Land of the Stars

I’m ell, idk I just read and repost stuff 18+, MDNI

[reidloverr]

SANS VOIR (playing dirty pt.4) ✧˚ · .

series masterlist | part 3

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

warnings & tags: MDNI, can be read as a standalone, sub!spencer tries to fight for control (switch!spencer?), jealous!reader, insecure!spencer, palming, overstimulation, edging, usage of sex toys (m & f), m & f masturbation, m anal play, unprotected p in v sex, degradation, praise

summary: Spencer could never escape your whims. and you made sure to prove that time and time again. but today, you try something new—gifting him something special that turns a game of blindfold chess into a battle of wills.

w/c: 8.2k

a/n: after going back and forth with so many bits of this, I finally finished it. #torturing spencer for life

and thanks to my beautiful @hotchnerss for being the judge of this <3

A small box wrapped in two-toned, purple stripes, bound by a black velvet ribbon that tied into a perfect, pretty bow, sat at the bottom of your bag under your desk at the bullpen. 

Your mind couldn’t help but wander and loop back to the little box that seemed to burn a hole in the worn leather by your feet. 

The secret, invisible connection that tethered you and Spencer together in public was an undeniable desire that excited you in ways you deemed primal—ways that made you question your self-control and your fragile, tricky dynamic with him. 

You’d told yourself that gifting him a butt plug was nothing but a twisted, entertaining approach to loop the little thread in your hands around him and keep a tight hold of him. 

It was only about giving you the upper hand. 

You’d fantasized about him wearing it for you whenever you pleased—a physical manifestation of the exact way you’d dug your fingers into every intricate fold of his brain. 

But now is definitely not the time to dwell on any of that. Now is for working on the local case that hit JJ’s desk this morning. 

In most cases, you and Spencer’s primary job would be constructing the geographical profile. Although you two had a notoriously volatile dynamic, Hotch believed that the two of you gave each other a push, making you the perfect pair to narrow down the search radius as efficiently as possible.

But this time, you were assigned to work with Derek, since Rossi suggested that Spencer would be the best fit to work with the local officers coming in to analyze and compare some of their recent reports that they believed could be directly tied to this case’s unsub. 

You watched as Spencer made his way to the opposite side of the bullpen so Hotch could introduce him to the police. 

One of the cops that came in was a fresh-faced detective who carried herself with a bright, earnest passion for the job. 

She seemed eager to prove that this is where she belonged—that she could be a core contributor to solving this case. 

Standing in the BAU bullpen clearly intimidated her just enough to keep her a little reserved, but whenever Spencer opened his mouth, her eyes would light up with genuine fascination. 

It was nearly impossible to keep your eyes where they belonged—glued to the big map with only three red pins marking its surface, but you knew you had to force a picture of unbothered composure and focus on your task. 

Distraction was not an option. 

After an hour and a half of buried in dry geographic data, you were surprised with how you’d completely forgotten about the two across the bullpen—until Spencer’s soft, stupidly sweet laugh travelled right into your ears, instantly dragging your attention right back to him. 

They were on a small break, because apparently being useful for ninety consecutive minutes was simply too much to ask for when a serial killer targeting innocent children was on the loose. 

You narrowed your eyes, watching as the detective slowly sipped her coffee, looking at Spencer with the same fascination she’d walked in with.

“Blindfold chess is actually much less about visualization than people assume. Most experienced players don’t even visualize the pieces,” Spencer explained, his large hands cutting through the air between them to illustrate a grid, “they rely on geometric relations between the squares. So it’s all about structural spatial navigation and organizing information efficiently.”

“Oh, wow. And can you turn your head into live gps for a chessboard, Dr. Reid?” she asked playfully, looking up at Spencer through her lashes. 

“Yes, actually,” Spencer’s lips curved into the small smile he always wore whenever he got to brag, “I have an eidetic memory, so it’s quite easy for me to keep track of all the moves and pieces.”

“Ooh, superhuman memory?” the officer let out a soft, amused giggle. 

You watched the interaction, standing next to Morgan who had a small, red pin between his fingers as he examined the map and the work you two had done, hoping he wouldn’t notice you dissecting the interaction on the opposite side of the room. 

“Oh—uh, not superhuman, scientifically speaking,” he stammered slightly, the small smile twitching as he adjusted his tie, “It’s just an atypical neurological trait. And almost anyone is capable of incredible data retention if the pathways are mapped out correctly. I just happen to have a genetic predisposition for it.”

Spencer’s explanation came off as modesty. And any stranger that noticed the tight-lipped smile he gave her, along with the quick flicker of his eyes would’ve been certain that Spencer was humble. 

“That’s still very impressive, Doc.”

But you knew Spencer—knew that he is a show off. And the nerves that crept their way into reality in the form of crimson blush faintly working its way up his neck were a natural reaction of a man wholly unaccustomed to getting attention from an attractive woman. 

What did she see in Spencer? How could she possibly be charmed by him?

To you, his smug attitude was transparent, even when he had his nicest act on. 

Maybe deep down, you were terrified because her flirting was normal, healthy, and easy to understand—a smart, pretty cop giggling at his rants and feeding his ego with interest. 

It was the kind of soft, simple attention Spencer was clearly flattered by. 

You were bitter. 

Because what you had with Spencer was nothing like this. 

Watching him smile at her sweet praise made a spike of insecurity pierce right through you. 

What if your undying desire to wrap him in invisible threads was a pathetic attempt at keeping something you couldn’t actually control?

But you could never sit with those thoughts, so you forced them aside instead, convincing yourself she was naively falling for the polished act that hid how truly irritating he could be. 

You patted Derek’s shoulder, “I’ll be right back,” you said before turning around without giving him a chance to reply. 

You walked to your desk, reached under it, and transferred the purple box from the half-zipped bag to the inside pocket of your jacket. 

You made your way to where the two stood, keeping your eyes fixed entirely on Spencer. 

The closer you got, the more you could see the tiny twitch of his fingers against the end of his tie—a telltale sign that he was already feeling the weight of your gaze and presence. 

“Reid,” you interrupted, your voice cool and perfectly professional, maybe even more composed than usual, “We need to pull the 2004 archive file from the unsolved Richmond case. Some of the unsub’s dump sites line up with that report.” 

Spencer blinked, his mouth closing shut as his eyes locked onto yours. 

The shift in his posture was immediate; the flustered boyishness vanished, replaced by quiet tension. 

“Oh—uh, s-sure.” he stammered.

You offered the officer a brief, polite, but utterly empty smile, “Excuse us.” 

Without waiting for Spencer, you turned on your heel and began walking to the quiet, isolated hallway, but Spencer was already trailing behind you like a leashed puppy. 

He quickly fell into step next to you, his long legs adjusting their shift to match your stride.

As the quiet of the corridor took over, you spoke, “Do you enjoy looking like a desperate, starved dog?” 

“W-what?” he stuttered, the corners of his top lip tugging in confusion. 

“Oh, come on,” you took a step closer, the sheer heat radiating from his body at your proximity was intoxicating, and it only made you back him into the cold wall. 

“Did it make you feel like a big man, Spencer? Having a pretty girl giggle at your big words?” 

Spencer looked down at you, the straight strands of his hair falling over his forehead as he let out a soft huff. 

“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to make small talk with a nice officer,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “are you jealous? Is this what it’s about?” his eyes scanned yours to see if he’d hit a nerve. 

Spencer couldn’t help but smirk at how your jaw clenched beneath the harsh light. 

His smirk wasn’t as impenetrable as he thought—you could see the hopeful curiosity in his eyes. 

He was practically begging for a yes, in any form it came in. 

You bit back a smile at how obvious everything about Spencer was. Every thought he had was immediately written all over his face, ready for you to read without much effort. 

“You wish,” You murmured, “I just think it’s pathetic how easily you fold for a bit of sweet-talking.” 

Spencer’s smirk faltered, his chest rising and falling a little faster as your body crowded him, planting your foot between his own. 

“It wasn’t sweet-talk.” he softly said before slightly leaning his face down to yours, “You hate that someone was nice to me. Oh my god, you’re crazy.” 

“You haven’t seen crazy yet, Dr. Reid,” you whispered, slowly pulling out the pretty, striped box, “But since you’re feeling so brave today, let’s see how well you can keep up that smart mouth of yours for the rest of the day.” you pressed the bottom of the box against his chest, right over his racing heart.

His fingers brushed against your hand and the velvet bow on the side facing you, “What is this?” he tilted the box to look at it. 

“Go open it in the bathroom and you’ll know what to do.” 

Tense silence stretched between the two of you, before Spencer let out a dry, breathy laugh through his nose, “You’re not serious.” 

You simply held his gaze.

“We have a file to look for.” he whispered, trying to sound reasonable—responsible, but his heavy breath betrayed him. 

“Then you better hurry up,” you shrugged, taking a slow step back, leaving him cold. 

Spencer let out a quiet, defeated breath as he rolled his eyes and made his way to the bathroom. 

----

When Spencer stepped out into the hallway, he didn’t look very different, his hair was slightly neater; the soft locks pushed away from his forehead, and his ears were shaded with a soft pink flush that deepened when his eyes fell on yours. 

The change in his posture was obvious, but maybe that was due to the fact that you were actively looking for the micro-changes in his body. 

His shoulders were tense, his strides were shorter, and his thighs were held slightly closer together while walking, as though he were trying to minimize the friction of every step. 

He stopped a few feet away from you, his eyes stubbornly trying to avoid yours. 

“That didn’t take long,” you murmured, tilting your head to study him, “You okay?” 

His jaw clenched, a faint pulse visible in his temple—he almost looked mad. “I’m fine. Let’s.. let’s just go find that file.” 

“Oh, I actually just found it,” you gave him a wide, fake grin—the file you were talking about had been with Emily long before you decided to approach Spencer in the first place, “I just ran into Emily and gave it to her.” 

You didn’t make an effort to sound believable, but the foreign sensation currently occupying all of his focus made him unable to untangle your motives. 

“We should probably head back,” you casually pointed over your shoulder toward the glass door leading back to the bullpen. 

Every part of Spencer’s body was telling him that he wasn’t going to make it across the room, but he knew that he had no choice but to follow you. 

As the two of you walked back to the chaos, he stared at the back of your head, wishing that he had the power to reach over and bite it off your neck. 

He told himself that the lack of fight in him today was merely a result of stress over the case, and now the metal plug inside of him. But Spencer can’t really fool himself—he knew that the weakness had nothing to do with the case or the plug and everything to do with his fragile dignity when it came to you. 

In no situation would he torment you back for your cruelty, and he hated himself for that. 

But he knew he’d have to at some point. 

----

Unfortunately, the team was chasing dead ends in circles for three hours until another victim was found in a new dump site. 

The unsub was moving at a faster pace now, and there was no time for the entire team to leave and examine the scene, so it was decided that you’d split into two groups. 

You were left at the bureau along with Reid and Rossi. 

While sitting across from Spencer on the round conference table, you ‘accidentally’ flicked your pen off the edge. 

It rolled right to Spencer’s feet and you didn’t make a move to get it as you simply looked at him, raising a brow. 

The sharp pause made Rossi’s eyes flick from you to Spencer, then back to the collection of disturbing crime scene photos splayed out in an order the entire team had memorized from staring at the gruesome details all day long. 

Spencer stared at the pen on the floor, a hint of pure panic crossing his eyes. He knew that bending down was going to change the angle of the heavy metal, shifting it directly against his most sensitive spots. 

He slightly slid off his chair, trying to hide the stiffness of his moves. He bent his knees a little, keeping his torso painfully straight to minimize the strain. 

“You’re moving like a ninety year old, kid” Rossi shook his head with a soft sigh, “Everything alright?”

A soft whimper threatened to slip past his teeth, but he bit his inner cheek so harsh it tasted like copper. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a—a cramp.” his hand awkwardly pointed to his back then a random direction. 

“You should probably do some stretches.”

“Yeah, you should do some stretches, Spencer.” you nodded in evil agreement with Rossi. 

He grabbed the pen, slowly rising before sliding the pen back to you with a hard-to-miss tremble in his hands, “I’m fine.” 

“Thanks, Reid,” you smoothly said, pretending that your attention was undivided and completely on what the three of you had been talking about. 

Rossi eventually stood up to check in with Hotch over the phone, leaving an unbearable silence hanging in the harshly lit room. 

----

An hour later, the rest of the team filed back into the bullpen, carrying fresh reports and faces that made it clear the latest crime scene hadn’t offered many answers. 

You threw yourself into cross-referencing the new victim’s timeline, only taking a few minutes off to grab yourself another cup of coffee. 

You’d completely missed that Spencer followed you to the break room under the guise of refilling his coffee cup. 

The loud clatter of his ceramic mug hitting the counter startled you, making you nearly jump as he stepped far too close next to you. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve been standing for forty five minutes straight, and Morgan keeps asking why I’m sweating so excessively.” 

You didn’t even look at Spencer as you gracefully grabbed a sugar packet and neatly tore and emptied it into your steaming coffee. “You’re fine.” 

His eyes widened as he stared at your infuriatingly indifferent face with a mixture of irritation and pure desperation, “I’m so fucking sore,” he whisper-yelled as his fingers harshly gripped your wrist, stopping you from stirring your coffee, “and my legs are cramping so bad.” 

“I think you’re handling it beautifully, Spencer.” you finally looked up at him. 

He softly shook his head, his fingers tightening around your wrist, “I’m not,” he whispered, “I’m really, really not. I—I can’t even focus.”

