of your mouth with your tongue.

Spencer made a weak, breathless sound that might have been a laugh, but was more likely a sob, and reached for you with both hands, pulling you as close as the car would allow. His cheeks were still damp. 

“Come here,” he whispered into your hair. “Please. Just…come here.”

_____

Check Out Reader's Instagram

Read Part 39 Here! 🕰️ (coming soon)

Uncle Rossi's Dinner Party Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

_____

a/n: hi smut i felt bad for the last part being so dull so here is literally nothing but smut lolz. anyways come emp for this everyone i heart giving head but i deserve it too

_____

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HAVE RECCOMENDATIONS/SOMETHING TO SAY?

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taglist:

@agent-nobody-knows @alexxavicry @allidoisreid @amobigode @badwolf1271

@baleriavaleria @bookworm124 @buzzybee420 @criminalvalentine @cynbx

@dij-ology @frenchabysskisser @hiddentattooodyssey @hookergutss @ilovespencerriedmh

@ivyflowers13 @jem08 @justlivinginadaydream @kitykatnumber @klutzylaena

@leopardprintbb @maybe-not-this @moongirl27 @navs-bhat @nmw-am

@prettylittlewrites @random-3455 @redorquid @reidandweep @sammy-4103

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@spencereidapologist @spencerreidsproblem @starry-swan @sweetdreams-tn @taygrls

@thefeverburningalive @theofficialfunk @tostellify @violetvsworld @wannabewolf

@whatintheducks @yelenasvestpockets @cookieshakr

[le480890]

can we normalize sub!hotchner pls 😋

[xxxsl33p-l0vr]

i have soooo many thoughts about cute little s1!spencer and none of them r appropriate

[le480890]

someone HOLD ME BACK from s2 spencer reid

[ginsoakedheart]

places to eat: low budget options are available

tags: s2!spencer x bau!reader, virgin!spencer, glasses!spencer, no use of y/n, spencer reid v. chopsticks warnings: none word count: 974

part of the lonely planet’s guide universe. masterlist is here.

summary: someone orders takeout and there are chopsticks. spencer is handling it like a mature and reasonable adult. (not really.)

*~*~*

Rationally Spencer knows the police chief is trying to be nice. Irrationally it feels like this guy, who hasn’t stopped being offended since Spencer failed to shake his hand when they first met three days ago, is doing it deliberately just to humiliate him.

Walks into the precinct with his beard split in two by a smile, carrying heavy plastic bags of takeaway. “Y’all have been workin’ so hard,” he says, this drawl that gets heavier when he talks to any of them, so much more subtle when he’s bossing his own people around. “Bet those FBI brains don’t run on nothin’.”

Everyone else coos and smiles and practically jumps on the food like vultures - those FBI brains have been running on nothing for quite a few hours - while Spencer finishes the notes he’s making on the whiteboard so he can move on to something else after eating.

So he sees everyone else digging into the food, he knows what’s coming, and he wonders if he can just pretend he’s not hungry actually, but the smell of the food is making his stomach growl and JJ turns to look at him. “Come eat before it gets cold, Spence.”

Which seems irrelevant, the food will be cold before he gets it in his mouth regardless. And there's no way you won't laugh at him. 

Somehow, the thought of you seeing him unable to do something that seems like a basic skill to everyone else - something else he never learned how to do - is making him want to leave, go find a sandwich in a vending machine or whatever. It can only be better than this.

But there’s no getting out of it, by this point even Hotch is telling him to join them, and it almost but not quite feels like an order. Either way, Spencer sighs and comes to sit down in the only seat left around the large table, right next to you.

It might be an advantage, actually, he thinks, even if he’d prefer not to be this close to you, because it means he can turn away from you, engage himself in a conversation at the other end of the table, and then maybe you won’t be able to see him fumbling with his chopsticks as he struggles to eat so much as a piece of broccoli, never mind an actual noodle.

All he needs for his plan to succeed is for no-one else to point it out. 

Which means the plan is doomed to fail, of course.

“How have you still not figured that out, kid?” Derek asks, watching Spencer try and fail to move a few noodles from his takeaway box to his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be a genius."

“I am a genius,” he says, trying to get a different grip on the chopsticks, his body still turned away from yours. “This just isn’t a logical way to eat food.”

“I think you’ll find that 1.3 billion Chinese people would disagree with you there,” you say, and he turns his head to look at you. Which is a mistake, because it means he gets to see you skillfully pick up a mouthful of noodles and fried vegetables and shove them in your mouth, while you get a front row seat to him trying to wrap noodles around his chopsticks like spaghetti on a fork, and completely fail to make that work when it all wiggles off halfway to his mouth.

“The Japanese, too, probably,” JJ says, not at all helpfully. 

“Korea,” Derek adds.

“Both Koreas.” Hotch points at Derek with his chopsticks, then gets them back in his food.

“Yes, thank you,” Spencer says, hoping everyone will shut up now. He doesn’t need a list of all the countries that use chopsticks, he already knows. Because that’s the sort of thing his genius is good for.

You lean closer to him, your body actually pressed into him, and he shifts, trying to get away from your touch as you lean down, waving your container of food in the air as you dig through your handbag. When you sit back up, you drop something in his lap. You don’t say anything, just go back to eating.

He looks down and sees a small bag containing a set of single use cutlery. He frowns at it, picks up the bag and tears it open, pulling out the fork. Then he starts eating.

He sees you watching him from the corner of your eye but doesn’t acknowledge you.

“What do we say to the nice lady?” you ask finally, like he's a toddler. 

“Which nice lady?” he asks back, like he's a brat. The alternative is telling you he’s actually grateful and you should be careful or he might just think you were being nice to him. So, bratty it is.

“Hey!” JJ protests, throwing a wadded up napkin at him.

“Sorry,” he tells her. “Obviously I didn't mean you.” Then he turns to look at you and says nothing.

