hi! i’m rio. 22. she/her.
enjoyer of criminal minds, taylor swift, seventeen, and whatever else my brain decides to hyperfixate on.
(english is not my first language).
main | twitter
WRITTEN WORKS BELOW !
** - newest fic !
and then, just like clockwork.
tags: spencer reid x fem!reader x aaron hotchner. ex-wife!reader. not really infidelity. smut. heavily implied but not in depth polyamory. i think they need couple’s counselling.
part one.
part two.
tech analyst!reader.
[1] kiss, kiss, fall in love.
tags: making out. clothed grinding. what glasses!spencer deserved.
[1.5] kiss, kiss, fall in love [extra].
tags: text messages. super short. inaccurate use of imessage (bcos the fic is set in the flip phone era of criminal minds lol).
[2] wonderstruck.
tags: meet-cute. reader's backstory-ish. early s1!spencer.
[3] research purposes.
tags: fluff & crack. referenced/mentioned sexual acts but nothing explicit. mentions of 50 shades of grey. bau ladies are like gossiping wine moms.
shining light.
tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. dad!spencer. pregnant!reader. childbirth complications but nothing explicit.
socmed aus.
[1] kinda-boyfriend texts.
tags: spencer reid x reader. fluff.
[2] (gonna be ur) boyfriend texts.
tags: spencer reid x reader. fluff.
[3] soft launch.
tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. fluff. elle fanning faceclaim.
For the blurb thingy: him fucking you into overstimulation and you weakly try to push him off but you can't so he just guides you to hold onto your plushie while he keeps fucking into you...<3
s. r. blurb 9
contents: afab!reader, dom!Spencer, penetrative sex, overstimulation, mentions of a safe word but not used, corruption of a plushie, MDNI
You aren't sure where Spencer gets his stamina in bed.
You love him, really you do, in all his lanky, nerdy glory, but Spencer Reid can barely run up two flights of stairs without losing his breath. He cannot run like a normal person while holding his gun, often leaning on one side as if the gun weighs more than it actually does and is dragging him down.
Yet somehow, without fail, he manages to last multiple rounds of sex
At first, you assumed he's trying to compensate for something. He reaches his climax quite quickly—Being buried inside you seems to set every nerve in his body on gasoline, white hot flames licking just under his skin and erupting without warning. You both cry out, his in pleasure, and you out of surprise, your head thrown back as he spills deep inside your cunt. He pushes through the orgasm, taking advantage of the slick that’s gathered inside your walls to fuck you even harder.
You thought he’s just being thorough. He wants you to climax as well, after all, he’s simply being a thoughtful lover.
All delusions of that fly out the window by the time you come down from your high for the second time in a row, and he’s still going. Fingers at your clit, alternating between infinite circles and playful pinching, he fucks you hard and deep even as your vision swims and you’re barely coherent.
The sheets are ruined beneath you, your slick dripping down your ass and thighs and soaking the bed. His cock is slick, a ring of creamy white gathered and coating the base, evidence of your release that’s mixed and dripped out from your swollen, sensitive folds.
For someone who’s so adamant about exchanging germs and bacteria, Spencer Reid can be awfully filthy in bed. It’s overwhelming. Dizzyingly so. But something about your hazy, dreamy state only fuels him during nights like these, so he slows down, deliberately keeping himself on edge as he cups your breasts in his big hands, catching your nipples between his long fingers.
Your hands lift up, sluggishly pushing his forearms away, and he pauses.
“Too much?” he rubs his palms over your chest, before they skate down your back, easing his rhythm to something more gentle and tender, “Need your safe word?”
You mumble something incoherent, eyes closing as his cock slides out. Your cunt tightens around him greedily, because despite everything, you relish this just as much as he does. The mind numbing sensitivity is simply too euphoric to ignore, the way you can feel your cunt ease up or squeeze around him is downright addictive, and even the loud, sinful sounds of wet skin slapping hard into each other is music to your ears. You love that his strength and stamina seems reserved specifically for you and your intimate nights, that he has something of a reservoir of physicality that he keeps hidden away from people.
You whimper again, twisting to the side.
“Darling? Talk to me.” he croons, laying his body over yours. His weight presses you into the mattress, cock sitting heavily inside your walls. It helps ground you enough to extract an answer.
“I’m fine. I’m fine, keep going.”
“You sure?” he kisses your jaw, tongue licking up to your ear, hot and wet and filthy, “We can always stop.”
You clench around his cock in response.
A breathless laugh. He lifts himself on one elbow, his other arm reaching for the closest fluffy thing he could find, which happens to be a large penguin plushie. “Here, hold onto Mr. Butters for me, love.”
You moan, one arm holding the toy to your chest, the other grasping his hand desperately, “We’re corrupting Mr. Butters.” you whimper as he begins to move again, pulling out of your delicious heat before snapping back inside.
“Not the first time we’ve done so, unfortunately.” he chuckles, finding a steady rhythm, “You still with me?”
“Mhm hmm,” you nod, gasping as he lifts your hips for a better angle. You swear you feel him in your stomach like this, reaching spaces so deep, spaces only he’s able to feel.
“That’s it,” he groans, roughly thrusting into you, “Good girl. Just hold onto Mr. Butters.”
So you do. Poor Mr. Butters, with you through thick and thin, bearing witness to your childhood fears and teenage folly, and now, your very adult activities.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: A week away from work has you and Spencer trying new things...
Category: SMUT (18+)
Content: Strong language, cockwarming, piss kink. unprotected p in v sex, pure filth with a little domestic fluff sprinkled in
Word Count: 1.6k
MASTERLIST
NOTE: Don't know what came over me this afternoon... Not proofread, probably not my best work, but I had a vision and I needed to put it to words. Enjoy :)
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A day off—a true day off—from working at the BAU is extremely rare, especially considering all the little things that pop up in between cases, like requests from other departments and endless piles of paperwork. Even when you technically have a day or even a weekend off, there's always someone calling to ask for a second opinion on something or for a confirmation that you sent in a report of some kind. Bottom line: There's always something.
So, when the only 'something' is an official request from the Bureau to do 'nothing' for a week, you take it, albeit warily.
The first two days, it was hard not to keep anxiously waiting for the phone to ring, but now that there's been four of uninterrupted FBI-mandated rest & relaxation, you're starting to consider yourself spoiled.
The mornings are slow and lazy, but then you and Spencer are out of bed and rummaging through the apartment by noon, making food and making each other laugh and tidying things as they come along. And then the afternoon creeps in before you know it, and the natural thing to do is settle down with a book or a movie or a couple episodes of some mindless television.
The undercurrent of worry that your job might call you in is still there, hiding in wait under blankets and wandering hands and in the low hum of the box-fan in the corner of the living room, but it remains unspoken between you.
By the time nightfall rolls around, it's a sort of relief; To know that another day has really gone by without having to answer the call of responsibility.
You celebrate by wrapping yourselves up in each other. Whether it's in the shower or on the couch or back in bed, or sometimes all three in one night, this little part of your routine feels the most like a luxury. It's uninterrupted, thorough, and utterly indulgent.
Currently it's the morning of the fifth day, and something about Spencer's touch and the way you're leaning into him feels less indulgent and more hedonistic. The phone could ring and you would simply silence it, your pleasure preserving importance over literally anything else—even your job. You're convinced a hurricane could swoop on through the city and you still wouldn't give up your spot in this bed unless you were forcibly removed.
A spark lights up in your chest as you feel Spencer wake beside you, his hand sliding and draping itself over your hip to pull you impossibly closer. Memories of the night prior dance around in the air between you, until you feel yourself becoming squirmy. Needy.
You can sense his need too, in the way his fingers grip your body and in the beating of his heart against your back. His breath is hot on your neck, and then his dick is hardening against you.
"I want you inside me, but I think I'm still too lazy to do anything about it," you admit cheekily, warming at the way he laughs in response.
"Well, good morning to you, too..."
Still, he doesn't protest. His hands are lazy but gentle, guiding you around so you're straddling him, chest to chest. You take a moment to look down at him, grinning as he takes your face in his hands and grins back.
"Hi."
"Hi," you giggle back through a kiss, laughter dissolving into a soft whimper as he expertly slips a hand between you and helps himself slide right into you.
"Fuck, you're wet already," he sighs against your lips.
You slump your weight forward and rest your forehead to his, welcoming the fullness below you. "Always wet for you..."
He hums, low and guttural, and you feel like you're sinking further down. You snuggle close, burying your face into his neck. He lays there under you, unmoving aside from his hands as they trace the dips and swells of your body. Your back, your hips, your thighs—anywhere he can reach.
Your breathing becomes one, and it's the most intimate form of indulgence you could possibly dream of.
You never want it to end.
Occasionally you'll squeeze or shift your hips, and Spencer will whine, and after the fourth time, you can't help but laugh.
"What's the problem, pretty boy? I've never known you to be impatient in the morning..."
"It's not that," he chokes out quickly. You lift your head to meet his eyes, and the movement of your bodies together causes him to make another sound. You raise an eyebrow and he knows he's caught. He surrenders, sighing out with an incredulous laugh to the ceiling. "I've really gotta pee."
The sentence coming from him makes you laugh again, and your body moving on top of him is enough to make him hiss out as he grips your hips to keep you still.