You yanked your hand out of his firm, tight grip with a sharp pull. 

“Just suck it up, Reid.” you glared at him, “You’re a grown man, you can handle some cramping. Have some dignity, stop whining, and get back to work.” 

He swallowed whatever protest he had left, watching you turn your back to him and walk away. 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. 

Every few minutes, you would feel Spencer’s eyes drifting back to you like a magnet, and when you’d meet his gaze, you could see the exhausted swirl of resentment and forced compliance. 

You hadn’t expected Spencer to be this obedient. You’d underestimated the extent of his need to please you. 

Spencer still couldn’t understand why his brain was leaving him entirely subordinate to your whims. 

He was caught in a trap of his own making—one you proudly took full credit for.

To your luck, this case wasn’t one of the tragic ones that were left unsolved, even though you’d started to lose all hope by the twelfth hour of working on it. 

Nothing was better than leaving the office without the guilt of leaving a depraved monster to walk free.

“Hey—uh, can you.. give me a ride home, I’d use my car, but I’m kinda—”

“Yeah, of course,” you interrupted, nodding quickly before walking to your car without looking at Spencer. 

You didn’t need to know his excuse. You just knew that you absolutely wanted him isolated with you in the comfort of your car—not that you intended to do anything to him, of course. 

Spencer was extremely quiet, and you were just waiting for him to speak. 

The silence stretched between you two even after you started driving.

Until he finally couldn’t bite the words back.

“You’re hitting every single bump on purpose,” he muttered, his knuckles creasing into sharp, pale peaks as he dug his fingertips into the strap of his satchel, almost as if he was trying to sink his nails through the leather. 

“I’m driving normally,” you said without taking your eyes off the road, “the road is uneven.” 

“It’s not uneven, you’re just—” the car bounced slightly over a lane marker, cutting Spencer’s words off with a sharp hitch, “you want to make it worse.” he accused.

“What, you want me to just drop you off here?” you turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the road,” he pointed at the windshield, surprisingly, making your eyes follow his finger,  returning to where they belonged while driving, “and no, just stop making it harder than it already is. Seriously.”

“I’m not trying to do anything!” the words bubbled past your lips along with a giggle, making you seem almost angelic. “But if you’re gonna complain the whole drive—” 

“I’m not complaining,” he insisted, his face flushed in the dim light of the streetlights, “I’m simply stating facts. I am incredibly sore and every single movement is—” 

You didn’t let him finish the thought, “Just relax, Spence,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a gentle purr as you reached across the console.

You flattened your palm on the smooth fabric covering his taut thigh, “Will a bit of blindfold chess help you relax?” 

Spencer’s eyes darted between the smirk on your face and your hand that was slowly making its way higher on his thigh, “W—what?” 

You let out a soft, mocking laugh, “Oh, come on. What was it you were bragging about today? That you can easily play an entire chess game in your head? I think that would do a great job at keeping your mind off the pain, don’t you think?” your firm fingers tightened on his stiff muscles. 

Spencer’s face flushed a deep scarlet, his body making no effort in stopping your wandering hand, “I—I was just explaining the framework of spatial memory—” he choked on his own spit,“She asked a question, and I was being informative—” 

“You were showing off, Spencer,” you teased, the friction of your palm against the rough metal of his zipper making his hips involuntarily buck up, shifting the butt plug inside him. 

“You looked so proud of yourself. Let’s see it. Let’s see how good you actually are.”  

Your fingers slid over his zipper before the heel of your hand pressed against the base of his erection. The shock of your touch, combined with the ache that spread inside him, made Spencer’s fingers claw at his tense thighs. 

His head fell back against the headrest as he weakly shook his head, “I can’t—I can’t think when you’re doing that,” he gasped, the buttons of his shirt straining as his ribs expanded to let him take in as much air as possible to stay conscious. 

“I barely even touched you, Reid.” 

He whimpered in response, the raw sound so needy and helpless—so accepting of how pathetic it was that he was, in fact, on the verge of exploding. 

“This is really fucking embarrassing.” your fingers slightly traced the outline of his bulge before giving his length a light squeeze and pressing harder against the base of his shaft.

“I don’t wanna go home.” he blurted out. 

“What?” 

“Don’t—don’t take me back to my apartment,” Spencer stammered, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut as if he couldn’t bear to look at you while admitting his shameful desperation.

Your free hand’s fingers tapped the steering wheel in thought before shaking your head, “You’re not coming to my place if you’re not gonna play with me.”

“You’re being childish.” he choked out, his long fingers reaching for the console toward your knee, desperate to be closer to you without exactly touching your skin—terrified that any direct contact might risk you withdrawing your hand and ending the moment before he could earn his way to your bed or couch. 

“I’ll play,” he rasped, “I’ll—I’ll play the game. Whatever you want. Just take me with you.”  

You pulled your hand back, the loss of contact pulling a desperate whimper from Spencer’s pretty lips paired with a soft furrow of his brows. 

He’d given into the game so you’d grant him the mercy of more friction right now and let him feel good to make up for the agonizing pain you’d put him through all day, but Spencer should know not to expect such kindness from you by now. 

“Okay, let’s play,” he took a deep breath, faking his eagerness to play as if that would convince you to bring your hand back to his lap. 

“Hmm, I wanna play when we get home,” you lightly drummed your fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, knowing that Spencer’s imagination can take the sight of your fingers and turn it into something completely filthy during desperate times like this. 

And the broken noise that scraped the back of his throat proved you right. 

“You’re sadistic.” he whispered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his seat, fighting the urge to beg. 

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” you murmured, keeping your eyes fixed on the road ahead as your apartment building came into view, “you wanted to come to my place, so you keep your mouth shut, and you play by my rules.” 

Spencer shut his eyes, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he weakly nodded to calm himself down, “Okay..” he whispered, trembling from head to toe, “okay.” 

You glanced sideways at him, taking in the flushed skin of his neck and the way his face was already glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sight, making you almost want to reach out, wipe the moisture from his temple, and tell him to breathe and that it was going to be okay—almost. 

But you stuck to the closest thing to comfort, “I’m not going to leave you like this,” you said softly, “as long as you earn it and give me a good game tonight.” 

You didn’t push him any further when he didn’t respond. You simply steered the car into the dark parking lot, pulling into a space near the building. 

“Come on,” you instructed softly, unbuckling your seatbelt and opening your door before quickly stepping out into the evening air.  

A shaky exhale answered you from the passenger side, followed by the fumble of his seatbelt as he forced himself to move. 

“Yes, okay.. I’m coming,” he croaked out, his breath hitching as he stumbled slightly on his way out of the car.

You rounded the front of the car, offering a small, mocking shake of your head at his clumsy hustle, “Black or white?” you murmured, leaning against the hood for a second until he made his way to you. 

“Can’t you wait for two seconds till we’re relaxed and sitting to play?” he gestured vaguely with a wave of his shaky hand before dropping it to his side. 

“You think we’re gonna be sitting and doing nothing?”

“Well, that’s how the game is supposed to be. We sit and play like normal human beings—what else do you wanna do?” 

“There’s nothing normal about what we’re doing,” you chuckled softly, turning to face him as you swung the door open before walking into the building.

“I know it’s not normal, that’s not my point,” he huffed, trailing behind you with his hands holding onto the worn strap of his satchel like a lifeline, “I just meant—..look, I’m taking white. What-fucking-ever.”

A low, amused giggle escaped your lips as your hand reached out, lacing your fingers through his trembling ones and tugging him gently across the threshold of your apartment after unlocking the door. 

“Show me what you’ve got,” you teased, shutting the door behind him before pressing up against his chest, tangling your hands in his hair, and pulling him down into an urgent, messy kiss. 

Spencer melted into it instantly, his mouth moving against yours in a clumsy, breathless attempt to keep up before he let out a muffled groan into your mouth. 

His hands awkwardly hovered in hesitation before his fingers dug into your waist to pull you flush against him, making him hit the wood behind him and grunt at the blunt flare of the aching sensation inside him.

His hands couldn’t last too long on one spot, almost as if he was overwhelmed by the touch alone until he found your face. He desperately held onto your face, parting his lips wider and pushing against you so your tongue would slip deeper into his wet mouth. 

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath and say a few words, “It’s your turn, Spence,” you murmured against his mouth, your hand finding the strap of his satchel, sliding it off his shoulder and onto the ground by his feet. 

His forehead rested against yours, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he tried to catch his breath, “Okay..” he nodded, shutting his eyes tighter, trying to collect whatever was left of his brainpower,“Um—E4,” he stuttered before diving back down to catch your bottom lip between his own, sucking on it with needy hunger that made your entire body heat up. 

You let out a soft gasp as he tugged on your lips, your fingers tightening in his hair, “E5,” you breathed out. 

His mouth slid down to your chin, his lips dragging warmly over your skin, “Knight to F3,” he muttered.

You bit your bottom lip, stifling a quiet grunt as he pressed closer against you, “Knight to C6,” you whispered against his jaw, pressing a soft kiss right below his ear. 

Your feet stumbled backward, your heels catching on the carpet as you pulled him further into your apartment. Spencer groaned at your clumsiness—the sudden, uneven sway making his stiff hips move far too much for his liking, sending a sharp pulse of heat through his frame as he swallowed down a whine, “Oh my god, you’re killing me—” his fingers dug into your hips, the nails almost tearing through your fitted slacks and plump flesh, “—stop moving like that!” he rasped, his surprisingly strong hands managing to bring you to a halt by locking around your waist and pinning your hips against his own. 

“It’s your turn,” 

And now you were kissing him like a starved woman, reaching up to pull him back into the kiss, hungrily chasing his mouth every time he tried to breathe. 

“Bishop to C4,” he said quickly so his lips could meet yours again. 

He took slow, measured steps forward, his hands steadying you as he guided you both comfortably into your room. 

“Hmm,” 

“Don’t stall,” he warned against your mouth. 

“I’m not stalling!” you protested, tilting your head back, silently urging him to shift his attention to your neck and leave you to soak in the tingling burn of your lips, “Knight to F6.” 

He dragged his tongue down your jaw, trailing wet kisses along your neck before sucking on your pulse point to make your knees go weak. 

Spencer knew all your sensitive spots by heart, and he now had the instinct to seek them out without you saying a word. 

He wanted to show you what he can do—to prove that after months of hooking up, you’d remade him from the inside out and he was finally performing to your standards.

In Spencer’s head, your cruelty had seeped down to his marrow, making his one and only goal to earn your approval. 

But in reality, there weren’t standards for him to crawl his way up to anyways. 

He was already perfect—devoted, and completely under your spell, exactly the way you liked him. 

You felt the edge of your plush mattress hitting the backs of your knees, and you didn’t fight Spencer’s weight off, or flip your positions.

The two of you were growing weaker by the second, and dropping onto the bed would give your weary bodies one less thing to keep up with. 

Spencer grunted, clenching his thighs tightly, the plug pressing against his now hypersensitive walls as he fell between your legs, “Pawn to H4,” 

You slightly furrowed your brows, stupidly expecting him to follow the classic techniques as if it were a script crafted for you to win and eat him alive, “Pawn to H5,” 

Your pawns faced one another, much like your bodies. 

“King to E2,” he whimpered into your mouth. 

How bizarre.

Your fingers tugged on the soft locks at the nape of his neck, pulling his head back, giving your mouth a better angle to devour his. “Knight to E4, you dumb fuck,” 

“Um— Queen to E1,” he hesitated before taking in a deep breath and nodding, “yeah.. E1,” 

“Pawn to D5,” 

You propped your legs up on either side of his body, gasping as he rolled his hips up, driving his covered erection against your core. 

“Bishop to D3,” 

“Bishop to G4,” you whispered against his lips, a small smirk creeping its way onto your face, “Check.”

He let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against the crook of your neck as he bucked his hips up hard against your heat, “King to— fuck— king to D1,” 

A small whimper left your lips as you arched your back, “Spencer..” 

Instead of getting you back on track, he hummed against your neck, his voice vibrating throughout your body, partially forgetting all about the game just at the pretty sound that left you. 

“Pawn to F5,” you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rhythm he was setting right where you were the hungriest.  

“Pawn to C— c3,” Spencer breathed out, his hands abandoning your waist to blindly fumble at the buckle of his belt. 

The metal clinked uselessly between his shaking fingers as his other hand worked to unzip his work pants. 

You’d usually tease Spencer and slow him down when he got too impatient, but the sound sent a sudden, hot pulse straight to the pit of your stomach, your inner walls clenching around nothing—aching and too needy to protest. 

“Queen to F6,” you whispered.  

“Pawn to D4— I mean, B4,” 

“You can’t take that back,” 

“What do you mean I can’t take it back, I just said it by accident!” 

“Well, it’s an illegal move—” 

“—because I can’t fucking keep up when I’m all..” he vaguely gestured to where your hips met.

“So you quit?” 

“No, I can do this, I’m just very distracted. I can’t help it.” 

“Then get off of me.” 

“What?”

“If you can’t play and make me feel good, you’re useless.” 

“Please, I promise I’ll—” he begged, his face going up to cup your flushed cheeks. 

“—And you don’t wanna quit the game, so get off.” 

Spencer paused, his thumbs brushing your soft cheekbones as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes he was certain would make you melt and bend your own rules, but you didn’t budge.  

“Bishop to D6,” you simply said, shooting your brows up as a warning for him to move like he was told. 

He let out a disappointed sigh and slowly pulled himself up and off of you,“King to C2,” 

You immediately missed the warmth of his body on top of yours, the cool air rushing to replace his oddly comforting heaviness. 