“I think the word you're looking for is ‘xièxiè’,” you tell him, still in that annoying borderline condescending tone. 

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“You’re welcome, Reid,” you say, mock polite. “Now don’t tell people I don’t do anything for you.”

He looks up and sees Derek rolling his eyes and grinning: clearly he’s getting some meaning from your words that he himself is missing. Spencer decides the safest response in that case is to say nothing because that’s better than saying something stupid without realising it.

When everyone is done eating and starts making moves to go back to work, he grabs your cardboard food container and chopsticks from you before you can get up, and puts them into the trash along with his own.

Now you can’t tell people he doesn’t do anything for you, either.

[ginsoakedheart]

where to stay: find a hotel with a comfortable bed

tags: s2!spencer x bau!reader, virgin!spencer, glasses!spencer, no use of y/n, just professional rivals making out nbd warnings: mature content (dry-humping, spencer coming in his pants, masturbation (f)), general patheticness word count: 5.0K (oops)

part of the lonely planet’s guide universe. masterlist is here.

summary: spencer is very competitive about work so when he realises you're going to spend your evening back at the hotel working, he decides to invite himself to join you. he may or may not be regretting that.

*~*~*

Spencer wasn’t paying attention to you as you were all leaving the local police station where the team is based for their current case, because he tries his best to not pay attention to you at any time, but hotel elevators are very confined spaces and it’s not as if he could insist on waiting for the next one instead of getting in with you without looking like a petulant child, and Spencer is quite adamant that everyone understands that you’re the immature one.

Which is why he spots the case folders sticking out of your bag and realises what you’re doing. So he does the only thing he can and follows you out of the elevator when it gets to your floor, ignoring the confused look JJ gives him as she walks out next to him.

“What’s that?” he asks you, grabbing you by the arm and then immediately releasing you when you look at his hand with a frown. He points at your bag in explanation. “Are you going to continue working on the case?”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees JJ looking between the two of you, probably deciding if she needs to mediate, but then she must decide she’s off the clock, because she just points a finger first at him and then at you. “8 o’clock. Be ready.”

“Yes, mom,” you say, and to Spencer you sound like a brat, but JJ just smiles like you said something cute.

“Spence?” JJ looks at him expectantly.

“Of course.” 

“Okay,” she  says, holding up both hands. “I’ve done all I can.” Then she walks down the hall and disappears into her room, the door clicking shut behind her.

“Goodnight, Reid,” you say, giving him a fake smile and turning to walk away.

“Are you going to continue working on the case?” he asks again, louder this time, following you.

“Why do you care?” You get out your key card and unlock the door to your room, then turn to look at him. 

“Because if you are, I should help you.” 

You snort and pull open the door. “What? Are you actually trying to be helpful or are you just worried I’ll find something you didn’t notice?”

“That seems unlikely,” he says dismissively, following you into your room uninvited. 

“You being helpful? I agree.”

“Hilarious.” 

“Thank you.” You throw him that fake smile again.

Without asking for permission, Spencer pulls the case files from your bag, trying to get an idea of what you think you’re going to find.

You kick off your shoes and then start unbuttoning your shirt. “Hey, Reid.” He looks up. “I’m going to change my clothes now.”

He frowns. “Go to the bathroom then.”

“This is my room,” you argue. “You go to the bathroom.”

Spencer shakes his head and turns back to your files. Thirty seconds later his view is obstructed by your shirt being thrown at him and landing on the papers he’s holding. When he looks up you’re unzipping your skirt, a challenging glint in your eyes as you look straight at him. At least you’re still wearing a top.

He clears his throat and turns his head away quickly, trying to look at anything but you as he scurries to the bathroom.

When he closes the door he hears you making a chicken noise. God, he truly loathes everything about you.

You take your time changing out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. If Spencer Reid thinks he can just invade your room because he can’t handle the idea of you maybe being smarter than him about something, you’re going to make it as uncomfortable as you possibly can for him. Luckily making Spencer Reid uncomfortable isn’t the hardest job in the world.

You dig through your duffel bag, trying to find clothes that are inappropriate but not too inappropriate. In the end you settle on your sleep shorts, which are definitely short, and a boatneck tee that’s been in the bag ever since you couldn’t find your pajama top a month and a half ago. You consider taking off your bra but decide that’s going too far. At least with the boatneck he’ll get a good look at the pink straps, though.

Satisfied with your outfit, you settle on the bed and spread out the files in front of you, notepad and pen next to you, and then you wait.

Another five minutes go by and you’ve actually forgotten that Spencer is still there, caught up in the work, when he suddenly knocks on the bathroom door. Actually knocks. Jesus, what an idiot.

“Are you—um, are you done changing yet?”

“No, Reid. I’m still me. Sorry.”

His sigh is so loud you can hear it through the closed door. “I’m coming out now.”

“Congratulations,” you say flatly once he’s back in the room.

“What?” He frowns, looking at you, then quickly turns his eyes to the floor. You look entirely too casual and he can see far too much of your legs.

“On coming out. I’m flattered you chose to tell me first. Or does everyone else already know?”

He just shakes his head at you and steps out of his shoes before sitting down crosslegged at the foot of your bed, on the other side of the photographs you’ve got spread out on the blanket. “What are you thinking?”

You point at four of the photographs, one from each crime scene. “There’s something about these, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

He turns them so he can look at them right side up, licking his lips as he thinks. Annoyingly, he can’t even see that there’s something to see. But maybe you’re just yanking his chain? He pushes the photos back to you and picks up a different one.

An hour later, you’re still trying to find a pattern and Spencer is trying to convince you to brainstorm possible explanations for the choice of murder weapon instead. In an attempt to make you see reason, he launches into an explanation of the psychology behind using a long range weapon at close range.

“I have a question for you,” you say, disrupting his flow of words mid-sentence.