Something about it, the desperation in his face as he squints, chin jutted up to the air as he tries so hard to refrain, sends a jolt of a thrill through you.
"Well, I don't wanna get up..."
It's his turn to laugh now. You can see the sensation is making it harder on him, but still he doesn't make any quick efforts to move. You use that to your advantage, dropping your voice and leaning down to gently lap at his throat with the tip your tongue.
"And you don't seem like you want to get up, either..."
You punctuate your words with a tight squeeze around his cock, and he actually moans, his grip on your hips tightening enough to leave marks from his nails.
"Fuck, you're killing me," he whines, the sound of his desperate voice lighting you up from the inside out.
You can't take it anymore, unable to keep your hips from rolling into his. Despite your protests to get up, you manage to sit upright, putting in the work to slowly ride him.
Spencer cries out, throwing an arm over his forehead. You can tell by his expression and the sweat forming over his bare chest, that he's trying not to let go yet.
"It's okay," you tell him, gently pressing your hands just below his hips, using his body as an anchor instead of the mattress while you ride him. "You don't have to fight it, baby..."
He cries out again, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Your name and a string of curses are next, the syllables a beautiful, desperate warning.
"It's okay," you whisper, and you sit down hard, staying there and grinding your hips in small, slow circles as he stutters his final warning—an, "Oh God..." to the morning air.
He still tries to hold back at first, small bursts of warmth filling you deep from within. But you smile and lift up slightly just to fall back down, encouraging him with a gentle pleasureful flutter of your eyes to the back of your head. "Yes, yes, yes," you whisper, sucking in your breath and circling your clit with your fingers. "That feels so good..."
The pressure builds inside you, between your muscles clenching and your orgasm impending... And of course, there's the warmth that literally fills you to the brim and cascades down your thighs. Spencer's warmth.
You feel him physically relaxing as he continues to release, his hands finally coming up to caress your skin once more, roaming your thighs and your hips, and then what he can reach of your breasts.
He manages to sit up once the flood has subsided, his new prime focus on getting you to fall over the edge. You shift, losing momentum for just a moment before you finally settle into a new rhythm, his body rocking up to meet yours and keep you from falling over. You're riding him with frenzy now, fully awake and alert and so damn close to Heaven, you can practically taste it.
The sounds your bodies are making are wet and lewd, and as Spencer pulls away slightly to reach down and massage your clit, you manage to catch a tiny glimpse of the mess he's made, the visual of dark spots in the navy sheets—a vivid manifestation of his pleasure and desperation—sending you over the edge.
You kiss him through it, swallowing every groan and every breath until you feel him still and come inside you soon after—a different, more familiar warmth, and still just as exciting.
You could never not feel anything but excitement when being with him in any capacity.
The two of you are collapsing not long after, and while you're content, you're also a little worried that you might have pushed him a little too far out of his comfort zone; He's usually quiet after sex, but not this quiet. He hasn't said a word.
Spencer seems to sense this worry, his arms holding you close in a reassuring hug. "You learn something new every day," he muses, not judging but embracing as he kisses your temple.
You can't help but smile, especially when he continues with that occasional irresistible sass in his tone that suggests you've inconvenienced him, but not enough to be entirely pissed. With incompetent law enforcement it's serious and incredibly sexy, and he knows how you feel about it. So, with you, he makes it playful. Loving, even.
The thought is enough to make you shed any sort of worry and settle yourself deeper into his embrace. You let the words light you up and make you laugh, reveling in them even though you know it's a not-so-subtle nudge in the direction of actually getting out of bed and starting the day.
"Guess it's a good thing we were gonna do laundry today, huh?"
No thought, head empty. Just daydreaming about coming home after a long day and getting face-down ass-up railed by Spencer because he knows you’re at your happiest getting your guts rearranged and your brain turned to mush.
*Sigh* this is what reading American Jesus does to a mofo… Think you straight up altered my brain chemistry with that one. If you wrote something for my little daydream I might actually pass away.
🙏 i will forever write spencer as a pleasure dom, that man would do anything to make sure you feel good, and he's so good at knowing what you need, when you need it.
i hope this satiates your little fantasy <3 thank you for the love on american jesus.
cw; +18 minors dni, fingering, pleasure dom!spencer, eating it from the back, taking it from the back, semi-rough spencer, unprotected p in v, aftercare
You’re exhausted. You drag yourself home after what feels like an eternity since you last saw the sun, the weight of your bag pulling on your shoulder as you slump against the wall and wait for the elevator.
It takes forever to arrive. You stare at the numbers as they flicker up the board and sigh. It’s not that you’ve never felt this tired before, but tonight it’s more than your body feels tired, it’s your mind.
You step into the elevator when the doors finally slide open and lean against the back wall. You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, letting out a soft sigh when you feel the cool air on your face, your skin. Your hand goes to the knot on your tie and you yank it loose, pulling it from around your neck and stuffing it in your pocket.
The elevator jolts to a stop and you step out into the corridor, running a hand through your hair when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror at the end of the hall. You look tired. Your eyes are sunken, the bags underneath making your eyes look darker and bigger.
You start down the hall, coming to a stop outside your door. You’re distracted, staring at the floor as you fumble with your keys and you don’t notice when the door opens, not until Spencer steps out and you nearly run into him.
“Hey, baby,” he says. “Long day?”
He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. You melt against him, sighing happily when you feel his hand slide up to cradle the back of your neck. His grip tightens a little when you moan into his kiss, tilting your head and pressing closer to him.
He pulls away for a moment, studying you. You smile weakly up at him and he frowns. “Did you eat?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah,” you say, running your hands up his chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I ate at the office.”
He eyes you for a moment, and you know he doesn’t believe you. But he doesn’t press the issue. You’re so tired that you don’t even care when his hands move from your waist to grip your ass. “Bed, then,” he says.
He tugs you forward, kissing you again as he steps into the apartment. You follow him, letting him guide you through the apartment and into the bedroom. He pulls you close to him, kissing your neck as you reach for your shirt.
You shiver, letting out a low moan when he bites at your skin. You press your hands flat against his chest, shoving him back against the bed. He grins up at you as you strip your shirt off and then his, kicking your shoes off as he does the same.
“Take the rest off,” he murmurs, tugging on your belt as he reaches for his own.
You unbuckle it and push your pants down to your thighs, stopping when Spencer grips your hips and turns you to face away from him. His fingers press into your skin, sliding down over the curve of your ass and slipping between your legs.
He presses a kiss to the small of your back, his breath hot against your skin as he lets out a soft groan. “I love you so much,” he murmurs against your skin. “You have no idea.”
You shiver, letting your head fall forward. “I love you, too,” you whisper.
He laughs. “I know,” he says, nipping at your hip. “I know you do.”
He pushes you forward and you go easily, your hands coming to rest on the bed as he pulls your pants the rest of the way off. He runs his hand over your ass, then slips between your legs again, spreading you open with his fingers.
“Spencer,” you murmur, rocking back against him.
His tongue is hot and wet on your skin when he drags it up your inner thigh, nipping at you and making you squirm.
He presses his thumb against your cunt and you cry out, shuddering when he finally slides it inside. Your hand flies out behind you and you grab his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt.
“Spencer,” you plead. “Please.”
He kisses his way back up your thigh and you whimper when he stops, his breath hot on your hole. “Please,” you beg again, pushing back against him.
He growls softly and presses forward, his tongue dragging over your skin. You cry out again, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Spencer,” you say again. “Please. I’m begging you.”
He laughs softly and slides his thumb from your body. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t beg. You don’t have to beg, never have to do that with me. Gonna give you whatever you need.”
He pushes your legs open further, his breath hot on you as he presses inside. You arch up, crying out when he starts to fuck you with his tongue.
“Spencer,” you moan, pressing back against him. “Oh god, Spencer, I need you.”
“I know,” he murmurs against you, tongue slick against your wet folds, his voice vibrating through you and making your stomach clench.
You feel him pull away and you can’t help but push back again. He groans and then you’re being pushed forward. Your hands go to the bed and you feel Spencer’s hand curl around your hip.
“Fuck,” he grunts, yanking you back against him. You let out a cry of surprise when his cock slides into you with a small stretch, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to move, pushing in deep before pulling out and slamming back in. “Fuck,” he pants again, his hand going to your back between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further, making you cry out when his angle changes.
His hips meet your ass with a soft smack every time, fingers dig into your skin and you can feel his nails bite into you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, his hand moving to wrap around your throat. “Like this. Fucking yourself on my cock.”
You moan, pushing back to meet his thrusts. He lets out a sharp groan and then he’s shoving you face down on the bed, holding your wrists behind your back with one hand as he fucks you into the mattress.
“Spencer,” you cry out, arching up under him. “Oh fuck, Spencer.”
He growls and starts to fuck you harder, his thrusts becoming wilder and faster as he grinds into you. His hand slips between you and the bed, his fingers brushing over your clit.
“Spencer,” you sob. “I’m gonna cum.”
He lets out another sharp cry and then his mouth is at your ear. “Don’t you dare,” he growls.
You let out a frustrated noise, trying to pull away from his hand. He holds tighter and fucks you harder, grinding into you. “Spencer,” you whine, trying to writhe under him. “Please, please. I need to cum.”
“I said don't fucking cum,” his voice harsh in your ear.
“Spencer,” you scream, shoving back against him as he fucks you.