Surely, you didn’t like Spencer like that, and the emptiness that washed over you for ‘ruining the moment’ had nothing to do with him—it was the absence of a heart beating against yours; ribs that were just as shaky as yours, if not shakier, that made you feel steady and stable in comparison; hot breath that fanned over your face to remind you of just how close someone could be. 

“Castle,” you quietly said, sitting up, avoiding his gaze as you reached to your bedside table drawer, pulling out your sleek, vibrant purple vibrator. 

Spencer’s jaw dropped, his throat bobbing as his eyes went wide and glassy, a humiliating sting blurring his vision. 

Only moments ago he was breathing your air, feeling your body, thinking that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. But you hit him with reality. 

Was it never about him? 

That’s all he could think about as he watched a piece of machinery do the job he wanted to do, leaving him completely replaced and sidelined. 

He also couldn’t brush off how close the vibrator was to your reach in that drawer—how you grabbed it as if it were second nature. 

He knew pleasuring yourself wasn’t wrong at all, but seeing how quickly you stripped down to nothing and turned it on so urgently made him sick to his stomach. 

Were you ever disappointed by your hookups? 

Had his frantic, desperate attempts to satisfy you been so underwhelming that you never told him, choosing to retreat to your trusty vibrator because he simply wasn’t enough?  

You dragged the toy along your soaking folds, amplifying the vibration as you pressed it harder against your pulsing hole without pushing it in just yet. 

You rested your head against the headboard, spreading your legs to give Spencer a clear view of your pussy and inviting thighs that he didn’t have the right to touch. 

“Pawn to B5,” he barely managed to whisper. 

You relaxed your eyelids, moaning with a calm sigh before making your move that was long overdue, “Knight to D7,” 

Your free hand slid up your torso, the feather-light touch teasing him more than it did you, finally reaching one of your breasts, gently cupping it. 

Spencer was losing track. How’d you expect him to keep up with that stupid game when you so cruelly showed him no sign of mercy or pity?

“Pawn to A4..” he sounded completely lost and gutted. 

“You can strip and touch yourself,” you let out a soft, breathy hum, “I don’t wanna be too mean.” 

“You already are,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his shiny orbs burnt holes straight into your calm-looking closed eyelids. 

He stood up, his trembling legs barely holding him up. 

At this point, he didn’t even want to be touched. He wished you would reassure him and remind him that he was enough. 

This is why he hated you in the first place. 

He moved agonizingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt as he admired how beautiful you looked when you were this undone, kneading your plump breasts, fingers pinching your hypersensitive, hard nipples. 

You let him take his time in shedding his clothes and placing them on the edge of the bed neatly. 

You swirled the tip of the toy against your entrance before pushing it back in and bucking your hips to add more pressure against your inner walls. 

“Oh my god..” your whimpers were so angelic it almost made him come right on the spot, “Pawn to G5,” you moaned, making the coordinates sound like the sexiest dirty talk ever. 

“Pawn to A5,” he shifted his gaze to his rock-hard dick, choosing to focus on his own pleasure for once, because you clearly preferred it when he wasn’t the one working your body. 

“How are you already so hard?” you bit your lower lip, smirking and shamelessly staring at his throbbing, veiny cock, pulling the toy out just to shove back in with more force, the sight of his weeping erection driving you mad. 

“I—I don’t know,” he whined as he wrapped his slender fingers around his length, immediately giving himself the tight grip he believed he finally deserved. 

He did know—they both did, but he didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to put any proper words together. 

He stroked himself faster, his asshole clenching and unclenching around the buttplug inside of him, making him shake like a leaf at the foot of the bed. 

You let out a loud, helpless moan at the low, quiet grunts that escaped his pretty, swollen lips, your hips rolling against the vibrating silicone. 

You don’t know how you two did it, but somehow, the game went on. 

There were probably many mistakes that slipped your mind with how overwhelmed you were. 

It was becoming too much—even for you. 

“Fuck.. um— Pawn? Yeah, pawn to F3,” you stuttered, your focus utterly wrecked. 

There was no point in playing anymore. 

“Queen to C7,” his lips twitched into a proud smile. 

“Oh, fuck you,” 

“I win,” his eyes finally fell onto yours, 

“I know.”

He reached out to you with his free hand, his entire body leaning toward you as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, “Don’t you always say losers don’t get rewards. You lost, so you don’t get to come.” 

“Fuck off, Spencer,” you huffed, rolling your hips onto the toy to chase the orgasm you were so close to, but his grip held your hand infuriatingly still. 

“Please, Spencer..” you purred, looking up at him through your lashes, determined to make him feel at least a little bad for you, “pretty please?” 

“No, what applies to me, applies to you,” 

“Spencer… but I’m being so nice.. this is unfair.”

“You’re being nice?” he scoffed, shaking his head as he turned off the vibrator, prying your fingers off of it. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding and pouting your lower lip, giving him your most innocent, needy stare. 

“What about me? I won, and I get nothing?” 

“Did I tell you not to come?” 

“No, but I should have an advantage. I deserve to come before you. And I’m not sure if you should come at all.” 

“Well you have a plug wedged up your ass and you can stroke your dick, you're already getting plenty of stimulation. Don’t you think that’s an advantage?” you murmured, tilting your head to the side. 

“I— it’s not—”

You don’t wait for his protest, sitting right up, reaching behind him to gently tap the exposed base of the plug, pumping it into him. 

A sharp, high-pitched gasp tore from his lips, his whole spine arching as the movement sent a shudder straight to his prostate. 

“See?” you whispered so nicely, “Advantage.” 

His jaw stayed slack, his eyes dropping to your lips as you leaned in closer to him. 

Your hand cradled his jaw, tickling his sensitive skin, and feeling him lean into your warm palm. 

“How about you come inside of me? Hm? We haven’t done that in a while.” your fingers moved to brush his raw, red bottom lip that he’d clearly been chewing on, softly soothing it, “does that sound fair, Spence?” 

Spencer was completely gone. He hummed and nodded into your touch, slowly getting closer to your face, “Yeah.. yeah that sounds fair,” he cooed, his lips brushing yours. 

This way, you’ll get your release too. And if you’re being completely frank, you missed feeling him fill you up—nothing could ever compare.  

“Good boy,” you whispered, slowly connecting your mouth with his, licking his slightly parted lips before slipping your tongue between them. 

Guided by pure instinct, Spencer shifted his weight, gently pushing you back to lay against the pillows, his body hovering over yours as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. 

You both kept your eyes fixated on his dick as he dragged it up and down your folds, spreading your slickness up to your swollen clit, his precum mixing with your juices. 

The friction against the bundle of nerves made your hips involuntarily twitch off the mattress, seeking more of him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, tugging him down.

“Don’t tease, Spence,” you whispered against his neck. 

“Oh, please. That’s the least I could do,” his hot breath soothed your frayed nerves before he pressed a soft kiss against your temple.

“Don’t you wanna get off?” you asked, pecking the delicate skin of his neck. 

“I hate you, you know that?” he muttered, his hips betraying him with a needy twitch. 

“I know.. I know” you breathlessly giggled against his shoulder, peppering kisses to lure him into giving in already. 

The sweet assault on his neck finally broke him. He let out a ragged exhale, giving up on his restraint as he tilted his pelvis and slowly pushed himself inside you, stretching you around him in one long stroke. 

“There we go,” you turned your head to face him, pressing his damp forehead against yours. 

He began to roll his hips in a slow, torturous rhythm. 

You ached for him every time he slid out, but he made it up to you with every push back in, hitting your sweet spot with precision that made your heart flutter at how well he knew your body. 

“Fuck,” he choked out, his eyes fluttering shut as the sensation of your pussy swallowing his entire length and the buttplug that shifted against his prostate pinned him between two sources of pressure he could barely handle. “You’re so tight.. it’s too much,”

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead, “you’re doing so well. Just breathe,” your fingers traced his sweaty spine to encourage him. 

He slightly shifted his legs, adjusting his position to reach deeper into you. 

One of his hands slid down your chest before reaching your lower stomach, pressing against the warm flesh to add more pressure as he drove into you with more force, almost making you jolt at how deep you felt him. 

“Spencer..” you moaned, your hips bucking up to meet his own. 

The combination of his palm pressing into your abdomen and his dick buried to the hilt made your vision blur. 

Spencer knew you liked it when he added tension to your walls, and even if he was deluding himself into thinking that fucking you right now was merely a reward for his big win, he couldn’t lie to himself—he was completely at the mercy of your pleasure. 

The heat pooling between your thighs was unbearable, your walls clenching tightly with every roll of his hips—pulling him closer and closer to the edge. 

Spencer’s hands trembled against the mattress, his head hanging low as he fought to keep his composure. 

“Want me to ride you?”

“No— I mean— I’d love that, but I can do this. I promise, I can—”

“Shh, hey.. It’s okay,” you murmured, your palm coming up to lightly rest against his flushed cheek, “Take your time,” 

His brows knitted together. He couldn’t tell why you were being so nice, but the hushing tone disarmed him and he was far too gone to overthink it. 

With a desperate whimper, he resumed his thrusts, pulling out almost entirely before plunging back into you, tearing a sound that almost sounded like a cry from your chest. 

“Does that feel good?” he panted, his voice trembling as he maintained the relentless, fast pace. 

Your toes curled and your hips strained up to swallow him deeper, “Yes—Spencer, god, don’t stop,” you moaned out, your nails digging into his back.

“I’m really close,” he whispered, parting his lips to lazily drag open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, his saliva cooling your feverish skin, “I’m so so close,” 

Spencer was whining, wishing he wasn’t on the brink of finishing so he could drag it out and edge you until he was ready to let go. 

You slid your hands down to his hips, giving them a harsh squeeze, feeling them stutter under your touch. 

“Come for me, Spence,” your fingers dug into his skin, “just let go,” 

Hearing his nickname on your lips completely ruined him, and he finally snapped. 

“Fuck--fuck!” he sobbed into the crook of your neck, his whole frame trembling as he shot his load into you. 

He held himself pinned deep inside your pulsing heat as the overwhelming waves of his hot thick cum erupted from him. 

He couldn’t stop the broken groans escaping his chest with every surge of his release, filling you until your orgasm was triggered—a blinding, violent rush of pleasure drowning out all your senses. 

Every nerve in your body was lit aflame as your pussy clamped desperately around him, the juices spilling past your entrance, painting your inner thighs. 

“God, it hurts—it hurts so good,” he sobbed against your skin. 

You were almost certain that Spencer had never gotten this deep inside of you, and you were flooded with pride. 

“You did so good..” you smoothed your palms up his back as you pressed a soft kiss to his neck, “such a messy boy,” 

You let him rest on top of you for a few minutes, hearing his frantic heartbeat pounding in your ear.

Once his breathing evened out, you gently tapped his hips, “We still have to deal with your little accessory, though,” you stroked his messy hair. 

He gave you a sluggish, dazed nod   “Just be careful.. I’m really sore.”

Your fingers reached around to find the blunt base of the plug, pulling a sharp gasp out of Spencer’s raw throat as you gave the cold metal a gentle twist. 

“I’m very impressed with how well you took it,” you murmured in an attempt to shift his focus away from the pain. 

“I—I don’t know how I even did that.” 

“Just push against it so it doesn’t hurt as bad,” you instructed in his ear, and he immediately obliged. 

“Good job,” with a slow, steady pull you eased the plug out of him. 

The sudden release sent a fresh, involuntary shudder straight to his hips, making his softening dick twitch inside you. 

“Here ya go,” you gave him a small smile, bringing the plug to his vision before he took it between his fingers, clumsily pulling out of you to get off of your body. 

You could absolutely tease Spencer until he exploded right now, about the toy and the sobbing and everything in between, but you chose to stay silent and let him lay flat next to you. 

“I didn’t know you could play blindfold chess,” he whispered after a long beat of silence.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Reid.” you turned to look at his spent face, his prominent cheekbones catching the dim light of your room, making him look so edible. 

Spencer almost said that he wished he knew everything about you. But he simply caught his lower lip between his teeth, staring into your eyes, and using these few moments of pure peace to take in the mesmerizing sight of your relaxed face, so serene and raw. 

“You smell.” you teased, “You should go shower, while I order some food.” you sat up against the headboard, pulling the sheets up to your chest.  

Spencer’s face scrunched up in annoyance, “No, you go first. You shouldn’t delay peeing—unless you wanna contract a UTI, of course. Might as well take a full shower while you’re at it.” 

You reached for your phone that was now buried somewhere in the sheets, “I’ll just—”

Spencer shot up as his hand slammed against the mattress, physically stopping you from finding your phone, “I’ll take care of it, I know what you wanna eat,” 

His sudden urgency made you jolt and accept his protest, “Ookay, weirdo,” you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, rolling your eyes as he stayed completely still, ogling your naked body as the white fabric slid off your skin. 

Spencer’s favorite part of nights like this was the quiet drop of your walls. He found your presence quite enjoyable when you fell silent and allowed him to stay close without worrying about saying the wrong thing and breaking the spell. 

He hated that your kindness only bled through after sex, leaving him selfishly wishing he could keep you in that state forever.

[itzwillow]

Is this what you want? | Spencer Reid

ᨒ↟ ⋆｡° This is part three (and final) of do you want me to teach you? previous part

Pairing: s2!Spencer Reid x f!reader

Summary: Prolonging and pushing down the words 'I love you' has been going successfully until you end up with Spencer on the side of a secluded road, in the middle of the most forested state, stuck with an unmoving car. Words spill and touch burns; love is shared, and intimacy is treasured.