“What?” he asks, trying not to be annoyed at the interruption. If you actually want him to educate you then he should encourage that by being friendly. 

“Do you ever just shut up without being told to?” You smile, amused by your own joke. 

“Of course,” Spencer says, deciding that he's allowed to be openly annoyed with you now. “If I believe the person I'm talking to has something to say that's remotely worth hearing.”

“But how will you know if you never give them a chance to speak?”

“I’m basing my assumptions on past experience. This is not the first conversation we have had. Unfortunately.” He tacks on that last word although it feels unnecessary. You already know he thinks having to talk to you is unfortunate.

“But I could surprise you,” you say, smiling. It's not a friendly smile, though. It's the kind of smile that has alarm bells going off in his mind because you're up to something and there's no way to predict what it might be. 

“Many things you do surprise me, that's not the same as suggesting you'll suddenly have any useful insights.”

“Sure,” you agree with a roll of your eyes.

Spencer picks up his explanation from before, rewinding only far enough to restart the sentence you interrupted for no good reason. He doesn’t get far before you interrupt him again.

You lean forward, a hand on the bed in between the notes and photos to maintain your balance, and press your lips to his. Just a quick peck, the way his mother might kiss his forehead, except it feels nothing like that. Spencer freezes.

“Oh,” you say, smiling as you sit back. “That shuts you up. Good to know.”

He knows you’re mocking him, that he should make some disparaging remark, tell you you’re being inappropriate, this is not professional behaviour, but his mind is almost completely blank. The only thing he’s able to focus on is the ghost of the pressure of your lips.

“Reid?” You’re frowning, and he thinks you might sound a little worried.

Spencer looks at your lips, at the pink bra strap on your exposed shoulder that he has been fighting valiantly to ignore since he sat down, your bare legs. Then back at your lips. “Why did you do that?”

“It was an experiment,” you say. “You should appreciate that. You like to pretend you’re a scientist.”

“I am a scientist,” he says automatically. “I have PhD’s in—”

“Keep talking and I’ll kiss you again,” you warn him.

Which is a dilemma. Does he… want you to do that? Bizarrely, he thinks he might. His eyes follow the trail of your pink bra strap; your top is actually just a little bit see-through and he can see the faint pink shape of the rest of your bra underneath, the cups of it.

He swallows. “How long will I have to be quiet for in order to avoid that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, smiling easily. Clearly you’re finding this very funny. “I guess until I decide you’ve been quiet for long enough. Which won’t be until I’ve told you all about how once in a Physics class we were doing an experiment with—”

He can’t bear it. Whatever you’re about to say, he’s sure it’ll be a crime against all natural sciences. Also, your lips were so soft and your bra strap is so pink. He doesn’t even particularly like pink, but it really draws the eyes in. He leans forward, but unlike you he hasn’t actually thought it through so he doesn’t put out a hand to balance himself, which means when his lips crash into yours, he tumbles forward and pushes you back on the bed, him on top of you. Photos of crime scenes scatter to the floor, some by themselves and some because you push them.

He had just meant to give you a brief kiss, similar to the one you gave him, but then gravity - which is science, so there - messed with his plans and now suddenly his hands are in your hair and his tongue is pushing its way into your mouth and someone who sounds a lot like him moans when your lips part.

The feeling of your body underneath him is shocking. 

You’re soft and hard in such unexpected ways and he can feel your breasts against his chest and the way your legs part to let him settle between them, and your mouth that’s so warm and wet, and—he moans again, the sound wrapping itself around your tongue and he can feel his body reacting to all this stimuli. The constant stream of thoughts usually speeding through his brain is replaced by a strange buzz, he feels warm and cold all over at the same time, and in his pants an erection is growing with an urgency he’s not exactly used to, when normally all he has to look forward to is his own hand wrapped around it in a room where he only has himself for company.

You make a strangled sound and it takes longer than he’s comfortable with for his brain to register that it’s the bad kind of sound and then he pulls back, breath ragged and lips raw.

“Just,” you say, squirming underneath him to free your arms. He wonders if you’re about to slap him. “These are in the way.” You very carefully take off his glasses, fold them, and set them down on the bedside table.

He blinks, his eyes struggling to refocus, his mind trying to adjust to the fact that you didn’t actually stop him, and then you’re raising your head off the pillow and catching his lips again and he’s back to his mind going blank. 

Your hands, now free to roam over his body, tangle themselves in his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp in a way that makes him hum into your mouth, and then they travel down his back, headed for his ass but not quite able to reach it, the way his hips are lodged between your legs and he’s practically dryhumping the mattress at this point, mostly because it seems more polite than dryhumping you. Although he’s not sure why he’s worried about being polite when you never have.

But then you wrap your legs around his thighs, pushing him into yourself and he hunches his back, shifting so his erection is pressed directly against your centre and he breaks the kiss, a strangled groan leaving his body when your hands grab his ass and push him into you even more, as if you want him to thrust against you. 

If you had both been naked, you would have been… “Jeesus,” he hisses, his hips pumping uselessly into you as he buries his head in your neck. 

You moan, the sound right in his ear, and he actually bites your neck, desperate to do something to distract himself. It’s not a hard bite, and he quickly kisses the spot, licking it in apology, and you tilt your head away, giving him better access. 

He licks and sucks on your throat, then returns to kissing your mouth, then back to your throat, as if he can’t decide what he wants to do more, the way kissing you feels like your mouths are fucking but the absolutely filthy noises you make when he sucks on just the right spot on your throat.

He wants to be everywhere at once, doing everything at once.

And then your hands are between your bodies and you’re unbuttoning his slacks and he freezes.

“I—” he stutters, pushing himself up on his elbows and then his hands so he can see you. Somehow he feels like he should warn you that you’ll be the first person other than himself to put their hands there for a sexual reason. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a confession or a warning, but for whatever reason, it feels important that you know. “I’ve never…” He trails off, not really sure how to phrase it.