His hand slides back between your legs, his fingers circling around your clit. “Now,” he growls. “Cum for me, baby.”
You let out a loud scream, your body shaking violently as you come. You can’t hold yourself up anymore, collapsing face down on the bed. But Spencer doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow. He keeps fucking you, grinding into you until you feel him shudder over you.
You moan, turning your head to look at him as he comes. His lips parted, eyes scrunched shut as he rocks into you.
He falls forward, pressing his weight into you. You gasp, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels good. He kisses your cheek and then pulls away, flopping down beside you.
You turn to look at him, reaching up to touch his face. “I love you,” you say softly.
You’re still on top of him when he wakes you a few minutes later, gently rolling you over to your back and then sliding off the bed.
You blink your eyes open, watching as he disappears into the bathroom. You’re about to close your eyes and drift back to sleep when you hear him say, “Cmere, baby.”
You blink your eyes up again and look towards the bathroom. Spencer is standing in the doorway, a warm washcloth in his hands.
“Here,” he says again.
You get up, stumbling a bit on weak legs as you make your way to the bathroom. He takes your arm when you get closer, pulling you into the bathroom and then pushing you down to sit on the toilet. He kneels in front of you, gently pushing your legs open.
You close your eyes as he presses the warm cloth to you, biting your lip softly. “That feels nice,” you murmur.
Spencer hums, his hands soft as he cleans you. He’s so gentle and caring when it comes to you. He’s not a dominant person in most of your day-to-day life, but when he does get like that, you always know it’s because you need it.
He’s so good at reading you, at knowing how you need to be touched and taken care of. You’re always so happy and content when he’s like this, because you know that he’s giving you what you need in this moment.
He starts to clean his own body, but you reach out and stop him. “Let me,” you say, smiling softly as you pull the washcloth from him.
He smiles back and leans forward a little as he lets you wash him. Your fingers move across his body, running up his thighs to his cock. It’s soft and sated, but you still press your lips to it as you drag the cloth over him. Spencer lets out a soft hum and his fingers slide through your hair.
“Thank you,” he says as you finish up.
You smile and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “I love taking care of you,” you say. “Especially after you treat me so well.”
He laughs and leans in, kissing you again. “I love that about you,” he says. “I love everything about you.”
You smile and kiss him again. “Come back to bed,” you say, climbing to your feet and then holding your hand out to him.
He takes it and stands, pulling you to him for one last kiss. “Of course,” he murmurs.
summary: pining!reader makes a drunk call to spencer after going out with friends, and is aggressively trying to flirt with him.
tags: reader is DRUNK! alcohol!! dont read if thats not okay!!, fluffy as fuck, spencer is the most gentle of gentlemen, pining!reader, reader wears makeup/dress/heels, spencer is lowkey bad at flirting but he shows affection in weird ways, one use of Y/N (sorry i know)
a/n: this has been bouncing around in my head for a while. sigh.
word count: 1.9k
masterlist
He was used to seeing you tipsy, if that was even the right word for it.
You were friends, after all. Best friends, even. And the fact that he lived only a few doors down from the pub the team frequented made it stupid not to offer his couch to you after going out with the team.
You weren’t a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. Every now and then on a Friday night, you’d head out with the team and have one, maybe two drinks if you were feeling particularly adventurous–but you still didn’t want to drive home, especially when he was offering his home to you. Truthfully, you just liked getting to hang out with him. You liked getting to exist in his orbit and discuss a random topic late into the night. It had become normal for you, an excuse to do something together that didn’t revolve around work.
What was not normal was the fact that it was a Saturday at 11 PM and you were really drunk, calling him.
Your contact photo filled his screen, illuminating the dark room. You weren’t one to call, preferring the convenience of a text. Especially this late, which worried him a bit. He picked up quickly, tucking the phone to his ear.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hey, Spencer?” It wasn’t your voice. “This is Molly, Y/N’s friend. I’m sorry to call so late. We’re out with some friends from college celebrating someone’s birthday, and she got… like, drunk drunk, kinda sloppy… and she’s been blabbing about you for a while. She wanted me to call you.”
“Oh,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Can you put her on?”
“Yeah. Not sure you’ll get anything out of her, though. Here…”
He can hear the general chatter and chaos of the bar over the call. There’s some rustling sounds before you finally take the phone.
“Hi,” you say, your voice dripping with a certain kind of fondness. He can hear the smile through the screen.
“Hey,” he replies. ”You having fun?”
“Oh, Spencer, I was… I haven’t heard your voice in so long. What’re you…” you trail off, lifting the phone from your ear to answer someone else. “Sorry. ‘S so loud in here.
He chuckles to himself. “I saw you yesterday.”
“Yeah, ‘nd that was… Oh, I can’t do math right now. A long time ago.”
“Are you okay?”
On the other side of town, you were sitting in a barstool, swiping your finger along the beads of condensation rolling down the glass of water in front of you.
“Mhm. ‘M good. Fine. Drunk.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” he smiles. “Are you gonna be able to get home?”
“Uhh…” you pause. “I was gonna Uber… but then I thought that maybe… if you weren't busy… we could hang out…”
He could vaguely make out dialog on the other end of the phone. Some kind of “Girl, this sounds really pathetic,” followed by a “Shhhh!” in two other drunken voices.
“But I could also make Molly order me an Uber,” you added. “‘S okay. Nevermind.”
“No, you're not getting in an Uber inebriated. That’s ridiculous.”
“‘M not inebriated.”
A background voice comes back. “Yeah, you are.”
Spencer sighs into the phone. “Just… send me your location, please? I’ll come get you.”
“O-kay. ‘M sending it right now, jus’ tell me when you-”
The call went dead before you could finish your thought, which he chalked up to some kind of drunken user error. A few seconds later a text came through
You: dropped a pin
You: its molly again. let me know if you got this
He responded, relieved that you had someone looking after you, before getting ready and grabbing his keys.
-
You were sitting on a bench outside the bar. The air was cool and crisp, but you were warm, your skin clammy from the alcohol. You had been mumbling something incoherent about Spencer, he’s just so good to me, Molly, and oh, god, I don’t know what to do with myself, and…
Molly, who had been trying to sober you up (unsuccessfully), was standing in front of you, arms crossed, listening to your incessant rambling.
“...’nd sometimes he talks to me, ‘nd I have no idea what he’s talking about but he’s so hot when he’s smart. You should hear, it, Mol’.”
Cars pass on the street behind you, filling the silence momentarily. Molly looks over her shoulder, scanning the street before turning back to you. “Alright. Be quiet. He’s here”
“Don’t care.”
She puts her hand out to help you up, which you accept rising to your feet. You’re surprised by how unsteady you feel, but you focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
“I’ll make fun of you for this tomorrow,” she says.
You only have a few seconds to grumble in protest before Spencer reaches you. He scans you quickly, chuckling to himself.
“You are a mess,” he says, amused.
You feel slightly infantilized watching Molly hand over all your personal effects to him. You weren’t even sure when you’d put down your wallet and keys, much less where, but you’re thankful she picked them up and not someone else.
“Good luck,” She tells him. She pats your arm before turning back to the bar, leaving you alone on the street with him.
“You okay?” He asks. You watch him shuck off his jacket, which he helps you slide over your arms.
“‘M fine,” you reply. “Warm.”
“Because you’re drunk.” He keeps his eyes trained on the zipper of the jacket, or really anywhere that isn't you in that dress. “Alcohol is a vasodilator. So you feel warm. But it's forty degrees outside, and hypothermia doesn't care.”
You pout at him, watching as he pulls the zipper tab up enough to shield you from the cold. Only then does he really look at you.
“I wanted you to see my pretty dress,” you pout. Your words come out slurred still.
You meet his eyes for a split second. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to reply, but quickly decides against it. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought.
“Come on. We gotta get you home.”
“You don't like it?”
“I didn't say that.” He tucks a hand under your arm as you begin back down the street, keeping you steady.
“So you do like it?” You look over at him, your face more excited than he was expecting.
“It’s very pretty,” he replies.
Your shoulder bumps his as you walk, seemingly unable to maintain a straight path along the sidewalk. The click of your heels against the pavement is uneven, despite your efforts to maintain some kind of composure, and unfortunately for you, he’s right, and it's freezing outside. You make steady progress down the block, placing all your focus on not falling flat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn't live all that far.
“D’you think I look pretty, too?” You ask, approaching the steps to his apartment.
“What are you trying to do?” he asks, looking down at you. He takes in the slight flush of your cheeks as the effects of the alcohol battle the chill in the air.
“I’m trying to flirt with you. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, you're going to be difficult all night, aren't you?” He sighs, ignoring the question. He pauses outside the door, keys in hand, and unlocks the door before guiding you inside.
“You don't ever want to flirt with me.”
The door falls shut behind you with a clunk. The room is dark, with only the distant light from a lamp somewhere across the room illuminating it. You squint when he turns on the big light.
“That’s not true,” he says, quietly. If you weren’t hanging on to his every word, you might have missed it. He carefully unzips the jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and setting it on the table.
“So why won’t you flirt with me right now?”
“Because you’re drunk,” He guides you towards the couch, his touch still careful as ever.
You flop down onto the cushions. The leather sticks to your legs as you sit. Being the gentleman he is, he has already left pajamas out, his pajamas, you’d since claimed as your own, with the blanket you steal every time you stay over.