Warnings/tags: 18+ smut, fluff and some slight angst!! p in v, inexperienced Spencer, vaginal sex, riding, Spencer is pathetic, praise kink, first time sex, one mention of v0mit, description of a crime scene, vaginal fingering, experienced reader, hand job, Spencer cums in his pants, mutal pining, clothed grinding, pussy play, he steals ur panties, creampie (hehe), reader is on birth control, making out, love confessions, sweetness, kissing, oral (f!receiving), yearning, semi public sex, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Word count: 8.2k

Author notes:

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ i hope you all love this fic. this is unfortunately the last of this little 'do you want me to teach you?' trilogy. i have really enjoyed making this small series and am so grateful for the love, but since this all started from a one-shot i didn't plan to follow on with i don't have much connection with the character, which is quite peeving, and that is why this won't be continuing!!

im so sorry i have been gone for so long; life has been hectic, and love has been shit! i have returned, though and am coming in hard because my new series is currently brewing! -> soft ruin

if you like or perhaps even loved this fic please do reblog, it helps the author out so much and reblogging is the way we grow!

⟶ masterlist

“I think we should start considering two unsubs”, you suggest as your fingers pull the car door handle. 

“Yeah, but I don't necessarily believe there is enough evidence towards that”, Spencer ponders, shaking his head slightly. He ducks his head due to his height, his slicked brown hair only just brushing the top of the door frame as he gets in the car. “Forensic evidence-wise, there is nothing to prove that theory, and only one out of the five crime scenes displays rage.” 

The sound of tweeting blackbirds stops just as both car doors close, silence enveloping the space as the seatbelts click into place. Sunrise flickers through the dark, greying clouds, dancing on the windshield, soft splats of rain following. 

The weather feels like a taunt after the sight you had just witnessed, a mocking in disguise. A seemingly loving couple's bodies lie not even twenty feet away in their own front yard, surrounded by detectives and crime scene tape. The fifth couple in two weeks.Ten dead bodies. 

But the sun doesn’t stop shining, and the wind doesn't halt its whispers for anyone, no matter how brutal the mess is. 

“Spencer, the brutality is significantly different from the others; the placement of the bodies for the other crime scenes shows remorse, and this one-” you glimpse outside your rain-splattered side window to where the bodies are being zipped up in body bags “this one shows pure anger, hatred even.” 

You look back over to Spencer, his own eyes observing the crime scene past your shoulder. You can identify the cogs turning behind his stare, his brows furrowing as he flits his gaze back towards you. 

“This couple may mean something more to him; he personally knew them and had a grudge over past or present problems. It explains the anger. The other victims were placed where they were through guilt because he didn’t know them; they were picked at random, by opportunity.”  

Bitter blood slides over your tongue; you hadn’t realised you had been biting it so hard. You got used to the sight of dead bodies, however dismembered and unrecognisable, but it still made your stomach churn and twist. 

“You okay?” 

The soft worry in his voice shakes you out of your head; blood didn’t seem so potent when his gaze was on you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay; it's just that the other scenes were- mild, I suppose. I could still see their faces and the colour of their skin, so I had it wired that this one would be the same. Two punctures through the chest. Not body parts all over the local park.” 

You breathe out, attempting to exhale all the tension wound tight in your body. Hoping to wipe away the sight of pooled blood and cut tendons. You didn’t like your emotions on display, didn’t like how, after years in the job, it still rose up your throat when you couldn’t tell who someone was, but you could tell what part of their body you were looking at.

“Do you want me to drive?” his voice is so tender you could kiss him. Would kiss him if you understood anything about what was going on between you.

“No, I got it. Honestly.”

Twisting the keys in the ignition, the engine rumbles. You cut a quick glance to the left of you, where Hotch and Gideon are exchanging information with the head detective, and then you press your foot down; the car rolling forward. 

The rain turns angry quickly, thundering down unapologetically against the car instead of the previous soft pitter-patter. The forest trees grow taller the closer you get to the police station, creating walls of evergreen around the seemingly never-ending secluded road. 

The wipers squeak as they move across the windshield, trying desperately to remove the clear raindrops that blur the view. The road is silent, no cars behind or coming the other way and nothing but thick trees for miles. The dark clouds above make it seem like something out of a movie. 

Ironic really. 

Driving in an FBI-issued Chevrolet in the most forested state in the US whilst it’s pissing it down with Spencer sitting next to you. It is harder than you admit to yourself, sitting next to him on a daily basis like you didn’t know the pressure of his kiss.  

What a fucked up movie scene this would be. 

“You know, nearly ninety per cent of Maine is forest, seventeen point six million acres of trees”, Spencer mutters matter-of-factly, breaking the silence within the car. 

Your eyes peel away from the road for a split second, catching sight of Spencer's side profile. His focus is on the dense forest passing by; his glasses reflect the greenery glistening and shaking.

“Lots of forest”, you respond, your attention back on the road. 

Your heart feels too tender near him, squishy as if it wants to be moulded by his delicate hands. You swallow your own words every time he gets too close, bite your cheeks when you catch ‘that look’ from him and zip yourself up when you find yourself thinking too much about how bad you want to scribble the word lesson from his vocabulary. 

Maybe this was too far gone. Maybe you were silently falling in love with him, whilst he just thought it was all a lesson. It had started out as a lesson, but not so much anymore. 

That morning three weeks ago, when your mouth was on him, felt like you were both waiting for something more. You had tightened up his tie, and he had passed you your jacket like you were practising for next time, as though next time wouldn't be underlined as a teaching. 

The next time had yet to come, as much as you wanted it to. 

“I think we should talk ab-” he starts. 

Was he thinking the same thing? 

Loud metallic clanking pauses Spencer's words; the SUV starts jerking slightly, rocking you in your seat. Your hands tighten around the wheel, and your foot presses off the accelerator slightly in an attempt to gain control of the vehicle. Gravel crunches like loud cries under the tyres as you steer the car over to the side of the road. 

You only breathe properly after the car is stopped and the keys are twisted. Peering out of the window, you look around to see if any cars are close by, but you assume everyone is tucked under their blankets at six am and therefore no help in this little predicament. 

“Did we just break down?” Spencer asks, furrowing his brows: such an unusual thing, a question falling from the lips of the man who knows everything.  

This is the last thing you need when you and Spencer are vitally needed on this case and at the police station in approximately… twenty minutes. 

The police station that was more than five miles away. 

Twisting the keys again only has the engine sputtering like it is trying its hardest to do something, but failing miserably. You don’t think rubbing the wheel and giving it soft motivating words is the cure; you damn sure would rather do that than step foot in the pouring rain.  

“I think so, yeah”, you hesitate, letting out a frustrated groan, running your hands down your face before pressing the button that pops the hood. 

The rain is cold, sending a shivering chill down your spine as you step out of the car and close the door. The sweater hugging your body does nothing to stop the pounding rain from seeping against your skin. Not even a second outside, vulnerable to the elements, and you already feel soaked through to the bone. 

Propping the hood up, you move your face closer to the inside of the car. Were you meant to know what you were looking at? Nothing was smoking, rattling or doing anything obvious; you're pretty sure the engine is still intact. 

“Spencer!” you call for him, the rain getting louder around you. 

The passenger door opens and closes, and Spencer's tall frame waddles over; his arms crossed over his head, yet not doing the best job of keeping the rain away. Droplets roll down his face, dripping from his lashes and sliding down the tip of his nose. You pass him a look that says ‘Do you know what the fuck I'm looking at?’ 

He squints his eyes, a small wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What?” 

You lift a teasing eyebrow at his confusion “I thought you had a degree in engineering?”

“I do” 

You huff out a short laugh and smile at the ridiculousness of it all “Does that not include cars?” 

“I could tell you what everything is but not the problem; I'm not really good with mechanical knowledge”, he bites his bottom lip as he studies the engine bay like he’s guilty of his lack of knowledge, uncomfortable with the idea of not having an answer to something. 

He looks back over to you, his lips twitching up in an amused smile. You wonder if you have the same effect on him as he does on you, a bad day that turns good just from the sight of him. But you particularly don’t see how looking like a wet rat would cheer him up. 

“We are stranded in the middle of Maine with an unusable car”, you point out the obvious. The laughable reality of your situation. 

You find your own mouth twitching, unable to stop the entertained smile from painting your lips. This shouldn’t be as funny as it is; there is a serial killer on the loose, one you and Spencer are meant to help catch, and then fate fucked you sideways. 

Hell, maybe you were going crazy. 

“Maybe we should call roadside assistance?” you recommend, gripping the hood of the car and slamming it back down. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Roadside assistance would take up to three hours in this part of the state. It’s best if we call Hotch and see if we could get someone to come up and drive us to the station.” 

Your eyes widen at his words: “Three hours?”

He presses his lips together and nods before speaking, “Indeed.” 

Stepping into the middle of the empty road, you look around for any sign of nearby civilisation, hoping on a slim chance that lightbulbs will appear above your head. 

None. 

Spencer is already on the phone as you walk back to the SUV, your shoes squelching with every step. You feel like a teabag that has soaked in water for too long. His back leans on the car as he speaks into the phone, the wind whipping his hair out of place and leaving strands hanging in front of his eyes. 

Branches sway, talking to one another as though they already knew more than most. Funny how trees are better communicators than half of the human population, better than yourself.  

You stand in front of him, not too close but close enough to hear Aaron's rough voice through the phone speaker. Spencer watches your movements, the way you fiddle with your beaded bracelet like it grounds you, as though you're battling an emotion without a name. 

“Hotch says Morgan will be here in approximately half an hour” he slides his phone back in his pocket. 

Half an hour? The meeting with the local PD will be over by then, and there won’t be much to say that hasn’t already been said.

“How does he know where we are?” you question, confused. You were well aware of what road you were on, and the vague vicinity of the nearest town, but this road went on for miles and miles, up and down hills and into the deepest forests. 

Spencer absentmindedly taps the black steel of the car, his finger drumming on the door. The weather's assault on the gravel road and the overbearing pine trees drown out any sounds his fingertips might be making. 

“I guessed the coordinates” 

You were too stunned to speak for a good while; you felt your eyebrows raise in response to his words. “You guessed the coordinates?” 

He nods, a small smile on his lips. In half an hour, you would either thank him for his smarts or tease him profusely about sending Derek in a completely different direction. 

His small smile, despite being in the middle of nowhere, soaked through, does something to your insides. Your traitorous heart beats against your ribs, starved for something it wasn’t promised. His glasses are spotted with water droplets, and in defiance of his vision being blurred, he looks at you like you're the answer to everything. 

You're not sure what you have done to earn it. 

This is the first time in three weeks, two days and twenty-three hours that you have both been alone together. Three weeks, two days and twenty-three hours since you both walked out of his apartment together and had a silent agreement that what had happened that morning and the night before was more than a lesson. Something that involved feelings. Something hard to walk away from. 

He is an amazing friend and co-worker, but you always carried something more that was only reserved for him. You should have known the moment you sent that drunk text that the outcome was never going to be stuffing your feelings down and sucking his cock like you didn’t want to get on your knees and beg him to love you.    

“I think we should talk” Your voice doesn’t flatter or waver, even as you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. It is a conversation that needs to be had, and you needed to tell your little love-bug heart that it would be all okay, no matter the outcome. 

His throat bobs, but he seems to understand.

Neither of you mention the cosy warmth waiting inside the car, the solace of being in a dry space. The rain continues to batter both of you, the wind whipping your hair and the musky wet soil scent filling your nose. It would be much more comfortable talking inside, but the conversation wasn’t meant to be comfortable anyway. 

Love wasn’t always meant to be sheltered and hidden; it was meant to be uncovered and bared out in the open, to spread like wildfire. 

“What are we?” you ask softly, the wind carrying your words. 

“I'm not quite sure”, he answers, half to himself. The tip of his nose is flushed pink, eyes half-lidded as he holds eye contact with you.   

Heated tension passes between you both; your heart does funny things and beats like a door knock so relentlessly you wonder if it interrupts the silence within you a couple of times. Your legs feel like noodles, and your chest feels as though it's chained with bolts and screws.

“I like you”, you breathe out, admitting to the biting words. 

You were the one who told Spencer you wanted to teach him how to make a woman feel good; you were the one who gave him instructions as he feasted between your legs; you were the one who looked up with fire in your eyes as he came in your mouth with pathetic whimpers. 

So why the fuck were you so nervous? 

“I- I like you too” his voice is stuttered and quiet, as innocent as the first time you kissed him.  

He liked you. 

You had considered yourself crazy for a while after leaving his apartment those few days ago. Life went by like normal, cases, files and daily routine, and yet it wasn’t the same. You had convinced yourself that maybe Spencer still thought of you in a friendly way despite it all, that he was able to go back to normalcy because it didn’t affect him the way it did you. 

But outside of all the sexual encounters that night and morning, he had held you, kissed you, and called you things that ‘just friends’ would never say to each other. You suspected it was more, always did, but to hear Spencer confirm that almost has you falling to your knees in relief. 

It only takes a couple of steps, your feet feeling lighter than earlier, and your mouth is upon his. 

He stills for a second before his mouth responds to yours, a small sigh leaving his soft lips.

He tastes just the same as before, the sweet coffee you had dreams about mixed with potent desperation. Your hands put faint pressure on his chest, pushing his back against the side of the wet car. 

The kiss is much more hungry and meaningful than the others you shared with him before. His hands come to your cheeks, holding them and pulling you deeper like he is scared you will slip away. 