You catch up pretty quickly, though, your brain probably less addled with sex hormones than his, since it’s been through all this before. “You’re a virgin?”

You sound so appalled he’s almost tempted to lie, pretend that’s not what he meant, but it seems pretty clear he wouldn’t get away with it. There’s no way he can feign having practical experience of any of this. “Well, yes, but—”

“Oh, nonono,” you cut him off, pushing him away slightly so you can move out from under him. “I am not taking your virginity, that is not happening, okay.”

“Why not?” Maybe not a question he should be asking, any reason is a valid reason, but the fact that he’s a virgin feels less valid than a lot of other reasons he can think of. And his whole body feels like it’s on fire and the only thing that’ll put out that fire is getting his hands and lips back on you.

“Because the first time you have sex, it should be with someone you actually like.”

Spencer sighs, rolling onto his back. He looks down at his erection, still straining painfully against his slacks like it’s actually an optimist despite everything ever, and folds both hands into fists with his arms bent up, thumbs digging into his shoulders to distract himself. Every instinct in his body that’s not focused on you wants him to just shove his hand down his pants and get this over with the way he’s used to. “Why?”

You look at him, incredulous. “Because otherwise you’ll regret it?” It’s a short sentence, but you feel a lot less sure about what you’re saying by the end of it. What do you know about what he will and won’t regret?

“Isn’t that my problem, though? How is it any of your concern?” He turns his head so he can look at you. The least you can do is be honest about why you won’t sleep with him, not try to wrap it up in concern for his feelings.

“Because I’ll be…” You trail off, considering the question. The truth is, you don’t want to be anyone’s regret, but you can’t really say that. Not to Spencer Reid, who definitely already regrets ever meeting you. And that feeling is extremely mutual, despite all current evidence to the contrary. 

This feels like a different kind of regret, though.

“It just is,” you say, firmly.

“But what if I tell you I won’t regret it?” Spencer can’t even see the line he crossed into pathetic territory, it’s so far behind him, but he can’t seem to stop pushing. It’s fine if you won’t sleep with him, obviously, but at least give him the satisfaction of feeling humiliated about the fact that the reason you won’t sleep with him is that no-one else ever has either.

You roll your eyes. “Of course you’re going to say that, Reid. You’re a guy and you’re horny, you’ll say anything.”

He looks at you blankly. “Not anything,” he argues.

“Okay, smartypants,” you say, your eyes straying to his actual pants. “So what wouldn’t you say?”

He resists the temptation to shield his crotch from your view with his hands. “If I told you that, then I would have said it, wouldn’t I?”

“Impressive mental capacity for someone with so little blood going to his brain,” you joke and he rolls his eyes right back at you. “I just want to know where the line is, it won’t count.”

“It won’t count?”

“No. I know you aren’t saying it to sleep with me, so it doesn’t count. I just want to know what you think is too desperate.”

He frowns, looking at you. You try not to stare at his lips as he works his mouth from one side to the other while he thinks it over. “Okay.”

You struggle very, very hard not to smile. This feels like the kind of win you shouldn’t celebrate too early in case he changes his mind.

“I wouldn’t say…” He licks his lips, thinking it over. “That you’re really pretty when you wear your hair up like you did today. Or… that when you kiss me I’m not sure I remember my own name, or that, that what you said in the briefing on Tuesday about the UnSub most likely being an oldest sibling was very insightful, or—”

You move before your brain can reboot itself and stop you, leaning closer to him until you can press your lips to his. He freezes for just a second, but then his hands go to your hair and he rolls onto his back again, pulling you with him as his mouth opens and his tongue presses against your lips. When they part and your tongue brushes against his, he moans just like the last time. Spencer Reid is really into french kissing. Who knew? You’re probably going to wish you didn’t the next time you’re bored in a briefing and looking for a distraction, and his lips will be right there for you to stare at and wonder what else that mouth can be made to do.

His hands travel down your back and he’s tugging at you, trying to pull you onto him, and you let him, helpfully climbing on top of him so you can straddle his hips, your core rubbing against his erection in a way that makes you think that although you’re absolutely drawing the line at popping Reid’s cherry, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself. Because it’s been a while for you and the way his dick rubs against you feels better than it should be allowed to, what with it being attached to Spencer Reid.

The way he probably could have made you come before just from the dryhumping if you hadn’t gotten impatient and tried to move things along and get him even closer to your clit.

Whatever the reason is for him still being a virgin - and you could compile a list of very valid ones very quickly, mainly related to how unappealing his personality is and you understanding why women generally find that offputting - you’re finding that you actually kind of dig it. Which is sort of embarrassing, actually.

Just, his know-it-all attitude when it comes to, well, everything is gone, replaced by just pure lust. No thoughts. 

So his brain does have an off switch, it just never occurred to you it was connected to his dick. Maybe it should have, it’s not like that’s a uniquely Spencer Reid feature, he just always seemed different in some way.

In your mind he was more of a Ken doll, just a sexless walking encyclopedia. 

Except he’s not. Sexless or a Ken doll: both have been debunked pretty thoroughly by now, the way he’s practically salivating as he gropes your breast in a way that’s almost but not quite pleasurable and you’ll teach him how to do it better in a little bit, right now you’re just enjoying him enjoying himself. Which is not something you want to investigate too closely. 

Oh, yes, and the way you can feel the length of him through the layers of clothes. It seems incredibly unfair, but somehow you can tell already that his dick is going to be just as pretty as his face.

Your hand moves past the waistband of his slacks, your fingers wrapping themselves around him, and even through his boxers he can feel how warm your hand is, the pressure of each finger as you pump him slowly. Your hand is so much smaller than his own, the pressure so different, and he whines with the pleasure of it. 