“So what?” You begin working at the clasp on your heels, fumbling with the leather straps to no avail.
“So, you’re drunk.” He repeats, reappearing in front of you. He sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and hands you a pack of makeup wipes. “Do you need help with your shoes?”
You nod. A soft breath of laughter escapes him as he leans in to help you take them off, setting them on the carpeted floor.
“Spence,” you look at the pack of wipes. “Why do you have these?”
“Because every time you’re here you forget them,” he replies.
“Oh.” You rip them open. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend?”
“No,” he replies, lowering your foot back to the ground.
“You don't let other drunk girls sleep over?” You paw at your eyeliner, effectively smearing it around more than removing it.
“I don't let anyone sleep over,” he says, taking the wipe from you. “Just you. Close your eyes.”
“Because you love me?”
His fingers find the underside of your chin, gently tilting your face towards his so he can finish swiping away the last of your eyeliner. Maybe you’re blushing as a result of the alcohol warming your bloodstream, but the more likely answer is him, at this proximity.
As soon as he’s done wiping your eyes, you open them again to look up at him.
“You’re bold when you’re drunk,” he says, smiling. He sets the used wipe down on the table.
“Mhm. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not going to,” He says. “Sorry. Go get changed.”
“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” you say. You collect the clothes off the couch and slink across the apartment into the bathroom to change. You don’t bother shutting the bathroom door before slinking off the dress you were wearing and sliding on the pajamas he’d left for you. Once you finish, you collect your dress off the floor and make your way back towards the couch, settling right into the cushions as you frequently did on nights like this.
You were formulating another complaint about his lack of reciprocation, but your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled the blanket on his couch over you. Your blanket, or at least one you’d claimed as your own during one of your nights spent here. He had already turned off the ceiling fan, which you’d always insisted off when you slept over. You followed him with your gaze as he turned the lights off, swapping them instead for a smaller, softer light somewhere in the kitchen, remembering the way you’d always insisted he leave a light on somewhere, just for you. Your phone was already charging on a side table, your heels sitting nicely by the door, your keys on his key holder, evidence of you, everywhere, details that were distinctly for your comfort. Maybe you had missed his signals.
“I think you do love me…”
He reappeared a moment later, crouching in front of you with that look. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Go to sleep.”
“And I love you. And I called you because I wanted to tell you that.”
“You really need to sleep it off. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”
“But I do mean it,” you whined. “I swear. Ask me again tomorrow.”
“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he laughed.
“But I will. I promise,” you replied. “No bedtime kiss?”
Of course, this time you did pick up the way he looked at you.
okay i saw your post about uni eating you alive and just had to ask if that was a screen shot of a notion page for writing ideas? If so, could you please elaborate a little about it and how you plan your fics (as a fellow writer and notion nerd)
pls and ily xx
hello! omg i havent been online on tumblr ... IN A WHILE ...
YESSS it was a notion page for writing ideas. my notion page mostly consists of fandoms (besides criminal minds) that i write for (but not necessarily publish for iygwim)
i separate my writing into orig work, fandom OCs, and x reader works. i create tags for these so it's easy for me to filter + another tag for the OC/reader's main love interest
the way i plan my fics usually happens in two ways. first is that i write down dialogues/paragraphs that HIT ME and that i wanna use in the future. second is i layout how the post itself is gonna look before i write the actual imagine/scenario/blurb. KINDA LIKE THIS:
++ my current pages ! and how i layout a main navi page per fandom (i was inspired by how ao3 tagging works)
idk if this is in any way informative/helpful/or if i answered ur ask properly dhjfgkjfdhgh im kinda scatterbrained rn !! lol but hiii ily tysm for sending ur ask <333
in which Spencer finds himself distracted by you during an otherwise routine outing to O'Keefe's
margotober masterlist
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: smut (18+ mdni)
content warnings: fingering, public-ish intimacy, they're in a locked bathroom, in a bar but doesn't mention alcohol, praise kink, softdom!spencer, oral fixation, teasing, lowkey pwp
word count: 1.7k
a/n: short and simple and just what the doctor ordered. i'm prescribing a spencer reid fingering fic.
The small circles that Spencer’s thumb rubs on your thigh are making your head go fuzzy. It’s the same sensation that you think you’d have if your head was being filled with helium, your head feels light and airy. His hand is splayed out on your thigh while your body is tucked in the corner of the booth, a wall on your other side, there’s no one to see your torture.
Chewing on the inside of your lip, your boyfriend watches Morgan as he tells the story of how exactly he managed to strike out at the bar. Spencer isn’t even looking at you as his hand moves, periodically squeezing your thigh.
You shift in the booth, lifting your thighs from the leather seat, ignoring the way your bare skin sticks as you try to pull the skirt of your dress down. “Are you okay?” Emily asks from across to booth, raising a defined brow at you curiously, “You look flushed.”
“Oh,” you respond, your face warming even more, “Do I?” You hum, giving Spencer a pointed look before answering Emily’s question, “I’m fine. It’s warm in here.”
Emily frowns in response, but JJ nods in agreement next to her, so she seemingly drops the line of questioning. The silence enables Spencer to lift your dress and place his palm back on your inner thigh, the warmth of his skin searing your own. This time, he spares a look down at you, and you nod softly in response.
If you wanted him to stop, all you had to do was let him know.
Spencer doesn’t move his hand any further up than your mid-thigh, the fabric of your dress half covering his hand as he continues to tease.
It’s not until you have to cover up a whimper with a cough that you try to excuse yourself to the bathroom, having Spencer get out of the booth seat so that you can walk to the back of the bar, turning the corner into the restroom.
You’re not sure what your plan is now, shaking out your hands with nervous energy as you pace around the dark blue-tiled bathroom. You yelp when the door swings open, covering your chest with your hand as if it could slow the pounding of your heart as Spencer sneaks into the bathroom.
He locks the door behind him before cupping your chin with his hands and bringing your lips to his, the kisses are almost heart-wrenchingly soft until they ease into the world of desperation.
It appears as though a week and a half away from you was more than Spencer could handle, the way he gently pushes you toward the wall makes it that much more obvious as you sling your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back. Interrupted only by you shrieking when one of you sets off the automatic hand dryer.
Your surprise morphs into laughter when you realize what the noise is, giggling up at Spencer, you ruffle his hair affectionately, “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, dropping another kiss to your lips.
Letting your hands drop to your sides, you hum into the kiss, “What did the team think about you following me into the bathroom?”
Spencer shrugs in response, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, “Emily’s convinced you were going in here to throw up, she’s the one who insisted I go.”
You gasp slightly when his hand moves up to your breast, “Do I look like I’m going to throw up?”
“You look beautiful,” Spencer says, skimming his palms down the soft cotton of your sundress, lifting the fabric, and letting it flutter back down to your thigh. “I missed you,” he murmurs, resting his hand on the crook of your shoulder and kissing you, soft, open-mouthed kisses that function solely to leave you wanting more as his other hand ghosts over your body.
You sigh contently against his mouth, a gentle moan escaping your lips when he slips his tongue into your mouth, swiping it along your lower lip. “I missed you,” you repeat in kind, “Ten days is too long.”
It was a non-complaint, really, something you’d bemoan over while his mouth was pressed against yours, but nothing you’d ever hold against him. Besides, time apart just made the reunion that much better.
“Spence,” you whisper, knowing he’s waiting for you, waiting for you to cue him into what you want. “Will you touch me?”
He smiles against your lips, nodding softly as his hand lifts the skirt of your dress, his fingers tentatively hovering over your panties. “What made you so needy?”
You roll your eyes, peering up at him through your mascara-covered eyelashes, “Asshole,” you breathe, your chest deflating when he cups your cloth-covered core.
“Ah,” he says, “Strong words from someone who wants something from me,” he says, his eyes flashing deviously at you, gold shimmering under the warm light of the bar bathroom.
He increases the pressure of his hand and you moan in response, but you try to cover it up with speaking up, “I have fingers of my own,” you retort.
Pulling his hand back, you try not to pout at the loss while he smirks at you, “It’s not the same and you know it.”
Unfortunately, he was right, but you could use that to your advantage, raising your eyebrows, you hum curiously, “Why don’t you show me then?”
If there was one thing Spencer could never turn down, it’s a challenge, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties and swipes a finger through your folds, his other hand coming up to push your shoulder to the wall so that your legs don’t have a chance to give out from under you. “I can tell you missed me,” he whispers gently, his tone almost a coo in your ear as you nod helplessly. “All this from just one touch of the thigh,” he continues, spreading your slick over your cunt with his fingers.
A soft whimper escapes your lips when Spencer’s index finger firmly presses to your clit, the gentle pressure bringing that airy feeling back to your head. One touch might’ve been an understatement, but you’re in no position to correct him. “Spence,” you sigh his name.
“I love it when you say my name like that,” he says, rewarding your speech by slipping a finger gently into your throbbing pussy. The digit slowly swirls around your wet hole before withdrawing and moving back in with a second finger.
The stretch of your cunt makes your breath hitch, your head dropping to Spencer’s shoulder so you can use the fabric of his dress shirt to muffle your moans. The tile in the bathroom only bounces the strained noises from you and the wet squelching caused by Spencer’s fingers fucking into you.