He moves his tongue against yours painfully slow, memorising the taste and feel of your lips with every sacred second. 

In spite of the cold weather closing around you and your clammy skin, your body starts to heat up, flames lighting up in the most vulnerable places. You softly moan into the kiss, letting your body fall into his. 

Pulling back slightly, your lips hovering over his, you start unbuttoning the top of his wet cardigan. 

“We” kiss “are” kiss “in” kiss “public”, he mutters against your lips, all too aware of being on the side of the road. 

It had been almost ten minutes since you broke down, and still not a single car was in sight; it was far too early, and the weather was far too bad for anyone to be on the road. But you look up at him anyway, recognising his hesitation.

“It’s half six in the morning.” 

“The average population wake up around six; it's a work day, and this road goes into the main city”, he stammers quietly, his eyes on your lips as he speaks. 

“What? Do you want to stop?” you say teasingly, continuing to unbutton his top. 

He scrunches his eyes like that's the most ridiculous thing you could say in that moment. “No- no, I don’t want to stop.” 

He was right, though; it would probably take only a couple of minutes for cars to start driving through this road regularly. You wanted nothing more than to bend over the hood and let him take you, but being fired for public indecency as an FBI agent wasn't on your agenda. 

You roll your bottom lip against your teeth and look behind him, through the window and to the interior of the vehicle. The FBI-issued SUV was bigger than most cars, enough room to do … activities, activities that definitely shouldn’t be done in a car owned by the FBI. 

“Get in the car”

“That’s still illegal, you know” he swallows and surveys the road behind you. 

“It's raining; the windows will steam” You tilt your head to look at him, neediness reflected in your eyes. 

“So?” 

“So don’t get caught”, you respond, smirking. 

He contemplates it for a while, his cheeks flushed bright red, battling between sensibility and desire. He looks off to the side and shakes his head slightly, a small nervous smirk tugging his lips. 

Your eyebrows are raised slightly, waiting for verbal agreement that you could open the car door and let him fall apart under your touch. He looks back at you, his expression leering and hungry, and you understand instantly. You feel your panties dampen even more, dripping with something that isn’t just rainwater. 

You back up, your chest leaving his, and he steps away from the car door so you can reach forward and grip the cold black metal of the handle. 

The inside of the vehicle is far warmer than outside, and the air is thick with leather and something fresh that has you wondering why you didn’t get out of the rain sooner. 

You crawl across the black leather seats and then turn around, leaning your back against the inside of the car door. Spencer runs his hand through his wet hair, slicking back the loose strands and looking around the forest as though he expects there to be an entity watching, ready to report every sin soon to be committed. 

He shuffles into the car, soaking the seats under his knees and closes the door behind him. Hard slaps of rain hit the outside of the car, and the gloomy lighting sets the ambience, highlighting the passion and longing thrumming between you. 

Scooting down, you lie your back flat against the seats. One of your legs hangs off the side, opening them, inviting Spencer to take what his strained pants said he so desperately needed. 

His mouth is slightly parted, breathing deeply, his brain short-circuiting from the pure sight of you lying before him in such a foolhardy manner. This was wrong on so many levels: in the back of an FBI car, about to touch his co-worker on the side of a soon-to-be busy road, with his cock throbbing. 

“We’re getting the car wet”, he mumbles. 

“Taking our clothes off probably helps with that”, you whisper, smiling at his flustered state. 

His eyes run down your clothed body, probably remembering the way your soft skin felt under his hands, how the sweet spot between your legs had him completely pussy drunk. 

Spencer nervously leans over you, his trembling hand coming to the side of your head. You drink in his dark gaze that doesn’t break away, not even for a second, as though he wants to swim in whatever it is that he finds behind your eyes. 

“We have twenty minutes”, you whisper, reaching up to tug on his plaid tie. 

A deep moan leaves his mouth as your lips crash into his like a tidal wave, a beautiful impact. The hand beside your head squeezes into a fist, a sign that he’s falling apart inside, melting into everything his pleasure sinks its teeth into. 

Your gun clanks on the floor, falling from its holster. Thank fuck the safety is on. 

The front of his grey tailored chinos strains, a tent of arousal evident. Your breath hitches in anticipation; there hasn’t been a day that has gone by recently where you haven’t found yourself cutting glances at his crotch, remembering it twitching against your mouth. 

Sitting on his knees, he slides your Converse flats off, water dripping onto the car mats, and then brings his finger to your belt loops. The belt hits the floor with a soft thud. One less restriction, one step closer. 

“Can I? Am I allowed to- is this what you want?” he asks, his voice low and rough. His timid eyes look at you through thick lashes, his eyebrows slightly raised as if it physically pains him to have a layer of clothes keeping you from him. 

“Do you want it too?” 

He nods a few times, emphasising the point that he really did want this. 

Warm morning sunlight peeks through a dark cloud for a split second, illuminating Spencer's red cheeks. So handsome, so perfect in more ways than one, he was like falling into a comfortable mattress after a long day.  

You more than liked him. 

Much more. 

The button on your trousers pops, and the wet fabric that is practically stuck to you slides down your legs like a snake shedding its skin. Rough knuckles graze the outside of your thighs as he strips you, bringing your panties with it. 

“I missed you”, he whispers, barely audible. 

He missed you like this; missed being able to touch you and kiss you and share intimate moments. His firsts.  

“I missed you too, Spence”  Your voice is rougher than you expect, want shown through the barely controlled rasp. 

Your lips find each other again, his hand trailing down your sweater and teasingly tracing the inside of your thighs. You instinctively open them wider, watching Spencer's throat bob as his eyes land on the wet arousal dripping from your entrance. 

“I would have shaved if I ha-” you start. 

“No, it’s okay”, he shakes his head. Slowly, he traces a finger through the wiry hair, tranced “I like it; it makes you more you.” 

Reassurance trickles through you, a soft smile planting itself on your lips. 

Despite his germaphobe tendencies, he would gladly be up for burying his nose in the hair between your thighs.

Interesting. 

A hitched breath leaves the confines of your throat as his finger delves deeper, running his fingertip through your wet folds. Your legs twitch at the sensation, your body chasing the feeling even more. 

Spencer's jaw is tight as he watches his own movements, admiring the wetness collecting on his digit. Your eyes don’t leave his face, tracing all the hard edges and curves, memorising the desire written behind his fixed gaze. You want every cell, nerve and bone in your body aware that this is Spencer eliciting pleasure in the deepest parts of you. 

No one else. 

Warm walls tighten around his finger as he presses it into your entrance, your pussy practically beconing, sucking him closer. The heavy breathing from both of you is accompanied by the lewd squelch your wetness admits with every drag of his finger. 

He leans over you again, his attention back on your face, watching the whimpers leave your parted mouth. His uneven breathing fans over your cheek like long-lost words finally reaching your ears. 

“Off, take it off” Your hand wraps around the bottom of his top. 

Pulling back, his finger leaves your aching walls to finish undoing the buttons of his cardigan you had attempted to tear off of him before. The grey cardigan hits the pile of your clothes with a wet smack, and then next comes the tie and blue striped polo shirt. 

He’s more timid with his shirt off, his pale, slim body on display for your hungry eyes. A pathetic gasp rips from his mouth as your fingertips find the muscles of his abdomen. Holding eye contact, your palm traces the V-line poking from his trousers and up, up to one of the pale pink circles on his chest. 

“I've wanted you for so long”, you whisper, your thumb feather-touching the soft skin of his nipple. 

“I wanted- want you too. For so long,” his voice hesitates and stammers. 

“At first I just wanted to teach you, for you to fuck me” Your finger moves from his chest and down, tracing a horizontal line across the waistband of his boxers peaking through. “But then I got greedy.” 

Your grip comes around his free hand, and you guide it back down to where you need it the most. Two of his fingers collect your slick before prodding your entrance, slowly stretching the begging muscle. 

“How?” he asks, helplessly intrigued. 

“For you. I got greedy for you,” you whisper against his mouth. 

His breath hitches, his forehead moving to press against your neck like he needs something stable to hold onto. Your words knock him off balance, his fingers stilling inside. 

He doesn’t hesitate to catch your lips in a greedy kiss as soon as he moves back from your neck. Fingers trailing lower, your palm teasingly cups the bulge in his trousers, and his hips move forward, applying pressure. 

“You're perfect,” he rasps between kisses " You're so perfect.”

Everything was on fire, lips tingling against his, pussy throbbing as his fingers move again, hand desperate for skin on skin. His words and touch adding fuel to the fire, accelerant to make the flames burn brighter and hotter.

Want fills you like potent liquor. You needed him so bad, needed to have him begging and whimpering under you, confessing all the things he was holding onto. 

The downpour continues from outside, thumping against the metal roof like it were cheering you both on, just as eager to watch as your insides were to feel it. Steam covers the windows, shying the outside away, covering the gods above from the worship happening inside, the distant sound of cars only a mere thought. 

Soft sounds slip from your mouth as he scoots down the black leather seats, his trousers smearing rainwater across the fabric. His fingers stop their thrusting, instead replacing it with a warm, sloppy kiss. 

The feeling is electric; it has your back arching and fingernails gripping the seat so hard you're positive they leave deep crescent moons. His tongue slides across your folds, running a wet line from entrance to clit, not missing a drip of salty arousal. 

He had obviously learnt from last time, reading books, blogs, whatever you didn’t care about, but they had worked. The way his tongue worked was almost expert-level. His mouth wraps around your pulsing clit, sucking and licking like you were his only salvation in this damned world. 

If it wasn’t for his shaking hands grasping your thighs and the ragged breathing every time he took a gulp of air, you would have assumed he had gotten over his nerves, swallowed them as he took your pussy into his mouth. 

Tilting your head to the right in your pleasure daze, through half-lidded eyes, you notice the dashboard clock between the front seats. 

Dammit.

You would gladly spend hours lying down like this, the rain creating harmony whilst the smell of sweat and musk sticks in the air, but Derek was going to be here in a matter of minutes, and the only thing you really needed, you hadn't got yet.

“Spence”, you grab his attention, his puppy eyes looking up through your legs. 

Fingers threading through his hair, you pull the brunette strands enough for him to know where you want him. His body covers you again, tongue intertwining, passing on the salty taste of yourself.

“I need you inside me”, you beg, too aware of the seconds going by.    

He searches your face “But I-” he swallows, “I haven’t made you climax”

“I can come once I have you in me. Spencer, please, we only have ten minutes.” 

Your hands start on his belt, fitting between your close bodies to take off his gun and holster and pull the leather belt from the loops. Every ticking second without his cock in you felt like agony, something you couldn’t prolong.

He huffs out a short, nervous laugh as he watches your hands continue their task “I don’t know how to- I- this is my first” 

“I know. I’ll make it good”  

“What if you don’t finish?”

That was perhaps the stupidest thing that ever came out of his sweet mouth.   

“I will, baby, trust me, I will” A smile plays on your lips, admiring his concern for you despite it being his first time. Gently pushing his chest, he leans back against the seat. “Just let me take control, okay?” 

He falls under your command like a puppy on a leash, eyes wide as he watches you sit up and throw a leg over his lap. His desire is indisputable with the way his bulge is hungrily pressing against your core. 

“Last time - last time you were over, you forgot” His voice wavers as your lips trail up the side of his neck, “forgot your underwear.” 

Spencer's hands come to your waist, and in response, you playfully roll your hips down on him. A pretty moan slips from his mouth, his hands gripping your body tighter. 

Hips moving on their own accord, you hold the back of Spencer's neck and delight in the facial expressions that come across his appearance. His head is lolled back against the seat, cheeks bright red and eyes half-lidded as though he had trouble comprehending his thought process. 

Your sensitive clit rubs against the damp fabric of his chinos, and each spark of friction shakes your legs. “I know” 

“You did it on purpose”, he mutters, “because of what- mh -what you said.” 

Pride fills you. He was finally going to mention it, the little surprise you left on his kitchen counter, pretty white lace he couldn’t get enough of last time his mouth was on you. 

“Mh? What did I say?”

His cheeks flush a shade darker. 

“Men use it for pleasurable purposes; it heightens the testosterone and dopamine chemicals and-” his voice gets a pitch higher, and he squeezes his eyes shut, “- I looked it up. Just- I- you told me to wrap it around myself…my cock.” 

Your own breath hitches with his dirty words. Spencer mentioned sexual organs at work with a firm voice, in a professional manner, but you had never heard him say it this way, desperate. It feels wrong, unheard of, to witness such a thing, but it felt wrong in the best way. 

“Your what?” You push him to repeat it, teasing him in a playful voice. 

“My- my cock” His voice is whiny, having given up with any form of trying to piece back the intelligible parts of his mind. 

“And did you do it?” 

“I.. I did just- please, please keep going,” his hips buck up as a follow-on to his words, his tone showing just how desperate he really was. 

Hooking a finger under his chin, you tilt his face up and hold eye contact as you press your hips harder and rock with more rhythm. The grinding has your own mind covered in fog, mouth open on silent gasps. 

“Did you cum all over my panties?” 

“All over, all over I swe-” a stuttered hiss cuts him off. His fingernails dig into the soft flesh of your ass, hips stuttering as you continue rocking on him. Only when you notice a single tear sliding down his cheek do you stop your movements. 

Smug realisation hits you, “Spencer- did you just-?”   

You just made Spencer Reid cum in his pants with only a few hip rolls. 