“Yeah?” you ask, grinning, and when he nods quickly you lean down to kiss him again, your tongue moving in his mouth in a rhythm that matches your hand squeezing up and down his length. 

His hands are gripping the blanket underneath him as if he might float away if he lets go, and his tongue is busy rubbing against yours, and his brain is short circuiting, which is why he doesn’t manage to warn you to stop and give him a break because he’s too close and he needs a moment to review the periodic table or he’ll explode. Hydrogen. Hydrogen is first, right? A reactive nonmetal which bonds with oxygen to create water and oh thank god, you’re pulling your hand out of his pants, he can breathe again.

You pull away, your tongue out of his mouth and your lips separating from his, and his head and torso lift off the bed as he tries to chase you, but you keep moving until you’re sitting up, and then you reach down to pull your t-shirt off. You let it drop onto his face, obscuring his view of you. He shakes his head stupidly before realising that won’t be enough to get rid of it and quickly pulling it away with one hand while the other reaches blindly for your waist, your soft skin, and then both his hands settle on your hips.

His eyes travel up from your stupidly tiny shorts that make up part of a very thin barrier between your bodies where you’re settled right over his erection, run up your smooth stomach until they reach the pink bra that has been mocking him all evening. The bra is moving, and it takes him a second to realise that that’s because you’re unfastening it behind your back, and no sooner has he grasped that than you’re pulling it off and then he has an unobstructed view of your breasts, nipples slightly peaked.

His mouth falls open and he stares at you, a mumbled “oh,” escaping his lips.

You’re watching him with a slight smile, but there’s no cruelty to it, and then you gently take his hands from your hips and move them up so they can cup your breasts.

Spencer hisses, his hips stuttering, and then your hips roll against him and the friction it’s causing and the feeling of your breasts in his hands and the way your eyes close as you let your head fall back in pleasure before you look at him again, push him over the precipice he has been balanced on for what feels like an eternity. 

He thrusts helplessly upwards, hands squeezing your breasts desperately as if that might help him gain the control he needs except of course it doesn’t work that way at all, and he moans as he comes, the orgasm pulled out of him by your warm body pressed against him and the soft weight of your breasts and then he falls back on the bed, hands dropping to his sides. His semen, trapped in his boxers, is sticky and warm against his skin, and he feels his cheeks burning with mingled pleasure and embarrassment. 

It takes a moment for you to realise what happened, or maybe you’re just pretending, he isn’t sure, but then you look down at him with just the hint of a smile and eyes that are sparkling. “Boob man, huh?” you ask, scooting down his body slightly so you’re no longer pressing against his now flaccid dick.

Spencer groans. “I’m sorry.”

You brush your naked breasts lightly and that’s what makes him notice the red marks that are still visible from where he had what was apparently a too firm grip and his eyes widen and then close tightly. Clearly he should be apologising for that too, but he doesn’t have it in him to feel worse than he already does, his system flooded with dopamine and oxytocin. 

“Hey, Reid,” you say gently.

He reluctantly opens his eyes. 

“You okay?”

“No.” He knows he sounds like a stubborn child, he might actually even be pouting, but there you go. He is that pathetic and now you know, so what’s the point in pretending he isn’t?

You smile, leaning forward and caressing his cheek. He shakes his head, but then his eyes are drawn to your breasts, still just there, visible and within reach. Suddenly all he can think about is getting his mouth on them.

But then you move, crawling off him completely and picking your t-shirt back up, putting it on without bothering with your bra. He watches as your breasts disappear from view, unsucked and untasted. The peaks of your nipples are visible through the thin fabric.

“What’s wrong?”

He nearly tells you about wanting your breasts in his mouth but then he realises what you mean. “I—” There’s no way he can put the embarrassment he’s feeling into words, least of all to you, so instead he just shakes his head. “I should go. I need to… clean up.”

Your eyes stray to his crotch which is feeling cold and sticky and sad and he squirms. “I guess you do.”

He wants to be annoyed with you, tries very hard to summon up some anger, digs deeply for a reason any of this can be your fault, but he comes up empty. At most, he can blame you for being too hot, for feeling too good, and it’s not like he’s ever going to tell you any of that.

So instead, he worms his way out of your bed, trying not to notice the mess in his underwear, looking down his body only long enough to determine that it’s not visible to anyone he might meet as he makes his way from your room to his own, and then he walks to the door without looking at you.

“Hey Reid,” you say, and he turns to look at you.

“What?”

“Sleep tight,” you say, grinning, and then you pull up the hem of your t-shirt, flashing him.

He blinks, like an owl or maybe a camera shutter, you can’t quite decide. “You’re insane,” he says, and then he leaves your room.

You stand still for a moment, watching the door and wondering if he’s going to come back, but the hallway is quiet and eventually you go back to your bed and shuffle the paperwork that has fallen to the floor into a pile and drop it all on the desk. Then you crawl into bed, your head falling onto the pillow with a frustrated sigh.

The situation in your underwear might be less dire than what Spencer was dealing with, but there’s still a pool of wetness in the crotch of your panties and a frustrating tingle that has one of your hands travelling down your stomach and into your panties while the other hand finds your breast, squeezing with a pressure that’s gentler and more comfortable than Spencer’s but with a grip that feels too small all of a sudden. 

You coat your finger in your own slick and it finds your clit immediately, rubbing with determination as you seek your own release as quickly as possible. Your eyes fall closed and you turn your head, half-burying your face in a pillow you realise has been infused with an essence of Spencer, this strangely musky scent that feels much too familiar and nowhere near offputting enough.

The orgasm that washes over you is less satisfying than it should be, the sound of Spencer’s moans ringing in your ears and the pretty face he made when he came flashing before your eyes.

Actually, the annoying dweeb is probably right about one thing. You are insane. Just a little.