As his middle and ring finger continue thrusting, Spencer cranes his neck so that he can press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. He nudges your head up so that he can use his spare hand to pull down the front of your dress, flipping over the cups of your bra so that he can massage your breast.
Your head spins while you feel him everywhere, “Oh, shit,” you gasp when he pushes his thumb against your clit, the bundle of nerves nearly buzzing with a pressure that you desperately needed to release.
Spencer hums, “My pretty girl,” the vibrations of his lips against your skin made your walls clench around his fingers. He was gently sucking at your chest, leaving little hickeys across the otherwise unmarred skin.
His thumb swipes over your clit, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his hand.
“So good,” he praises you softly, “Letting me play with you in the bathroom, baby. You’re so fucking pretty when you need me,” he says, unrelenting in his ministrations.
A low whine comes from your throat, and you nod, “Ah, Spence,” you whimper, tilting your head back as you gasp for air, the dizzy feeling in your head coming crashing down as you cum. His free hand covers your mouth, muffling your moans so that you don’t alert any passersby to what is happening in the bathroom.
Your legs shake beneath you as Spencer holds you up, his hand slowly withdrawing from your panties, and you respond exactly how he wants you to when he holds his fingers in front of your mouth, enveloping his third and fourth finger within your lips and gently sucking your own slick from his digits. He gingerly presses a kiss to your forehead before taking his hand back.
He crouches down to the floor, gently tugging at your underwear and sliding them down your legs, you step out of them, your face hot as you watch him fold the damp fabric and slip them in his back pocket.
Softly, he cups both of your cheeks with his hands, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the high points, “Are you alright?”
Taking your lip between your teeth, you nod a little dazedly, “I’m not feeling well,” you murmur, a sly smile growing on your face, “I think it’s time for us to head home.”
He washes his hands, muttering something about the efficiency of hand dryers before he opens the door to the bathroom, gesturing for you to walk out in front of him. His hand on your back guides you to the table.
“Hey,” JJ frowns, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little green,” she observes, watching Spencer as he gathers your things.
Shaking your head, you shrug, “Might’ve been something I ate, we’re gonna call it a night,” you explain to the rest of the group, not even evoking a suspicious look from them.
Emily nods in what she probably thinks is absolute understanding, “Let us know how you’re feeling in the morning. Garcia was talking about going to a farmers market.”
You glance over at Spencer, wondering if he already has plans for you tonight, but you nod anyway. Waving goodbye to everyone before your boyfriend nearly drags you out of the bar, ready to get home.
after joining the bau eight months ago, you and spencer quickly became close. too close, to be just friends, that is.
word count: 2k
warnings: comfort and fluff, no use of y/n, mutual pining, (un)reciprocated feelings, spencer's love-blind, he only likes your touch, vague hints at spencer's autism, playful flirting
Spencer Reid was all you'd ever wanted. He was a sweet, smart, charming, a gentleman. He understood your thoughts and feelings. He made time for you, and actually, the two of you spent a great deal of time together on a daily basis. It was rare you'd go more than two days without seeing the resident genius.
You were even the rare exception to his physical touch boundaries-- he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Holding your hand or interlocking your pinkies was a common form of touch you shared. Hugs, cuddling, and sharing beds wasn't uncommon, either. Usually on cases, you roomed together, even if you had separate rooms. You were Spencer Reid's solace, even more so-- simply his person.
The only issue? He was just your best friend.
For as close as the two of you were, no, you weren't dating. No, you had no clue how he felt about you. Sometimes it felt like he reciprocated your feelings, but then he'd go and call you something like his best friend. So, maybe he didn't reciprocate the feelings. But that was fine, you were still in his life and he was in yours. That was all that mattered, right?
You barreled into Spencer's hotel room the moment he opened the door from your rapid knocks.
Spencer watched as you flopped face-first on his bed with a chuckle, "Hello to you, too." He walked over to where you laid, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Can you guys please profile this douche any quicker?" You groaned into his pillow, the whine of your voice making Spencer smile. "I'm seriously done with the press on this one. I cannot take another call from stupid Heather Young."
"Who's Heather Young?" Spencer asked as you flipped yourself over quickly, sitting up to face him.
Begrudgingly, you pointed to the small TV that sat in front of his bed. "She's some nosey, obsessive, and pestering news reporter who wants the full coverage story on this case." You sighed. Heather Young truly was testing every limit you had. Her phone calls boarded on stalker, at least one an hour, if not more. You'd tried to block her number, but she found another phone to use. "She won't leave me alone. I swear, Spence, every hour this woman calls!"
Spencer knew all too well the struggles of being a liaison, and this was one of them. Dealing with obnoxious reporters and pestering questions would frustrate him to no end. That's why he admired you so much, for your tolerance and patience.
Your phone rang, and you groaned, turning back over and letting yourself fall face-first back into Spencer’s pillow. He chuckled, grabbing your phone and shutting it off so you wouldn’t receive any more calls for the night. “See? Problem solved,”
“Until six a.m when she calls me trying to get an inside scoop,” your muffled voice whined.
“You’re so grumpy,” Spencer chuckled, leaning on his arm beside you. “Come on, don’t let some stupid news reporter get you like this.”
Maybe if you'd looked closer, harder, you would've noticed the adoration in the genius's eyes. However, you just rolled your eyes and scoffed at his words. "M not grumpy,"
Spencer chuckled, poking your side teasingly. "You definitely are," He chuckled at the way you squeaked, shooting upward at the ticklish sensation.
"Spence!"
"If I were to look up the definition for grumpy, your name would be its definition." Spencer continued to softly poke at your ribs and sides, causing giggles to spew from your lips like an endless waterfall. It was music to Spencer's ears.
"Spencer!" You tried to whine, but it came out as laughter instead.
After a minute or so of his relentless attack, Spencer eased. "See? Not so grumpy anymore. I just know the grumpy cure."
"Tickling me is not a cure," You argued, crossing your arms as you sat criss-crossed in front of him. When Spencer went to reach forward, you sucked in a breath, "Okay, okay! Consider me cured!"
Spencer just chuckled at your words. "Admit it, you were grumpy. I could tell based on the way you threw yourself onto my bed." Spencer joked. He wasn't wrong. His hand, instead of poking, found its way to your side, but it gently caressed you in a sweet motion.
With another roll of your eyes, you smiled, letting Spencer know wordlessly he was right. His touch was soft and comforting. Spencer's touch, no matter how it's given, was the cure.
The moment was broken when your phone buzzed, a text from JJ lighting up your screen. For a moment, ignoring it was a highly considerable option, until you realized you were still on a case, and it could be important.
"Who's that?" Spencer asked, looking over your shoulder as you grabbed your phone from his bedside table.
"JJ," You simply stated.
Where are you? The text read.
With Spence, need anything?
Why can't you ever stay in your own rooms, SMH!! Wanted to see if you're ready to give the profile tomorrow?
You chuckled at her text, As ready as I'll ever be
KK, I won't bother you two lovebirds anymore! Enjoy Spencer time!!!
Spencer grinned at the texts. "You don't think she's going to read into that, do you?"
"She already does," You shrugged, setting your phone back down. "The whole team always asks, 'When are you and Spencer getting together?,' 'When are you finally gonna date?,' blah, blah, blah."
With an eyebrow now raised, Spencer felt himself become surprised at your response. While he speculated there was some sort of, well, suspicion about the two of you, he was never on the receiving end of any of it. Apparently, that's because you were. "How many people have asked about us? Just the team?"
"Just them," You paused, considering his question. "Wait, you don't know about this?"
Spencer became more confused at your tone, "No, I don't."
"They think we're madly in love or something," you chuckled, trying to hide your true feelings, "talking about our future little genius-liaison babies."
The genius's mind became scattered, flooded with images of the two of you that his mind created in a moments notice. Children, marriage, love. It felt so surreal picturing you, yet so right. "Did you ever deny it?"
"For the first few months," You confirmed with a solid nod. "I just don't really entertain it anymore. I don't see them stopping anytime soon."
Spencer nodded, clearing his throat. "You haven't let them think it's true though, right?"
"Why?" You asked, his words confusing you. "Is there some sort of problem being with me?"
You felt defensive at his words. Maybe this was his way of telling you the feelings aren't reciprocated. Maybe, all along, you were playing the fool. This stupid, silly little mistake of a crush was mere moments from destroying your closest friendship. You wished you could swallow this whole conversation down like bad medicine and pretend it never happened.
Spencer paused for a moment, your question making his heart drop. "Why would you ask me that?" He softly asked.
"Just--" You sighed, turning over to lay on your side that faced away from him. As much as this sucked, you couldn't see yourself leaving him, either. "forget about it, Spence."
You were upset now, that much was apparent. Spencer couldn't tell if it was about the team, or his response. He wasn't good at talking to girls, let alone about romance. Spencer softly laid on his side, wrapping his arm around your middle and trying to gently pull you into him.
"Spence, it's really fine, just--" You knew this play. You knew he was going to give you the softest affection to try and get you to open up.
"It's not fine, you're upset." Spencer observed, a gentle firmness behind his voice. He hated it when you closed in on yourself.
Adamant about not moving, Spencer realized his efforts were useless; you weren't going to budge. So, he scooted closer until front was pressed against your back, practically spooning you. When your body went rigid against his, Spencer felt disappointment seep into his heart. You always melted into him. Ever so softly, Spencer let his free hand come up and begin to massage your scalp, slowly playing with your hair ever so often.