To be honest, it wasn't all that surprising. Are you shocked that it happened so quickly? Yes, but with little to no experience, he was bound to bust a load that easily, without being touched. But fuck, did he look so attractive doing so, his eyes blown wide as if he himself was stunned by his body's surrender.    

“Shut up- shut up; that’s so embarrassing”, he winces after catching his breath.

It was one of, if not the most attractive thing you had ever witnessed.  

“It’s not”, you scoff, a light-hearted laugh, and lean your forehead against his sweaty one. “But I need you to get hard again.” 

You could practically imagine the clock, counting down the seconds left until Derek's fist would rasp against the steamed window. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want the rain to stop pattering against the car like fingertips, didn’t want the smell of sex to disperse when the door opened, and most of all you didn’t want to go until you spilt the words tangled up in your heart, the fact that maybe like wasn’t the right word.

“For the average male in his early twenties it can take anywhere from fifte-” 

“I know”, you whisper, moving your hips up and hands down to his half-zipped trousers. 

Despite the facts, as soon as your painted nails skim his striped boxers, his cock stirs. The wet fabric of his boxers pulls tighter, outlining the shape of his growing hardness.

As soon as you shimmy his trousers and boxers down below his thighs, his flushed cock bounces out, already swelling by the second from just a simple graze of your skin. The sight of his earlier release coating his tip has a whimper slipping from your lips. 

“I don’t have a condom”, he stammers, his voice small. 

The smallness of his voice stills the air around you, the heat seizing for a split second. You search his eyes, searching for anything hinting at uncertainty. 

“I'm on the pill”, you reassure him softly, speaking with confidence in hopes of flushing out any worries he might have “Is that okay? Do you want to stop?” 

His eyebrows pinch upwards, his gentle gaze reminding you that this wasn’t the making of lust but blooming love, feelings that had only recently started kicking up the dirt. 

“It’s okay; I want this”, he whispers, warm breath tickling your lips “Please.” 

The ‘please’ is all you need; an insatiable covet swarms around the deepest parts of you, filling up your soul and heart after so long of hiding itself. Spitting onto your hand, you slick up the head of his cock, eliciting a gasp from Spencer's full lips. 

Slowly, you sink down on him, your hand gripping his base to help position him. Over the pitter-patter of the rain, Spencer's soft breaths bless your ears with every inch of him that slides into your pussy. 

Once fully seated on him, his throbbing length filling you, your forehead meets his. Spencer's hands grip tightly on the plush skin of your hips, his breath coming out choppy as though he is focusing on everything holding him together; he hadn’t been expecting to feel this much. 

“Does that feel good?” he breathes out after gaining some composure.  

“I haven’t moved yet, Spence”, you chuckle breathlessly. 

“I know- I know”, he says, well aware of the fact that, yes, you haven’t moved and he already feels close to the edge, “but still-.” 

“So good”, you promise. 

The truth of this all hasn’t bypassed you; this is really happening. Spencer Reid's cock is throbbing inside your warm heat, and chasing release is the last thing on your mind with the way his eyes are looking up at you through his misted lenses, with that sparkle in his gaze that speaks more than an orgasm could. 

“You're beautiful” slips from his mouth like a prayer, akin to saying amen.  

You never fell for people's compliments; it was always said like a vow, but it was only ever personal opinion. Pretty some days, ugly the next. But for the first time in forever, you believed it, believed him.

You are beautiful. 

“I'm surprised you can even see me”, you tease, unhooking his fogged-up glasses from behind his ears and setting them on the console. An admiring smile grazes your face, the clear sight of Spencer's deep brown eyes furrowing in pleasure enough to spur a physical reaction within you. 

Twitching your hips up a little, his mouth falls open, caught on a low whimper. His hands grip tighter, palming your soft skin. 

Spencer looks like a poor, needy puppy, his wet hair tousled from the mixture of the rain and your hands, his cheeks and nose florid, his half-lidded gaze looking up at you, begging for what was already his. 

You start slowly moving your body against his, your legs and hips working together in tandem, making the most of the time that was slowly slipping through your fingers. The noise of soft skin slapping, friction between damp bodies and various moans, whimpers and gasps fills the warm, thick air. 

Spencer's palm comes to the back of your tilted neck, your eyes closed and head thrown back. “Look at me”, he asks softly, applying slight pressure to your neck, encouraging your eyes to meet his yet again. 

He moulds your pussy with his length like it's his to worship.

The breath shared between you grows hot, so dense it feels like swallowing steam. Your eyes don’t waver, never breaking away from tracking his face even when your hips fall back down on him and his cock easily hits that spongy spot so deep inside it feels like redefining heaven. 

When your thighs start to shake, stuttering your movements, Spencer catches on. Timid hands slide up from your hips and across the curve of your waist, holding tight and guiding your movements.  

Your body leans against his, his bare chest pressing against your damp shirt plastered to your moist skin like wet paper. His lips catch yours, pulling apart on gasps but never too far, always hovering like you could be taken at any moment, vigilant that the clock would stop. 

“I want you to be mine”, he whispers, voice wavering, “I-I want this forever.” 

You swear your heart stops for more than three beats; you almost pinch yourself to assure yourself it's real, that this wasn’t just some made-up fantasy your mind cruelly shaped. 

“I want that too” 

You had wanted it before you even knew it. 

Wanted him before his lips blessed yours. 

Spencer sweetly smiles at your words, hips following yours, lifting up to chase the release on the tip of his tongue. Slowing your hips, your own stomach starts to tighten, your body quivering over his. 

You wouldn’t normally cum so quick, so easily, but the fact that it’s Spencer, that this need and yearning for him have been dragged out for so long, makes it hard not to come apart so fleetly.  

“Clo-close?” He asks, breathing out all the words he can manage, a feeble one. 

“Mhm”, you mumble against his lips, speech shutting you out too.  

The slick drag of his cock inside you is consuming, your so drunk on the glint in his eyes and the hot breath running fingertips down your throat you hardly notice how busy the road has gotten. The sound of tyres against wet gravel is the last thing on your mind, only a distant hum.

Taking note of your reactions, inside and out, he moves his hips accordingly and learns exactly what has your body arching above him, what pulls dirty noises from your throat. He’s a quick learner, despite being hammered by the new feeling of a wet pussy around him; he has control of his motions, knowing to hold back and cherish the moment.    

His lips meet yours again, exchanging hot gasps down your throat, tangling his tongue with yours like a future promise.  

A hot golden heat sizzles deeply inside of you and then spits like hot oil, your orgasm crashing through you. The pleasure taking over you manipulates your whole body, your wet walls tightening around Spencer's cock, legs shaking and back arching. Spencer pants at the tightness strangling his cock, his own release teetering on the edge of undoing. 

“Can I do it inside, please?” he strangles out, holding himself back with a struggle. The weak, pathetic ‘please’ erases any logical thoughts on the time or clean up; you nod without question. 

Spencer resorts to bucking his hips up since your legs stopped being useful the moment you came. Fucking into you from below, his tip bruises your throbbing oversensitive g-spot, riding out your orgasm whilst brinking his. 

Your stomach tightens and twists, your orgasm still rocking through you, being dragged out with every thrust of his cock. The euphoria is compelling, your brain erased of any thoughts but the moment before you.  

“Cumming- cumming- oh god”, he hisses out and then bites his lip hard, his eyes widening solid on you. His face twists as he spills inside of you, his hips stuttering, creating the most beautiful sight. 

“I love you”, you confess as though it’s a sin. Tones of pressure, old and new slides of your chest, the confession leaving you lighter than before. 

It's all real, too real. 

Lately, time had been spent belittling your own emotions, downgrading them and pushing them down because it was unprofessional or overwhelming, just plain scary to feel something this strong. You had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it wasn’t normal to crave the next sexual meeting with your coworker; it wasn’t usual to get butterflies when he glanced your way, and it definitely wasn’t casual that he was your last thought before falling asleep and first thought waking up.  

But it was out now, said to his pleasure-ridden face.

And you don’t regret it, especially when his next words are spoken so strongly; it leaves no doubt he feels the same. 

“I love you too, I love- love you so much”, he breathes out, slowing his hips, his cock spent inside you. 

His eyes soften and fill with the first sight of love, ripping the mask away and exposing how vulnerable he truly felt around you. His lips come to you, leaning forward and kissing so sweetly, kissing with a type of adoration he didn’t possess before. 

The kissing lasts longer than it should, the surroundings only remembered when the close sound of tyres moving over pebbles reaches your ears.

Oh fuck

Senses come back to both of you: the tickle of the trickling pearl white dripping from your entrance and down Spencer's thighs, how the sun shining in from outside was much brighter than you remembered, combined with the fact that rain was no longer falling from the sky and that the crunch of a close vehicle was a ticking time bomb. 

It was unrealistic thinking you would have more time, hoping there was traffic or a closed road that would prolong this beautiful moment. 

“Fuck, I think Derek is here” You curse yourself for not being more mindful of the time. 

Spencer seems to realise too, his grip on your hips loosening and his head tilting to the side, confirming the outline of the SUV through the fogged (thankfully) windows. 

“Oh, um, how- how are you going to move?” 

Looking down at his release covering your conjoinment, you ask yourself the same question. 

“Carefully?” you wince, knowing however careful you still had to do it quickly. 

Lifting your hips, he slides out of you with a wet pop, followed by the obscene sight of his cum leaking from between your thighs. You don’t have time to question the state of the car nor how you were going to slide on wet clothes because all you know is that if you both don’t get decent within the next few minutes you would scar Derek for life. 

You climb off Spencer's lap, collect your panties from the floor, but pause when you feel Spencer's heated gaze on them, watching you whilst pulling up his boxers and trousers. 

“You want them?” you ask, catching his thoughts. 

His eyes go wide, and his cheeks flush a darker colour; you don’t know why he is so surprised you caught him in the act; it’s not like you read people's emotions for a living. 

“Is that okay?” 

You nod and shove them in his capri pants without a regard. 

Sliding on wet trousers has to be up there as one of the most uncomfortable things in human existence, violated by your own clothes all because you dare get them damp.  

There's a knock on the window as you do up your top button, rushing to look presentable.

“You guys decent in there?” Derek asks, a teasing tone laced in his voice. 

Of course.  

You neglect the idea of sliding on your dripping socks and instead stuff them in your pockets whilst pulling on your shoes. Spencer finishes adjusting his tie when Morgan tries pulling at the locked handle. 

“Wait, wait!” Spencer raises his voice. 

Spencer rakes over your face and body with marvelment and happy disbelief before opening the door with the conclusion that you both look somewhat decent. 

It was obvious anyway; Derek had noticed the heated glances you had been giving Spencer way before this happened, teasing you both about it, so it was inevitable he would clock what was going on soon enough. 

Although you hadn't been expecting this to be the way he found out. 

Once both of you get out of the car, you come face to face with a smirking Derek leaning against his SUV. He raises his brows at the sight of you both, damp clothes stuck to your bodies, hair messed up, Spencer's tie not even looking like a tie anymore. 

“You get a bit wet?” 

“Shut up”, you bite back, embarrassed he saw you in such a sight. If only he knew Spencer was dripping down your thigh. 

“Hey, I'm just saying you both look a little wind-swept”, Derek chuckles, holding his hands up playfully. 

                                                  °‧🌱⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The back of the SUV is warm and relaxing, filled with comforting silence when Derek isn’t yapping about ‘Spencer, my man, no longer a virgin, huh?’ from the driver's seat. It took a while for him to stay quiet; half the car ride had been him asking teasing questions, but when he peeked at the rearview mirror and noticed you subtly joining fingers with Spencer in the back seat, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

The air is different around Spencer, a quiet ease that has your heart beating with content and your stomach swarming in happiness. You send each other small signals, whether it be a short soft glance or squeezing each other's hands three times. 

This change in relationship has gone quicker than you anticipated. Two weeks ago, when your hands and mouths explored each other, you had been thinking it would be no less than a year until the word love would fall from your mouth or Spencer's. 

Oh, how wrong you had been.

tags:

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[sweet-t33a]

working hard, and hardly working - spencer reid

summary: spencer has the memory of springing a boner for his brand new coworker burned into his memory like a warning sign. after the first time, spencer hopes it'll be the last, taking precautions so that his body won't spring into need at inopportune moments anymore. however, after a night out with you and the team, he finds himself in quite the compromising position once again

genre/tags/CWs: workplace romance, team bonding, jemily if you squint, hotch's assistant!reader, masturbation (m and f), 3&1times!fic, fem!reader, lots of tension, banter, fake dating if you squint, eavesdropping, dacryphilia mentions, implied dom!reader, very light aspects of sexual harassment, no physical descriptions of reader's body or outfits besides wearing black, mentions of addiction/spencers addiction, alcohol consumption

a/n: I blacked out while writing this (not really) so I hope you enjoy anyways!!!

w/c: 5.8k

PART TWO: ONCE BITTEN, AND TWICE SHY

Your bedroom was always too cold. 

You’d dropped seventy dollars on a french duvet– feather downs covered your bed and your closet was chock-full of cozy pajama sets. And yet, every night, you found yourself holding tightly to the stuffed animal you’d had as long as you could remember, and tried to tuck yourself in as closely as possible so you’d heat yourself. There was something terribly empty about your bed. Like all of the unused space was there just to remind you of who you wanted to join you there. There was one way to warm yourself up. Your fingers tried desperately to coax your orgasm from your body, a release becoming increasingly more imminent. Images flashed in your mind– Spencer’s jawline, his plush looking lips. His insanely slutty waist that you’d tried (and failed) to ignore whenever he was around. He was so statuesque, perfectly sculpted. You imagined his heat, enveloping you as he brought you to the brink of orgasm. Your body shuddered and you called out his name as your climax crested over you. You lay twitching for a moment before feeling yourself finally drift off, dreaming of Spencer beside you still, keeping you close. 