[awriterinthenight]

drop dead - Spencer R.

you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlis

words: 2.5k+

warnings/tags: fluff, season2!spencer, glasses!spencer, hotchner!reader, basically love at first sight for reader, minor stalking

summary: one night while you're bored in bed you decide to look up your dad's newest agent and decide that you have to make a move on him

a/n this was so cute to write, im lowkey tired though, also i gotta take a break from the angst at the moment, but it will be back i promise, im not done with begged either

"Who's that?"

At your question your dad turned out, facing the bullpen. You watched as he followed your line of sight to one of his agents working at his desk. He'd been working at the BAU for a little while now, but to you he was new.

You were visiting your dad, Aaron Hotchner, after having graduated with your master's degree. You'd been too busy with school to visit your dad like you used to. So the moment he said he was free to have lunch with you in his office the same day you were in town you immediately accepted.

It was your normal lunch with your dad. He asked how school was, told you about cases, and questioned you about what your future held for you. What you hadn't expected though was to see an agent who looked way too young to be at the BAU. He looked about your age, yet wore the clothes of someone's grandpa. Although you did have to admit his sweater vests did look quite cute.

"Dr. Spencer Reid," your dad told you, "he's our expert on just about anything."

You looked over at him one more time, studying him. He was clearly focused on something, not noticing the conversation that was taking place right outside Hotch's office, above where he was reading a file at his desk.

"He looks way too young to be a Dr.," you thought out loud.

"He's your age actually," Hotch said, "has three doctorates, and just as many bachelor's."

To say your jaw was on the floor would be an understatement. How did someone who looked like they'd still be able to order off the kid's menu have several degrees?

"So what you're saying is I'm a lazy, good for nothing, idiotic, loser," you joked.

"I didn't say anything even close to that," he said, already knowing your teasing antics after years of being a victim of them.

"You implied it when you said he was my age."

"I only said he was your age because you said he looked too young to be a Dr."

"He does," you stated, your voice a little louder than intended, making a couple people's heads turn your way.

Once they looked away your dad spoke again.

"I have to get back to work, and you have a future to figure out," he told you.

You made a face at him, "Don't remind me," you said, having spent all week doing job interviews and using whatever connections you had made with people in college.

"I'll see you at home," your dad told you before retreating back into his office.

You knew your way out of the place, having been there multiple times before. As you walked between the desks in the bullpen you noticed a certain person's head lift up. You made eye contact before he swiftly turned away and you kept walking towards the glass door. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that he took a moment to notice you.

In that split second you took in his nerdy, yet cute, glasses that framed his face. Alongside his soft looking hair that sat perfectly, and his meek expression as he no doubt tried to analyze whatever he could about you in that moment.

That was the thing about profilers: they were always studying people by how they walked, or talked, or even breathed. He probably figured out something about you you wouldn't even have been able to figure out in the brief second he saw you.

Dr. Spencer Reid, you kept repeating to yourself. It was as if you were trying to engrain it into your brain so you wouldn't forget it. There was something about him you just needed to know.

You tried not to give into your urges. But after thinking about him on the drive home, then at dinner, then while you were trying to fill out a job application, and even as you were laying down in your comfy bed, you inevitably gave up. He was consuming your every thought and you eventually had to cave into the hunger.

You took out your laptop, quickly looking up his name. He had multiple doctorates, no doubt it'd be easy to find at least something about him.

What you found though was more than you expected. There were multiple of his papers, all of which you read through, hanging onto almost every detail. There were countless articles, some about him himself, and some about his work at the BAU.

You couldn't find any socials. You assumed he must've been very introverted by the way he looked and his lack of online presence. After doing a little bit of digging—which was actually at least two hours worth—you managed to find the social media of one Penelope Garcia. You knew she was the technical analyst for the BAU, and with her bubbly personality probably loved to make the fun occasional posts.

Lucky for you, one of those fun occasional posts included a picture of Spencer. He was taking a sip of coffee while Garcia must've sneakily taken the photo of him.

He looked quite cute when he had no clue anyone was looking. If you hadn't seen him with your own eyes you might've assumed he was something you made up.

To be fair, he didn't sound real on paper.

A genius. Correction, a cute genius. Who had multiple degrees in subjects you could barely wrap your head around, who was working a real job saving people. Not even to mention seemed shy, yet could no doubt probably talk your ear off with facts you never in a million years would've known.

He seemed like a guy you'd dream up after a horrific break up. Not someone that existed. And even crazier, was a possibility for you.

You flopped down onto your mattress, imagining it. He probably enjoyed trips to the bookstore, and small coffee shops, and walks in the middle of autumn as the crunchy orange leaves fell to the ground. He probably loved long talks, and you could imagine admiring him as he explained topics he was passionate about.

The more you imagined him the more he seemed like an angel on the walls of Versailles. Irrevocably beautiful, and impossible to ever even fathom wanting to look away from.

You fell asleep that night thinking and daydreaming of him, scheming up a plan to talk to him.

Luckily for you, that plan was able to be put into action only two weeks later. Your dad had offered to have lunch in his office again to make up for missing dinner due to a case. Normally you'd be sad he missed your original plan, but you couldn't have been happier now about it.

Your plan was exceedingly simple, only requiring the perfect timing. Your dad told you to arrive around one in the afternoon. You knew he had a meeting from noon till then, meaning there was a window in which you could arrive early and be unable to enter your dad's office. You decided to take advantage of this to try and talk to Spencer.

The only flaw was that you had no clue how you'd approach him. He knew you'd been to the BAU before, having seen you there, so you couldn't lie and say you were lost. He probably wouldn't approach you first, and you didn't want to interrupt him while working. You were going to have to go with the flow and hope for the best.

You walked out of the elevator, clipping on your visitor's pass. You opened up the glass door, taking in a deep breath before stepping in. You had arrived at 12:30, hoping that was enough time to run your scheme before your dad invited you in for lunch.