Like memory, your body began to relax into his, just the way he wanted it to. Of course, it was against your better judgement, but soft moments with Spencer Reid was what you lived for.
Spencer smiled against your shoulder, his efforts weren't so fruitless after all. "You're so stubborn," Spencer mumbled into your shoulder.
"M not stubborn," you muttered in reply, heat rising to your cheeks at his words.
"Yes, you are." Spencer said, giving you a small squeeze. It made you giggle in reply, making Spencer's heart thump loudly in his chest. Could you hear it, too? "You never answered me before,"
You hummed, "Hmm?"
Spencer said your name slowly, a growl of a warning. He needed to fix whatever happened. There was no way he was going to let you stay upset at him.
"I asked you that because.." you hesitated. "I don't know. would there be a problem being with me?"
At your soft words, Spencer realized what had happened. He'd been a fool and insulted you. How could he ever do such a thing? "Of course there wouldn't be a problem being with you," he breathed softly into your ear.
"Then.." you paused, "then why aren't we, I don't know, together?" You rolled over to face him. "I mean, we do this," Your hands waved in the air, motioning to your current position with the genius. "We're always together. We even sleep over! Even the team asks me why we aren't together and--"
Spencer felt shock flood his system at your confession. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was he reading this right?
"Just, why? Is it me?"
Taking a deep breath, Spencer choked down his fears. "I've been.. scared."
"Scared?" Your desperation morphed into one of curiosity and confusion at his words.
"Scared," Spencer confirmed softly. "I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if you even wanted this.. us,"
Humor slowly filled the situation. Maybe you'd both been fools, but not in the way you'd originally thought. "Do you really think I cuddle with all my best friends?"
Spencer raised a brow at your words. Yeah, he felt unbelievably stupid. How could he not have seen it before? "No, I suppose not." He meekly replied, a small smile growing on his lips. "Does that mean you-you really want to be my girlfriend?"
A chuckle escaped your lips, "Spencer Reid, you ought to know better than to assume. Don't you know what that makes you?"
He smiled in return, rephrasing his question. "You want to be my girlfriend."
"I do," you smiled.
"I want to be your boyfriend," Spencer replied with a now wide grin on his face.
You felt your heart skip a beat, "I want that, too."
"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Spencer asked, the question feeling like one of a middle-school boy. Nothing else felt right to say, though. Nothing felt as sweet and innocent as this moment did.
A finger patted your chin as you faked deep thought. "I don't know, it's a lot to consider."
Spencer let out a small laugh, propping himself up. He moved over top of you, his weight now on his forearms as you stared up at him. "Oh, really now?"
"Yeah, being tied down is a lot, you know?"
He leaned down closer to you, so close you could feel the tip of his nose grazing your own. "Tied down," he chuckled with amusement.
"That begs your question; should I be your girlfriend?"
"I say yes," Spencer said, his lips mere centimeters from your own.
Staring down at his lips, you whisper, "I say yes, too."
Like a moment of explosion, your lips meshed perfectly with Spencer's. It felt like everything you'd dreamt of thus far. Poor Spencer, he was in absolute bliss. He felt like he'd been waiting this day his whole life and another. It was magic, heaven, and unbridled passion.
"Stay here tonight?" Spencer whispered as he pulled back, lips tingling with the feeling of you.
"Always," you smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.
“She just needs to get used to it,” Spencer insists, adjusting his glasses and smiling as he tweaks a decorative flower on the table. “Besides, it’s impossible for her to hate pumpkins. She’s a Reid.”
You stare at your daughter, who’s currently sitting inside the pumpkin Spencer had spent all morning carving. She’s picking at the rim, her little fingers clenching at the sticky pulp. Her face is a mix of confusion and disgust. Three other pumpkins sit on the counter, proof of Spencer’s pursuit of the perfect jack-o’-lantern.
He’d been on a Pinterest kick lately. After being introduced to the website just in time for his favorite season, he was going a little overboard with the ideas this year. Which is how your daughter ended up in a pumpkin on a chilly Sunday afternoon.
“Spence,” you say softly, “are you sure this is—"
Before you can finish, Spencer kneels down, wiping a stray seed from her cheek. “Pumpkins are fun. See?” He wipes some pumpkin onto her nose. She scrunches, wiping her nose but ending up with more on her face. “See! You’re having fun already!”
Your daughter narrows her eyes at him, her tiny hand reaching out to offer him another piece of the pumpkin. Spencer chuckles, shaking his head. “You definitely got that look from your mother.”
You bite back a laugh. “Just take the picture, Spence. She’s going to freeze.”
“Not until I get my girl to smile,” he says, determined. He makes funny faces, tries tickling her neck, but she’s completely unimpressed. In fact, she seems to turn to you for help, wiggling uncomfortably in her sticky seat. Spencer is still trying to coax a grin, but she’s clearly done.
With a sigh, you step forward and scoop her out of the pumpkin, feeling the cool remnants of pumpkin slime clinging to her onesie. “I don’t think she’s warming up to it, babe.”
Spencer finally snaps a photo, but instead of the smile he wanted, it’s her perfect little pout on display. Her wide, pleading eyes make your heart melt—she looks just like him.
“She really does,” Spencer mumbles, as if reading your thoughts.
Your daughter lets out a small shriek, stretching her arms toward you, and you wrap a blanket around her. “What did your daddy do to you?” you coo, gently picking dried pumpkin from her hair.
“Come here, pumpkin,” Spencer says softly, taking her from your arms and holding her close. She sniffles, her tiny fingers clutching his shirt, her lip still trembling. Spencer rocks her gently, her little body relaxing against him.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll get a smile one day, but for now, this is just as cute.”
You lean in, wrapping an arm around Spencer, the three of you huddled together in the kitchen. “She’s got your pout down perfectly,” you tease.
Spencer chuckles, glancing back at the photo. “Do you think she’ll like skeletons better? I had this other idea. If you could just hand me my phone.”
in which all roads lead to Spencer's apartment, at least they do for jareau!reader
margotober masterlist
who? spencer reid x jareau!reader
category: fluff (some comfort (god knows spencer needs it))
content warnings: reader went to a bar, but she's not drunk, creepy guy follows her around, abandoned by her 'friends', takes place following 6x12 "corazon", spencer and reader's first tea date, spencer's migraine arc, jj is in the middle east, this fic definitely wasn't inspired by a 3 doors down song, ffofa!spencer, reader feels out of place in the BAU, sexual innuendo
word count: 2.97k
a/n: MY GIRL IS HOME i have been wanting to go back to jareau!reader since ffofa ended. i genuinely have their whole lives planned out.
Screwed. You were so totally completely screwed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” The guy behind you asked once again, but he’d had more to drink than you. You wouldn’t trust yourself behind the wheel of a motor vehicle right now, much less a man who had leeched himself to you in a dive bar.
You laughed nervously, crossing your arms in front of your stomach protectively as you checked for passing cars before walking across the street. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you called over your shoulder, dreading the image of him following you around.
Slowly, you began recognizing your surroundings, the street name that you were turning onto ringing a bell—but which one? Somewhere you had seen the name, but as you glanced around, nothing triggered a memory. “I don’t want you to get left walking all around at night, could get dangerous,” he offered, slurring his speech.
It was the green canopy that finally jogged your memory, you picked up your pace as you recognized Spencer’s apartment complex. “I’m really fine,” you insisted, cursing your friends for the nth time for leaving you in the bar.
You faltered at the door, the blood draining from your face as you realized you’d need Spencer to buzz you in before you could finally lose the creep on your tail. “You’re supposed to push the button,” the guy—whose name you could not recall for the life of you—instructed you.
Smiling anxiously, you reached forward and pressed the button next to Spencer’s name, tapping your heeled boot on the sidewalk as you hoped he’d come let you in. For all you knew, he wasn’t even home.
“If your guy isn’t here, we could always head back to my place,” the drunk guy offered, looking around aimlessly, “it’s over… where are we?”
With wide eyes, you pushed the button two more times for prosperity’s sake, hoping that the world would take pity on you and get you away from him. “Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled, pushing the button again before resigning yourself to an evening with this guy. Turning around, you gave him your best attempt at a smile, “Look, I’m really sorry, but somewhere we got our wires—“
He nodded behind you, “Hey, is that your guy?”
You could’ve cried. Honestly, your eyes might’ve welled up at the sight of Spencer Reid, it looked like he had dragged himself out of bed to come get you. “Yeah,” you breathed, “That’s him.”
Spencer peered out the window, the frustrated look on his face softening when he saw you in the dim lamplight. He opened the door and stood, “Y/N, hey,” he greeted, brown eyes flickering from you to your unexpected guest.
“Hey, man,” the guy said from behind you, “I’m just droppin’ your girl home. I wanted to make sure she got home safe, there are a lot of weirdos out there.”
Spencer’s eyebrows raised in acute irritation, “Sure are,” he responded dryly. He took one look at your widened eyes and reached into his pajama pockets, holding his keys out for you to take, whispering his unit number to you as you swiped them.
“Thank you,” you breathed, squeezing through the doorway behind him and making your way up to apartment twenty-three. You unlocked the front door, faltering when you made your way inside.