-

Ever since becoming your friend, Spencer had decided that he needed to find a way to release the stress you were causing him. He loved being in your company, but every time you flirted with him, even habitually, had his body flushing panic in his veins, the memory of his humiliating first impression never allowing him to rest. He tried to avoid the chance of something so embarrassing ever happening again, and despite how many times he fisted his cock to the thought of you in the night, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. 

Spencer Reid had to get laid.

The problem? He didn’t have eyes for anyone but you.

You and Emily had grown extremely close in the months you had joined their team, and would frequently go on nights out, dancing and singing till the sun came up. Spencer knew this, and was always invited by the small group you were forming, but almost always turned the offer down. He didn’t drink very much, knowing the odds of replacing one addiction in the phases of early recovery was anywhere from 20-50%, and while he wasn’t in early recovery anymore, he tried to keep it light just in case. Besides, alcohol tasted like shit most of the time anyways, and since he mostly only drank at bars, it was incredibly expensive. It was the end of a long case week, and the hotel managers you had to convene with had been so rude. They normally didn’t give you any issue, on account of your team being from the FBI, and your preparedness not giving them any reason to be. But this time, for seemingly no reason, they were just so bitchy.  It had caused you a lot of grief, and the case wasn’t easy on the team either. Everyone was in a pretty terrible mood, and no one wanted to remain in the rut the case had caused. Upon arrival back at Quantico sometime around noon, Emily had turned to the group and offered up a night out.

“What do you guys say that after a long nap and some food, we all have some fun tonight? Head out, grab some drinks?” She smiled and you returned her gesture.

“Absolutely,” you said. “That case was such a pain in my ass. I’d love to get out.” 

Derek seconded your reply and called Penelope to ask her. Hotch declined, wanting to get home to his son, and Rossi also turned the offer down. JJ said she’d come out, but that she might turn in earlier than normal. In the small commotion of the planning, you turned to Spencer with your very best doe eyes. 

Please? You mouthed to him, jutting out your bottom lip for extra assistance in persuasion. Spencer gave a soft laugh and looked at the ground. You were irresistible, and it cost him a lot of money on vending machine candy so far. Besides, he desperately needed to get tangled with a stranger, preferably one who was magnetizing enough to make him forget how badly he needed you. 

He had a sneaking suspicion there was no such person.

“Okay, fine.” He said, still smiling, bashful at giving in so easily. Your eyes went wide and you ran and grabbed his arm, jostling him in excitement. 

“Really?!” You squealed, and the rest of the team looked over. They saw you clinging to his arm, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. 

“No way– pretty boy, coming out to the bar?” Derek said, and gave Spencer a devious grin. “I wonder what convinced him.” Your back was turned, but Spencer saw the very obvious look he tossed your way, and Spencer blushed. Emily noticed too, and turned to JJ for a silent conversation that involved a LOT of eyebrow movement.

Spencer felt instinct clawing at him to push you away, but he didn’t want you to let go. He swallowed his pride and let himself distracted by the feeling of you holding onto him. You stayed clung to him as you walked, not wanting this moment to end. When everyone came to their desks in the bullpen, you stopped, still not letting go. You finally released him when you had to gather your things, ready to head home. Everyone else left, and yet, Spencer was waiting up for you, not wanting you to feel alone. You noticed, and your heart did a little squeeze. You turned to face him, tilting your head. 

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’m a big girl now, I can walk to my car allll by myself.” You flashed him your dazzling smile, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I know that. But we’re friends, and everyone else left together. You shouldn’t have to go alone just because you have more paperwork to carry. Besides, uh… I had a question?” He became ever so slightly more flushed as he spoke, and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Was he going to ask you out? Your hands were in your hair, giving it a gentle comb before he spoke. Now you froze, completely struck by the possibility of Spencer asking you on a date.

“Yes?” You said, wetting your lips as you searched his eyes. The way your gaze saw straight to his soul had him looking away. Your eyes were breathtaking, and he already had enough problems being nervous around you as is. Every beat of his silence had your heart pounding in your ears. Your face was hot, and you twirled your hair in your hand to fidget some of the suspension away.

“W… what should I wear tonight?” He asked, and you felt your heart sink. If Spencer didn’t know better, he would’ve said you looked disappointed at his question. That didn’t make any sense, though. What did you think he was going to ask? 

Just as quickly as your face fell, you blinked your sadness away and looked around, a habit of yours when you were thinking– like you were imagining the options surrounding you, like you could see them in the air. You looked back at him and smiled, an idea forming in your head. 

“I don’t really have a full grasp of what you have in your closet… maybe I could come over and take a look?” you asked, playing coy. Spencer suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room, he was out of breath. His eyes went wide for just a moment as mouth opened, looking for words. “Yeah… yeah, you can come over.” You lit up and grabbed your purse, and his face became the color of strawberries. He was so flustered, and so confused about how he found himself in this position. Once you had all of your items, you casually snaked your arm around his once more, and walked toward the elevator. Spencer’s whole body felt like it was on fire. When he made it inside his car, he sped home as fast as possible to make sure everything was spotless.

-

This was not a date. You told yourself, over and over, that it was not a date. That there was no reason to be freaking out over the way your hair looked, or to decide whether or not red was your color. You were going as a group, Spence didn’t get out much, so he needs help with his outfit. But for who was he dressing up for? You felt the familiar feeling of jealousy settle in your gut, like a snake curling around your intestines. Your room was a mess, clothes askew and accessories littering every surface. You’d settled on a little black number you’d worn out a million times– but that wouldn’t matter tonight, because there was one person who hadn’t seen it. You had set a time to head to Spencer’s, at first suggesting an hour before you’d head to the bar, and Spencer was surprised. You then remembered the lack of effort men had to put into their appearances, and compromised to a 30 minute rendezvous.

Spencer was in his living room, pacing, unable to sit still. He’d cleaned top to bottom, although there wasn’t much to clean. He was a fairly well kept man by nature, but he’d wiped the counter tops, made his bed, and cleaned the bathroom. He glanced at his watch repeatedly, hoping somehow the minutes would move faster. He shot up with a jolt at the sound of his door, a knock startling him out of his trance. 

He moved to the door and looked through the peep hole, surprised to see you standing, looking down the hall. He opened the door and checked his watch one more time before speaking. “You’re fifteen minutes early,” He said, and you gave him a flat expression before replying.

“Hello to you too, Spence. Why, I’d love to come inside! Thank you Spencer.” You said, sarcastically mocking his impolite greeting. He flushed slightly. “I figured if I came early you’d be ready.”

“But we agreed–”

“Are you gonna let me in, or did you want me to pick out your outfit from the hallway?” You raised an eyebrow, and Spencer let out a defeated sigh. At this, you smiled and walked yourself inside. When he shut the door, you stood in the doorway, pausing a moment. 

“Shoes off?” You asked, and Spencer nodded. 

“Please, thanks. It avoids bringing in hundreds of thousands of bacteria further indoors– e.coli, staphylococcus aureus… you get it.” You gave him a sweet smile and nodded, happy to oblige. Once your shoes were off, you stepped inside and gestured forward.

“Lead the way!” You said, and it seemed like Spencer remembered there was a reason you were here, and he began walking you to his bedroom. You scanned his place as you went, admiring the homely qualities it held. He’d truly made it his safe space– clean and absolutely drowning in books. It was like he lived in a library. When you made it to the bedroom, he flicked on the light inside a small walk in closet. Inside was a decent sized dresser and more patterned shirts than you thought there were in the tri-state area. You stepped past him inside to explore.

“Wow. It’s… colorful.” You were in shock, and Spencer felt his face heating. You must’ve thought him such a dunce, his fashion sense abhorrent. That was until you turned around with a huge grin on your face, lips glossy from your choice of the evening. Spencer’s mind wandered somewhere that involved finding out the flavor, before you interrupted his train of thought. “I love it!” 

He looked at the ground and wet his lips, hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to lie.”

You pouted and furrowed your brow. 

“I don’t take kindly to accusations of perjury.” You stated, and flicked your hair over your shoulder as his head shot back up to give you an incredulous look, just a hint of a smile on his face. He threw up his hands in defeat and decided that this wasn’t a battle he was strong enough to fight. 

“So, what do I… what do I wear? I don’t get out much. A-and every time I do, they always say I’m too dressed up.” You hadn’t yet experienced Spencer Reid’s casual lifestyle, and were unaware of the grandpa-like nature of his clubbing outfits. 

“Well, what do you normally wear to the bar?” You asked, and he gestured down at his body– trousers, button up, a sweater vest, and a tie. Your eyes went wide and you smiled, letting out a soft giggle.

“Seriously?” His insecurity crept in once more and he shyly defended himself.

“I don’t… know what else I’d wear. I like these clothes, I like the way I dress.” Your heart sank a little at his apparent sadness and instantly you felt guilty. You walked towards him and brushed an invisible hair from his shoulders. 

“I do too.” You said matter-of-factly, for the second time. “But it’s a little too put together for a bar. People are getting hammered and the floors are sticky… a tie and vest just seem kind of tightly wound,” you said.

“I am tightly wound!” You giggled at his joke and tilted your head. You didn’t want to strip him of his identity, nor what made him feel comfortable, and thought about the ways you could elevate his look. Finally, an idea came to you, and your face portrayed your excitement.

“I know what to do,” you said, before turning to rummage in his drawers. “You don’t have anything naughty in one of these drawers you want me to avoid, do you?” You joked, and his face went bright red. He coughed before shyly shaking his head no. You giggled- he was cute when he was nervous.

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m messing with you.” You pointed around you, gesturing to the button ups that surrounded.

“Do you know which one of these fits you tightest?” You asked.

“Tightest?” A sliver of insecurity wavered in his voice.

“Fine, fits you best. However you want to put it.” Spencer swallowed thickly and went to find the black button up he only wore for special occasions, and held it up. You smiled and nodded. “Perfect.” From his drawers you pulled a pair of black slacks, and slid one of his belts off of the rack above the drawers. You glanced at the organized shoes on the shelves above your head, and picked out a pair of well-worn red converse. You handed your findings to Spencer and walked past him, so he could change in the closet. He eyed your choices in his hand. It seemed so… bland.

“That’s… that’s it?” He asked, glancing at his watch. You shrugged with a prideful smile.

“What can I say? I should’ve been a fashion designer.” Spencer pursed his lips before smiling back. He shut the door, and you took a step further into his bedroom to sit on his bed. It was then you became acutely aware that you were just a door away from a mostly naked Spencer, sitting on his bed. You were alone. You took a deep breath in your nose and found his distinct smell is what filled your senses. It was intoxicating. It was clean, and comforting. It made you… so, so horny.

You were gnawing on your bottom lip when Spencer opened the door. He had tucked the shirt in and buttoned it all the way to the top, as if he was preparing for a tie to join the ensemble. You looked him up and down. He hadn’t put on the shoes, and he was wearing his classic mismatched socks. It made you smile. You stood up, and grabbed his shoulders. 

“You look good,” you said, and Spencer felt like he was on top of the world. “But if we do this…” You trailed off, gently pinching whatever fabric wasn’t clinging to his skin and pulled, untucking the shirt. Spencer felt his body heat up. You smoothed the sides back down once the shirt was free, but you would never be free from the sight of the happy trail you glimpsed. Determined to not make things weird, both you and Spencer tried to act normal despite the obvious tension building. It was only made worse when you moved to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, and you glanced up at him through those gorgeous lashes of yours. Spencer thought he might pass out. You thought you might just keep going, see how many buttons you could undo before he took you on the bed, then and there. You gave him an awkward smile and Spencer burned the image of you unbuttoning his shirt as deep into his brain as possible. He knew if he didn’t act fast, he’d end up with a dick imprint practically pressing into your leg due to the proximity. After what seemed like forever, you backed up just a step, ruffling his hair before having him look in the mirror. 

“...If we do this, you look even better.”

If there was anything that could turn Spencer off the fastest, it was the sight of himself. He scrunched his face at the sight of himself, and turned to face you again. 

You were looking at him like you might pounce on him, blinking back into reality once he spoke. 

“I look like I’m going to a funeral where the dress code was disrespectful.” His comment rocked you so badly you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. You threw your head back, and he found himself smiling too. 

“You look great. But you’re right, something’s missing…” You paused, before throwing your hands up in realization. “Oh! Of course!” You walked over to him again, taking his arms from his sides and unbuttoning the cuffs on his wrists. You folded them over and slid them up his arms, exposing his forearms. The sight of him dressed this way was beginning to make you sweat. 

“There,” you said. “Now you look like the dress code was disrespectful and sexy.” 

His shock turned into a high pitched, choked laugh. He was blushing like crazy, but some sense of normalcy returned as you both reigned in the beasts raging inside of you. You said you were done, and he checked his watch again.

“...We still have 30 minutes before we have to leave.” He said. You cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, Doctor, aren’t you going to offer me the grand tour?”

-

The tour only took about ten minutes total, even with all of your questions that were surely meant to stall him, in order for you to properly profile his place. Habitually, you profiled nearly everyone you met, but you took specific details in and stored them away for later. It was darker than you’d imagined, the deep green walls making the space feel smaller than it was. The blinds were open now, but you imagined that if they were closed, it’d be completely necessary to have every small lamp he had on just to see. It was extremely stylish all things considered, and every piece of decor he had seemed well thought out in order to fit the space. 