The bullpen was busy with agents doing paperwork, or talking to others about something work related. You stood in the middle of it pretending to check your watch as if having accidentally arrived just a little too early. You looked through your dad's window, seeing he in fact was in a meeting. You now just had to figure out how to make your way to the cute nerd's desk.

Divine forces must've been working with you that day as a familiar person headed towards you.

"And to what do we owe this visit?" Derek Morgan said, now standing in front of you.

"I was supposed to be having lunch with my dad, but I guess he's busy at the moment," you told him, unable to not notice the way a certain agent's ears seemed to prick up.

"Well I guess that means you're stuck with us."

"Last time that happened we broke a printer, and got banned from Garcia's lair," you reminded him.

"Which is why," he started to say, pointing at you and someone else behind you, "I'm putting you in capable hands."

If you could give up your first born to whatever was making you this lucky you would. You looked behind you as he pointed to Spencer who quickly ducked his head to avoid your gaze.

"So you're giving me a babysitter?" you teased.

"No, I'm introducing you to someone who hopefully won't help you cause property damage," he said, walking you closer to Spencer's desk.

"You say that as if you weren't the one to help me."

"Not the point."

Morgan walked up to Spencer's desk, gaining his attention. Spencer's eyes flicked between you and Morgan through his glasses.

"Pretty boy," he greeted, and you immediately knew he lived up to the nickname, "I don't suppose you've met Hotch's daughter."

"Uh, no," he replied, stammering as he stood up from his seat, "I didn't even know Hotch had a daughter to be fair."

He smoothed out his tie before giving you a small wave. You smiled at him, not expecting him to wave at you instead of shaking your hand.

"Boy genius doesn't do handshakes," Morgan told you.

You just nodded at him, waiting for Spencer to say something.

"It's nothing personal, it's just that with the number of pathogens passed through a handshake, it's actually safer to kiss," he rambled, his ears burning red.

"Interesting," you said, unable to help the smile on your face at his weird, yet fun fact. So far he was exactly as you had imagined him.

Morgan looked between you two for a moment. Sensing something he wasn't too sure what he was picking up on.

"Well, I'll leave you both to it," he said before turning around, leaving you with Spencer.

Your plan had worked way better than you ever expected it to. You introduced yourself to him as he did the same, even though you already knew who he was. You knew more about him then he probably assumed you had. He introduced himself as Dr. Reid, making it easier for you to bring up your next topic.

"Dr.?" you questioned, pretending to be shocked, "no offense but you look kind of young to be a Dr."

He looked down at the floor before speaking, "I get that a lot."

"Well what are you a Dr. in?"

"Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering," he answered, sitting back down in his chair.

You stole a chair from an empty desk, placing it in front of his desk. You leaned forward, resting your chin on your head, fully interested in whatever he had to say.

"And here I thought my master's was impressive," you teased.

"N-no, it is," he stumbled, "any academic achievement is impressive. Only about 34% percent of the adult population in the United States has a bachelor's as their highest level of education. A master's degree is even less, with only about 13% of the adult population having one as their highest level of education."

You nodded along as he spoke. You weren't surprised he new statistics that perfectly applied to the conversation off the top of his head.

"So I guess you're in the top .0001% with your three degrees."

"Technically, I have three more, but their only bachelor's."

You playfully rolled your eyes, "Yeah, their only bachelors who would count them," you joked.

He smiled at you, a real honest smile that you wanted to kiss off his face. Usually you weren't one to fall for someone so quickly, but there was something about him you couldn't shake away.

"I have an eidetic memory," he admitted, intriguing you even more, "so it just makes it easier for me I guess."

"So you're a genius basically."

He stumbled over his words, a faint blush appearing on his face, "I wouldn't call myself a genius."

You once again nodded, liking how flustered he got.

"Well genius," you said, using the nickname against him, only making him turn redder, "where'd you go to school?"

"I went to Caltech."

"Really? I can't imagine you in orange."

"I wouldn't say it's my color, but the school's pretty great."

"I'd assume they’re a lot better than just pretty great if their teaching geniuses there."

He shook his head, "I never said I was a genius."

You sat up in your chair a bit, leaning a bit closer, "Give me any evidence as to why you're not a genius and why I shouldn't call you genius."

Spencer sat there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth multiple times.

"Exactly," you said, "you are a genius."

Before he could respond the door to your dad's office opened. Your expression dropped a bit since that meant your conversation with Spencer was over. You were having fun teasing him for being so smart and watching him get all flustered.

Someone walked out of your dad's office, making their way down the steps as he noticed you. He waved you into his office. You looked back at Spencer wanting to accomplish one more thing before leaving.

"I had fun talking with you," you told him, hoping he'd pick up the hint.

"I did too."

"It'd be nice to finish our conversation another time."

He nodded, looking down again, too nervous to look at you.

"Yeah, if whenever you're back, I'd love to continue talking, you're nice to talk to."

"I was thinking more like when you're not working," you admitted, knowing he was too hopeless to get the hint.

"Oh," he said.

"I assume you like to read," you said, looking at the stack of books on his desk.

"Just a little bit," he joked, smiling up at you.

"Good," you said, grabbing a sticky note off his desk, writing your number on it, "give me a call sometime, I'd love to go to the bookstore with you sometime if you want."

He nodded, taking the piece of paper from you, "Okay," he mumbled.

You got up from your chair, putting it back before turning towards him, "Bye, genius."

"Bye," he uttered, his voice low, as if still nervous to talk to you.

You couldn't help but feel giddy with how well your conversation had gone. It also didn't help that you were going to see him outside of his job at some point. Even worse you kept daydreaming about him, and thinking about how you just might drop dead if he kissed you after your date to the bookstore.

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[shadowww-bunny]

「The Physics of Flirting」 -S. R.