You’d never seen Spencer’s apartment before, the entire space perfectly curated so that every nook and cranny was just so… Spencer. His bookshelves were crammed full of old texts, books that collectors would go to the mat for were piled up on the hardwood floor, waiting to be placed on a shelf.
The walls were painted a dark shade of green, and you wondered if Spencer had chosen the color himself or if the apartment had always been this color. You walked inside, placing your dead phone and Spencer’s keys on the coffee table before taking a seat on the supple leather. Tonight had been a nightmare, a story torn right out of the book about your college years.
You stood up as the doorknob turned, and Spencer walked inside, kicking his shoes off before locking the door behind him. “Spence, I am so sorry,” you insisted, walking around the couch and approaching him, “My phone died, and I didn’t know where else to go. I was going to take the metro, but then I remembered that you live near Van Ness, and I thought having somewhere to go would be better than potentially bringing that guy back to my place.”
“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over quickly, checking the state you were in.
Nodding, you nervously ran a hand through your hair, “Yeah, that’s just… not how I wanted to spend my night.” Finally able to get a good look at him, you inspected his flannel pajama pants, a blue Madras pattern conflicting with the orange emblem of his CalTech shirt. You had never seen him so at ease, “I’m sorry for waking you.”
He shook his head dismissively, “You didn’t, I was still awake.”
You hummed, “Reading?”
Spencer faltered, “Oh, yeah,” his voice softened, looking over at the bookshelves as if he was missing something.
Part of you wanted to mention the odd behavior, but the two of you only ever interacted within the confines of the BAU. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to say that to him. “Do you have a phone charger that I can use? Once I get enough charge, I can just take the metro back to my place.”
Frowning, Spencer looked at you as if you had grown horns, “I’m not letting you take the metro, it’s the middle of the night.”
Glancing over your shoulder, you checked the time displayed on his microwave, if you plugged your phone in now, you’d be able to make it before the metro shut down for the night. “I only need to get on one line to get back to my place,” you informed him.
“That’s irrelevant, it’s past eleven and you’ve already been followed around by one creep tonight,” he reminded you, leaning against the column in his entryway and giving you a knowing look.
Your heart pounded in your chest, “Will you drive me home then?”
Running his hands through his hair, Spencer mumbled something unintelligible before he answered, “No, I shouldn’t drive right now. Just… I’ll go find you something to sleep in,” he told you, pushing off of the wall to go into what you assumed was his bedroom.
You sat back down on Spencer’s couch, skimming your palms over the knit blanket that had been thrown over the back of it while you waited for his return. Spencer Reid was something of an enigma to you, there were times when you thought he’d be your closest friend in the unit, and there were other times when he seemingly wanted nothing to do with you.
He came back out of his room, balancing a sweatshirt in his hands and presenting it to you, “Hey, this should fit.”
Checking the tag on the sweatshirt, you nodded in response as you inspected the rest of the crewneck. An old academy emblem was embroidered on the front of it, but the year didn’t match the timeline of when Spencer did his training at the Academy. You hummed, “Whose sweatshirt was this?” You tried to act nonchalant, thumbing the loose threads on the cuff.
“I’ll check my desk for a charger,” he swerved around your question, leaving you holding the sweatshirt in the middle of his living room.
You watched him walk away, “Uh, where should I change?”
He nodded his head in the direction of his room, “My room is fine. The bathroom is connected if you need it.”
Quickly, you slipped into his room and stripped off your dress, laying it on his bed while you pulled the crewneck over your head. At the very least, the fabric smelled like Spencer instead of smelling like another girl’s perfume. The navy blue sweater skimmed the top of your thighs, falling over you comfortably.
Rolling your dress into a ball in an attempt to hide your bra, you opened the door and jumped when you were met by Spencer. “Is that good?” He asked you, looking you up and down—not for the first time that night.
“What?” You asked, peering up at him with wide eyes. Obviously, you hadn’t expected him to be waiting for you outside of his bedroom. You would’ve mentally prepared yourself to be in your underwear in front of him—you’ve had dreams that started much like this.
He smiled softly at you, “The sweatshirt,” he whispered, “Does it fit alright?”
Mystery girl’s sweatshirt fit you just fine, and you nodded a confirmation up at him, looking at your iridescent reflection in his glasses.
“I live by a lot of nightlife, and that’s gotten out once or twice. So, there’s a small box of clothes that people have left behind here. For all I know that sweatshirt was Morgan’s,” he told you, holding a charger out for you to take.
Your face warmed with embarrassment, “You don’t owe me an explanation,” you murmured before taking the charger from his hand, letting your fingers linger a bit too long in his palm.
The soft smile that remained on his face was enough to make you weak at the knees, “I know, but you asked.”
Holding the charger to your chest, your head bobbed, “The sweatshirt’s great, Spence,” you told him meekly, stepping around him to plug the charger into the wall, and setting your phone next to his on the kitchen counter.
“Do you want to call your sister?” Spencer asked, loitering in the doorway between his room and the living room and sticking his hands in the pockets of his pajamas.
Shaking your head, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “No, she’s probably busy. Still uh… adjusting to her new job.” You looked over at him, each of you staying on one side of the room. You weren’t sure what JJ’s new job entailed. She had been acting cagier than usual on most of your phone calls.
He finally kicked off his shoes, prompting you to take a seat on the couch and unstrap your heels. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”
Leaning back into the cushions, you tugged the hem of your sweatshirt down on your hips, “There’s really not much to tell.” You watched intently as he turned the corner, sitting next to you on the couch, so close that you felt the heat emanating off of his body. To your surprise, Spencer was one of those people who was built like a furnace—the lanky stature was misleading.
“Did you go out alone?” He asked, matching your level of relaxation and leaning back on the couch. Grabbing one of the pillows from the end of the couch, you set it in your lap and wrapped your hands around it.
Shaking your head, you frowned at your phone, which still hadn’t powered on, “No, I went out with a group of friends for a birthday.”
Concern pinched his brows, “Your friends left you in the bar with that guy? Why would they do that?”
You shrugged in response, skimming your fingertips over the stitching on his pillow, “They think I need to get laid.”
“Do you?” He asked, likely before he was able to process what he was saying, based on the shocked look on his face.
Smiling softly at him, you teased, “Jeez, Spence, buy me dinner first.”
Spencer’s cheeks turned pink as a result of your jest, shaking his head quickly, “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you have plenty— er… I’m sure you’re very successful in that area of your life.”
A soft giggle escaped your lips, the light feeling of laughter a stark difference from how you felt twenty minutes ago, “I’m just messing. I know what you meant.” At least, you thought you knew what he meant. You kept watching him, his body turned away from the lamp, neck slightly craned forward. “So,” you began, “If you weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t reading, what were you doing before I buzzed?”
His expression went tight, and you worried you had somehow stepped over an invisible line, “Can you keep a secret?”
Your heart jumped at the prospect of becoming Spencer’s confidante. You’ve spent your first few months in the BAU hoping someone would invite you in, but they all seemed too preoccupied with losing your sister to the State Department to even acknowledge the fact that you were floundering. Trying not to seem too eager, you nodded at him, “You can tell me anything.”
His eyebrows knit themselves together, “I’ve been getting these… headaches lately. Migraines really.”
Your expression softened, mouth going slack in surprise, “Have you been to a doctor?”
He nodded in response and leaned his head to the side, so close to you that you could feel his hair touching your shoulder, “They can’t find a physical cause.”
Your stomach flipped, eyes widening ever so slightly as you found yourself glad he wasn’t looking at you. If there wasn’t a physical cause for Spencer’s migraines, then you knew exactly what he was worried about, “I’m sorry, Spence.”
Spencer hummed in acknowledgment, not saying anything else for a moment. There was just the two of you on his couch, and you wondered if there was any way you could make this a normal occurrence. You’d give away every night out for the promise of nights like this.
Bits of the puzzle started to fall into place. The way he had acted on the case in Miami, all of the time off he had taken, and even his newfound aversion to coffee—he was drinking less caffeine. He hasn’t been sleeping, the bags under his eyes told you that much.
“I’m gonna make tea,” you announced, resting your hands on the tops of your thighs and pushing up. “What kind of tea does Spencer Reid drink on a Saturday night?”
With his head buried on a couch cushion, you hear an almost pained response, “Lavender.”
Your back was to him as you smiled, “I like a guy who drinks lavender tea,” you said, your voice too soft to carry into the living room. Turning on his electric kettle, you started going through his drawers, hoping to find a stash of tea bags somewhere.
“This really isn’t necessary,” Spencer called over from the couch. “I just… needed to share.”
You hummed as you found the tea, grabbing a lavender tea bag before lifting up a box of chamomile, checking the production date before tossing a bag on the counter. Your next challenge would be mugs. “You took me in like a stray cat in the middle of the night, making you tea while you have a migraine is the absolute least I can do.”
He didn’t respond, but you felt his eyes on you as you worked in the kitchen. Dropping the tea bags in the mugs—an air and space museum one for him and a Snoopy one for you—you picked up the kettle before it let off its high-pitched beep, pouring the hot water into the mugs.
Carefully carrying the mugs back to him on the couch, you set them on the coffee table and returned to your spot next to him, “Here we are,” you said, flattening out a napkin for the two of you to place your tea bags on.
“Thank you,” he responded timidly, reaching out for the mug. “Since I shared about myself, I think it’s only fair that you share something with me,” he told you, a ridiculously serious look on his face.