❥ 3 times you flirted with Spencer and 1 time he flirted back

❥ fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance

In the early years of your time at the BAU, the team had developed a new favorite hobby: watching you interact with Spencer Reid. It was like a National Geographic documentary in real time—one participant trying to make contact, and the other, a rare and hopelessly anxious genius, spouting quantum physics whenever he didn't know how to react.

𓂃♡𓂃

The first time happened in the bullpen, somewhere around 2:00 AM. The team was drowning in geographic profiling maps, and the air was thick with stale caffeine. You walked up to Spencer’s desk, sliding a fresh, perfectly customized cup of coffee right next to his stack of books.

He blinked up at you, startled, his eyes tracking you through his messy, season-two curls. "Oh. Thank you. Statistically, caffeine consumption at this hour will only delay my REM cycle disruption by about ninety minutes, but—"

"Consider it a bribe," you interrupted softly, leaning against the edge of his desk. You leaned in just a fraction closer, holding his gaze with a warm smile. "I just wanted an excuse to come over here and look at a pretty face. The case files were starting to look a little grim."

Spencer froze. His hazel eyes widened, and a faint, rosy flush immediately crept up from his collar. He looked down at his coffee, his fingers nervously drumming against the paper cup. "A... pretty face? Well, facial symmetry is mathematically linked to perceived attractiveness, but genetically speaking, my features are relatively common, and—"

You chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that, Spence."

You walked away, leaving him staring at his desk, his brain completely short-circuiting over a simple cup of coffee.

𓂃♡𓂃

The second time was on the BAU jet, flying back from a brutal case in Ohio. The cabin was quiet; Hotch and Rossi were asleep, and JJ was reading. You were sitting across from Spencer, who was frantically trying to solve a Rubik’s cube for the third time that hour to self-soothe. His knuckles were white.

Without a word, you reached across the small table and gently placed your hand over his, stopping his frantic movements. His skin was warm, and his fingers twitched under yours.

"Your hands are shaking a little," you murmured, keeping your voice low and sweet. Instead of pulling away, you slowly slid your fingers between his, lacing your hands together. "You know, they say physical touch drastically lowers cortisol levels after a stressful event. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. Do you mind?"

Spencer stared down at your joined hands. He swallowed hard, his throat moving nervously. He didn't pull away. In fact, his grip tightened just a tiny bit, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand in a shy, tentative motion.

"Actually," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, "the endocrine system does release oxytocin during sustained tactile contact. It... it mitigates the fight-or-flight response. So, scientifically... it's highly efficient."

"Strictly professional, of course," you teased, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He didn't let go for the rest of the flight.

𓂃♡𓂃

The third time, you decided to drop the subtlety entirely.

The team was celebrating a closed case at a local bar near Quantico. Spencer was sitting in a booth, nursing a ginger ale, looking incredibly endearing in his oversized corduroy blazer. You slid into the booth right next to him, your shoulder pressing firmly against his.

He looked at you, a soft smile forming. "Hey."

You leaned in, your lips frustratingly close to his ear, and whispered in a tone that was entirely too sultry for a crowded FBI hangout. "You know, Reid... every time you start listing those hyper-specific behavioral statistics, I have the most unprofessional urge to drag you into a supply closet and see if that big brain of yours knows what to do when it's not thinking about murder."

Spencer’s entire body went rigid. He choked on his ginger ale, coughing into his fist as his face turned a brilliant, violent shade of crimson. He looked at you, his eyes dinner-plate wide, completely utterly defenseless.

"I—a supply closet?" he squeaked, his voice pitching an octave higher. "The... the logistical cleanliness of standard Bureau maintenance spaces is highly questionable, and—and my spatial awareness under pressure is historically subpar—"

You burst out laughing, raising your glass to him. "Just think about it. Garcia’s watching."

𓂃♡𓂃

A month had passed. You were starting to think your flirtatious banter would remain a one-sided game until Spencer finally got used to your antics.

It was almost 10:00 PM. The BAU bullpen was completely deserted, illuminated only by a few dim desk lamps. You sat at your desk, finishing up a report, when you heard a hesitant, shuffling step.

You looked up to find Spencer standing in front of your desk. He looked like a man about to jump out of a plane without a parachute. His fingers were white-knuckled around the strap of his satchel, his shoulders were incredibly tense, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

"Spence? Everything okay?" you asked, setting your pen down.

"Yes! I mean, no. I mean..." He took a deep, shaky breath, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them with a look of sheer, desperate determination. It was obvious he had rehearsed this speech a hundred times (and Derek Morgan's advice was written all over it).

He took a step forward, stood up ridiculously straight, and blurted out in one rapid breath:

"According to quantum entanglement, two particles that have interacted remain connected, so that actions performed on one affect the other, even if they're light-years apart. So! Basically!"

Spencer took a desperate gulp of air, his voice cracking slightly, but he pushed through, locking his eyes on yours.

"My neurons definitely underwent an irreversible wave-function collapse the second I saw you. And... and according to fractal geometry and the golden ratio, your face possesses absolute, flawless symmetry. Simply put... you are incredibly beautiful. Aesthetically perfect. And I... I was wondering if you'd like to experience some synergy. You know... go out with me. On a date."

By the time he finished, Reid looked like he was about to pass out from heatstroke. He closed his eyes, ducked his head into his shoulders, and braced himself for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

You stared at him, a wave of pure, overwhelming affection rushing through your chest. A tender smile broke across your face.

Slowly, you stood up, walked around your desk, and stepped right into his space. You gently reached out and took both of his trembling hands in yours. He opened one eye, looking at you with sheer terror.

"Spencer Reid," you said softly, "that was officially the most complicated, nerdy, and absolutely perfect pickup line I have ever heard in my life."

His shoulders dropped instantly, and that familiar, shy smile touched his lips.

"Really?" he whispered, still slightly breathless. "So... the statistical probability of a 'yes' is higher than fifty percent?"

"It’s at a hundred percent, genius," you laughed, squeezing his warm hands.