You raised your eyebrows, using your tea bag to stir the tea in your mug, “Oh, a quid pro quo?” A soft smile grew on your face when he nodded, “What do you want to know?”
He thought about it for a while, taking a sip of his tea while he considered his options. “Why does JJ call you Ducky?”
Scoffing, you roll your eyes in response, “Oh, Spence, if you wanted the answer to that question, you should’ve asked while I was drunk.”
“You were never drunk,” he responded easily. “Y/N—” he faltered, frowning before he had the chance to continue.
You incline your head toward him, “What is it? Is it your head?”
He shook his head carefully, “Would you mind if we watched something? On the TV?”
“It’s your apartment, you can do whatever you want,” you told him, your volume hovering just over a whisper.
Spencer reached forward and took the remote off of the coffee table, hitting the power button and bringing the television to life. To your surprise, the pictures that showed up were cartoons. Old reruns from when he would’ve been a kid, he must’ve noticed your surprise, because he whispered, “It gets too hard to focus on anything else.”
He must’ve changed the settings on the TV, bringing down the brightness in a way that was comfortable to his eyes. You thought of all the times Spencer had been in a bright or loud space for work in the past few months, and the sympathy made your chest ache. “Thanks for saving me,” you murmured, watching to catch him before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.
Extending his mug to you, you gently clinked your mug to his before giving your undivided attention to Inspector Gadget.
As the night went on, you remained in your place on the couch, because when Spencer fell asleep on your shoulder, you didn’t have the heart to wake him up.
Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired
(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)
HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333
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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.
His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-
It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-
“Spencer?”
He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-
“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-
He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –
“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”
An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.
After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.
And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.
For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.
“Hi.”
You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.
You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.
“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”
Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.
“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”
He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.
Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.
The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.
“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”
“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”
You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.
“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-
“Is it because you saw my nudes?”
Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.
“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“
“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.
“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”
Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?
“Therapy sessions?”
You just- ignore him.
“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“
Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.
He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“
You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.
“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.
Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.
“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-
You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.
“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”
You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.
“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.
“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.
Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.
“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.
You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.
“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”
“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.
You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“
“You.”
You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-
You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.
“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”
And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.
Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.
“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.
“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.
“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.
“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”
Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.
It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-
“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”
Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.
Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.
Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.
It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.
Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.
“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.
“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”
Youryouryouryouryour-
Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.
“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”
You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”
It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.
“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?
You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.
“Sure. Whatever.”
And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.
You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.
“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.
Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.
“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?
There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.
You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”
Oh.
Oh.
You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.
Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.
It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –
A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.
He never knew he needed this so much.
“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.
Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.
“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“
Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-
Why?
Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?
There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?
“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-
Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?
“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.
“Spencer.”
The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.
He loves it.
“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.
Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.
You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.
He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-
“You like me?”
You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.
“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.
“You- You want me?”
Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.
…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?
“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”
Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-
“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.
He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?
“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-
“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”
Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.
“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.
Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.
You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.
Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-
It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.
A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.
“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.
“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”
And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)
You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.
You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-
It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.
“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.
He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”
ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”
“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”
And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.
“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.
Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”
At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.
You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”
And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.
“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“
But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-
Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-
“Baby, please.”
Spencer sobs.
Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.
“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.
Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.
“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”
Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?
“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”
He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.
He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.
Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.
“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.
He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”
You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-
And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-
He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-
“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.
You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.
He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.
You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –
“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“
You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”
Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”
He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.
“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.
“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”
You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”
“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.
“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.
Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-
“Please.”
“Please what, angel?”
“More?”
“More what?”
Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.
“More touch?”
Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.
You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”
He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.
“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.
“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-
“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-
“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”
You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”
The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-
It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.
You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.
The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.
Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.
But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.
Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.
“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.
“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.
You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.
You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.
You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.
You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.
When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.
“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.
“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.
You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”
That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.
“Words, angel.”
“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”
You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”
He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.
There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.
You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.
Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.
When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”
“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.
It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.
Probably the first reason.
He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.
Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-
“Take it off?”
You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”
Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.
Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.
Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.
He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-
“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.
You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.
Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.
“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”
Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.
Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.
Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.
Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.
Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-
You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-
“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”
It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-
He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.
“What do you say, sweetheart?”
There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.
“Yes, I want. Please.”
You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”
Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.
“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.
“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).
There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”
Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”
You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"
Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-
“Yes. That.”
“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.
“Rossi? Rossi?”
“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”
Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.
He adores you with every fibre of his being.
“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”
And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”
You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.
Ah well. It was still worth it.
“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.
But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.
“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.
“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.
“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”
Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-
He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.
With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.
He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-
“You ready, baby?”
He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“
“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.
It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.
You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”
He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.
“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.
“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.
You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.
That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.
“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”
He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-
“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”
The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.
“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”
Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-
You give a particularly hard thrust and-
Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.
He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.
“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.
“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-
“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.
You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”
“Killing me with sex?”
“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”
He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.
“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”
Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.
“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”
He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.
Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-
“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”
He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-
“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.
“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”
Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”
You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”
Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?
“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.
You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”
“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.
There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.
--
Bonus
“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”
Spencer chokes on his coffee.
“What?”
“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”
Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.
“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”
Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.
Stop bc I’ve had a little brainworm lately. Hotch’s really young ex wife bringing the kid(s) to Aaron bc he was late for a drop off or something and Spencer absolutely falling for her ⁉️⁉️ it’s been eating me alive (love your work mwah mwah)
part two
tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. not really infidelity. p in v smut.
a/n: anon, you are crazy. i love that for us. (thank u for reading my work ilysm) i hope u like this, even if it's just short :)
requests are open!
He feels like he’s going insane. Scratch that. He’s actually insane.
He’s sequestered himself in the men’s restroom, tugging on his cock, biting the sleeves of his sweater so that he won’t make a noise, all because you smiled at him.
His boss’ wife. His boss’ young ex-wife.
Distinction is important in his line of business.
Spencer would love to blame you for putting him into this predicament, but that would be pointless.
It’s been a week since he last saw you. Since you last dropped Jack off at the BAU. Ever since your divorce with Aaron (the team didn’t even know he was married), you would show up to the office on their slower days to drop Jack off for the weekend.
Spencer doesn’t know much about you, only that you were once Jack’s nanny. You’ve been working for Aaron since Haley, Aaron’s ex-fiancee and Jack’s birth mom, decided that she wasn’t ready to be a mother yet.
Aaron once confided in him. You married Hotch when Jack was barely 3. You’ve always been ‘mom’ to the little boy. Aaron regrets marrying you so hastily.
You were around Spencer’s age. The fights leading up to your divorce started and ended with Aaron’s guilt for holding you back. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care about your marital disputes since it led to him knowing you.
“Fuck,” he whimpers. White cum making his fingers sticky. Tucking himself back into his pants, he unlocks the bathroom stall with a cough, as if to hide the depravity that just took place. He quickly washes his hands, thrice. And then he leaves the men’s room, nearly running into a body in his haste.
Strong hands steady exposed shoulders. The skin under his warm hands, soft and smooth. It was you. He had just finished touching himself to the thought of you, and here you are now. Served to him on a golden platter.
“Hi, Spencer. I was just on my way out.”
“Did you talk to Hotch?”
You look up at him with a quizzical brow. He gulps down the thoughts looking into your eyes brought to his brain.
“Not really, no. I’m just here to drop Jack off for the weekend.”
He nods, and then you start to leave. He hesitates for a while, begging for the words to leave his tongue on their own. You beat him to the punch.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you free this weekend?”
You fill his hands so perfectly. Your hips, your thighs, your breasts. Everywhere he cups and squeezes, as his hips smack thunderously against the flesh of your arse. You have your cheek pressed onto the mattress, taking everything that Spencer gave you. His cum, his sighs, his praise. The way he moans and mumbles your name like a prayer.
He’s your ex-husband’s co-worker. You swear you’ve read a cheesy erotica of this plot somewhere.
But that didn’t stop you from pulling him into your bedroom. Practiced hands undoing his dark blue tie. His longer fingers lifting the skirt of your sundress.
“You’re so good. You fuck me so good,” you can’t help but moan.
Spencer’s hand runs up and down your back, taking your hair and tightening a fist against your nape.
“You take me so well,” his following praise gets cut off by your phone ringing. Spencer slows his thrusts, hips moving until you’ve taken him to the base, and he continues his ministrations in tiny grinds of his pelvic bone against your clit. Your mind goes hazy at each tantalizing grind of his hips.
Your phone continues to ring. You blindly stretch out an arm to grab for it. Without looking at the caller ID, you answer the call. “Hello?”
Spencer watches from above you, watches you move your cheek and tilt your head so that you can make eye contact.
“Aaron?” you say with an almost whimper.
Spencer continues the grind of his hips against your wet and throbbing clit.
“Yeah, I can get Jack. Twenty minutes?”
Spencer almost hisses at the thought of the inevitable.
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
You hang up the call. Before the phone lands on your pillow, Spencer grabs you by the hips and maneuvers you to lay on your back, all while keeping his cock firmly inside you.
“We have to stop,” you say. “I think you have a new case.”
And then, his phone rings.
He puts two fingers into your mouth while he picks up the call with his other hand.
“This is Reid.”
“Reid? We have a case. A string of homicides in Atlanta.”
He hums, watching you slobber over his fingers.
“Reid?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Y/N with you?”
Spencer feels the way your pussy clenches around him.
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