“You’ve done a really lovely job on the aesthetics of this place, Spence.” You said, and Spencer beamed. He took a lot of pride in his space, as he often spent a lot of time alone, so he wanted his space to be somewhere he enjoyed being. 

“Thank you!” He said earnestly, and it made you smile. You still had 20 minutes before you had to go, and the end of the tour had brought you back to the front room. He glanced, again, at his wrist, but you grabbed it and covered the watch before he could.

“Just can’t wait to get away from me, huh, genius?” Spencer’s face was full of surprise, and he stuttered.

“W-what? No! No- quite… quite the opposite actually. I’m not eager to head out. I like hanging out with you,” he admitted, and you felt a blush grow across your cheeks, not expecting such honesty. You gave another pout at his kindness, and went to hug him.

“Aw, Spence!” You embraced him and looked up at him. He wondered if his face would ever return to its natural shade. He nervously let his arms wrap around you and thought about how physical you’d been with him lately. He liked it.

“I like hanging out with you, too. Do you want to go get food before we go? There’s this small food truck on the way, and their food is to die for.”

Spencer agreed, and gestured to the door. 

“Lead the way,” he bade you, and internally mourned the loss of you from his arms. -

Once you’d stopped for food, it was finally time to head to the bar. You stood in the short line outside, preparing your ID’s, where you ran into Penelope and Derek. 

“Hello my beloveds!” Penelope chirped, and you grinned widely. She was wearing a purple polka dot ensemble, and you cherished the sight of it. Penelope had this innate ability to make life seem like it was worth taking advantage of, and you’d grown quite fond of her in the months you’d worked with her. Derek was in a v-neck tee and dark wash jeans. Penelope suddenly gasped, and you looked around to see what had piqued her attention.

“Oh my goodness, you’re matching! That’s so cute!” Your eyes went wide and your head whipped to Spencer. In picking out what would easily make Spencer look incredible, your mind had slipped the fact that you were also wearing black, your jewelry the same tone metal as Spencer’s belt buckle. His red shoes matched your red lips, and your jaw dropped. 

“Looking good, my man,” Derek smiled, and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. Spencer’s face was one of confusion, but he didn’t look embarrassed. You turned to Spence, ready to apologize, but he spoke before you could.

“Yeah, I guess we are matching. She picked out my outfit because you’re always saying I’m… what was it? Hopelessly fashion illiterate, I believe it was?” Penelope laughed, and despite the statement being teasing, Spencer’s face was light. He really loved his friends, and you swooned a little at his ability to let the comment bounce off of him, both about your matching and his lack of style. 

“I did say that, didn’t I? But you look good now!” Penelope said, and you smiled. - You were inside the bar, music loud and the place crowded. You met up with Emily and JJ inside, who had come early to snag seats before all of the booths were taken. You thanked them, and tried not to notice the look they gave each other as they saw you and Spencer approaching. Emily and JJ sat next to each other in the middle of the corner booth, Penelope and Derek to JJ’s left, and you and Spencer to Emily’s. You kissed Emily’s cheek, and she grinned at the mark it left. JJ and Penelope then both proclaimed they were jealous, and so you kissed their faces as well. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Derek asked, and you rolled your eyes. You moved across the table to kiss his cheek as well, and soon, Spencer was the only one without a mark. 

“C’mon, Spence, don’t you want to match?” JJ teased, and he went red. 

“Oh, that’s okay, she doesn’t have to–” He was cut off by you grabbing his face, planting a red mark square on his cheekbone. He laughed, and so did the group. You were proud of your work, and dug inside your purse for your digital camera. 

“Everyone, turn your heads so the kiss is in the frame!” You said, and the group leaned in, eager to get in the photo. You all jeered when the photo was taken, as it turned out absolutely adorable. Your heart was filled with joy at being around your friends, and soon, shots were being ordered. 

Spencer felt his heart going a million miles a minute, eager for the shots to come to the table. The “liquid courage” his coworkers seemed to be huge fans of now seemed more appealing than ever. You were by his side, arm to arm in the crowded booth, and your touch was dizzying him. He was having a good time, all things considered, and he contributed it all to the fact that you were here with him. About two shots, Spencer decided he’d probably had enough, and you and the girls were getting up to hit the dance floor. You tugged on his sleeve, already feeling slightly tipsy and begged him to dance with you.

“Pleeaaaseeeeee,” you moaned, and he laughed at your pleading. 

“No! I don’t dance. Not in public like this, anyways.” You frowned at him and huffed past him.

“Fine. Then you have to watch my purse.” You dropped it in his lap, and left with the girls and Derek to go dance. He felt a small swell of pride that you’d trust him with your things, and he went up to the bar to ask for a ginger ale, carrying your bag in his other hand. 

While waiting for his drink, he felt a hand drag along his shoulder to his right side. He assumed it was you, and turned with a smile on his face to speak with you. Only, it wasn’t your face he was met with. A woman he didn’t know, but who clearly wanted to know him sat in the barstool next to him. She was dressed scantily, her cleavage practically pouring out of her top. Spencer startled as his smile dropped, and he jerked his shoulder away from the woman.

“Relax, handsome. I just want to get to know you,” She purred, and Spencer shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This was what he wanted, right? Someone to take his mind off you, to get laid? But right now, the last thing he wanted was to get any closer to this woman. She wore so much perfume it gave him a headache. His ginger ale was placed in front of him, and he thanked the bartender before looking back at her.

“I, uh… I’m.. thank you? F-for calling me handsome. But I… sorry, I don’t think I’m interested.” The lady’s face twisted into an amused smile, and walked her fingers across the table towards him, trying to come into contact with the hand that held his glass.

“C’mon sexy, will a little conversation hurt?” Spencer squirmed in his seat. Maybe it was immature, but he felt incredibly uncomfortable and was itching to get away. He didn’t know how to get himself out of this situation– he didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn't have wanted her less. She began to reach her hand up to brush an errant curl out of his eye when her hand was suddenly swatted out of the air. 

“Yes, it will. He said he’s not interested.” You appeared beside him, face dark and eyes filled with rage. You’d been watching from afar, your body language expertise allowing you to understand every word said even though you were out of earshot. The stranger’s face turned sour as she glared at you.

“Buzz off honey, I think he can speak for himself.” She replied.

“He can. And he did. And he said no. You can go now,” you bit back, a sarcastic saccharine smile plastered across your face. Spencer watched in awe as you defended him, feeling eternally grateful.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” She asked, and you glowered.

“I’m the girl who gave him this,” you said, your hand suddenly grasping his chin to turn his head so the lipstick that remained on his face, which was previously facing away from her view. Spencer looked up at you as you manhandled his face.

“His girlfriend. So fuck off,” you raised your voice slightly on your last word. You grabbed your purse from his hands, slinging it over your shoulder before lacing his hand through yours and pulling him behind you back to the booth. 

The rest of the team had reconvened at the booth as well, and they watched the entire altercation go down. JJ’s jaw was open and Derek took specific note of your hand in his. Emily and Pen just grinned. 

“Fucking bitch,” you muttered when you sat down. Spencer still hadn’t said a word, and upon climbing into the seat next to you, he still hadn’t released your hand.

“...Thank you.” He said finally, ears hot pink and warm. You looked at him with a sweet smile. “Don’t mention it! You’d do the same for me.” Your grin made him reciprocate, but all he could think about was the fact that he wished your statement had been anywhere close to real.

-

That night, after making sure you reached your car safely, Spencer made it back to his apartment and threw his wallet and keys in the bowl near his front door. He beelined straight for his bedroom, not caring about germs anymore. The second you got into your car and drove away, Spencer felt all of the night’s tensions begin to throb in his pants. He rushed into the elevator, practically breaking down his own door. He kicked his shoes off with expert speed and was now in his room, throwing his clothes on the floor, grabbing his aching cock and fisting it with the same hand you’d held in the bar. Some ten minutes away, you, too, were naked in bed. You grabbed a vibrator from your bedside drawer and clicked it on, pressing it to your clit, desperate for relief. You thought about grabbing Spencer’s face, the way he looked up at you with those big doe eyes. Despite yourself in the moment, you thought about what his eyes would look like filled with tears. How he’d sound if he was brought to the brink, over and over while you asked him whose dick was in your hand. You bucked your hips into the air and whined, needier than ever. Spencer’s tip was weeping, salty precum beading at the top as he relentlessly jerked his length to the thought of you. When you had his face in your hand, your thumb was so close to his mouth. It took every ounce of self restraint in his body to not wrap his lips around it, take it into his mouth and see how you’d taste. He felt himself close already, and he whimpered as he pumped his hand faster.

You were bordering your orgasm now, babbling dirty nothings into the night. You remembered untucking Spencer’s shirt earlier, the happy trail you saw. And to your absolute shame, that was what undid you. 

Spencer’s mind flashed images of you in the dress you’d worn. How you’d dressed him to match him. He was sure it was an accident, but what wasn’t an accident was when you called him sexy in front of the mirror, just feet away from where he was now. He came with a shuddering groan, hips twitching as his climax covered his stomach. 

-

The next day, you and the girls were in Penelope’s lair when Emily decided she had to know.

“So…” she said, and your eyes flicked to her over your coffee cup. “You and Spencer, huh?” 

You choked on your coffee, and Spencer, who had been on his way to deliver paperwork Hotch had asked him to give Garcia, paused outside the doorway.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. It was bad manners. It was rude. He remembered how he had cried your name as he came on himself the night before.

Maybe he was past manners now.

You brushed the sprayed coffee from your face with your sleeve and blinked.

“Sorry, what?” 

JJ rolled her eyes and cocked her head. “Oh, come on. You were matching at the bar, not to mention that move you pulled with the kiss mark on his face when you were talking to that lady. More than that, you grabbed his hand.” 

You were perplexed. “What’s weird about me grabbing his hand?” Emily pursed her lips and gave a sly grin.

“Spencer doesn’t shake or hold hands with anyone. Anyone… except you. That first day, when you shook his hand? I haven’t seen him do that with anyone in a long time. It’s his germaphobia, he says it's statistically safer to kiss.”

You were silent for many moments and Spencer wished he could see your face. Were you angry he hadn’t told him? Finally, you spoke, and Spencer suddenly wished he’d left when he had the chance.

“She called him sexy. The only person I need calling him sexy is me.” The girls squealed and laughed, and you felt a blush creep onto your face, though you felt anything but coy. 

“He doesn’t know it yet, but that man is mine.” You said, and Spencer bit his lip to stifle the whimper that almost escaped him at the possessiveness in your voice. Then, a fate he thought he’d escaped since meeting you finally caught up to him. His cock began to stiffen, and again, his blood froze. Well, it froze everywhere but where he needed to cease its flow. He was hot, and he began to sweat. He needed to give Penelope the paperwork, but his dick was growing at an alarming rate as he replayed your words over and over in his mind. To his saving grace, Derek was passing in the hall at that exact moment, and his… situation wasn’t yet visible. Once Derek was past the doorway, Spencer thrust the papers into his arms and pointed at Penelope’s door before darting away. Derek looked around puzzled before stepping into the doorway, holding up the papers. 

“I… think these are for you?” 

-

Spencer made it to the bathroom once more, shutting the door and feeling an intoxicating mix of lust and humiliation fill his head. Did you want him to ask you out? Did you only want him sexually? Did you want him sexually at all? Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head this time, too high on the feeling of knowing you felt something about him, he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down just so his cock could spring free. It was twitching uncontrollably, and he whimpered when he ran his thumb over the head. There, in the family bathroom of the BAU at FBI headquarters, Spencer fucked his hand to the thought of you. He was bucking his hips at the sentiment of being totally consumed by you, being yours, and he ran his hand along his length until he was spurting hot ropes of cum into a gathered handful of toilet paper, biting his lip until it bled to stop himself from calling out for you right there. 

He was so fucked.

....::::**•°✾°•**::::....

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if you enjoyed, feel free to comment or reblog! the support for this so far has been genuinely insane and it makes me so happy, I read every single comment I get!!

[mistiemoon]

Crawling back to you.

Spencer reid x roommate fem!reader

Summary: After a night surrounded by his colleagues at the bar, you come to the conclusion Spencer actually wanted to end things with you, what you don’t know is that Spencer’s just trying to figure out how to tell you.

Warnings: 3k words 18+ MDNI, porn with little plot, fluff, unprotected p in v, soft!dom spencer, he eats you out like his life depends on it, couch sex!! Missionary and cowgirl.

Part One - Part Two.

You shouldn’t have gone tonight. 

Spencer asked you if you wanted to go out with him and his colleagues tonight and there was no way you could say no. 

You liked his team. They each found a way to make you feel comfortable. When you first met his team you were apprehensive that they wouldn’t be at all friendly or, quite frankly, human considering the job they all did. But like most things in your life it turned out to be the complete opposite. 

They were funny, and a delight to be around. The girls always included you in conversations and the boys always made sure you had a drink.

You weren’t sure if they ever knew about your…..situation with Spencer. You knew for damn sure he wouldn’t have told them, not out of ashamedness, because Spencer has never made you feel as if you are something to hide, but more out of awkwardness and out of respect for his private life. 

But you couldn’t be sure, they were profilers after all. Over the months they must have noticed the lingering touches on your waist as he moved past you, the way he would look at you first if someone made a joke to see if you found it funny, how he would just look at you with longingness. 

If they didn’t put two and two together before, they most certainly did now Spencer wasn’t doing those things. 

Since Spencer ended things with you, there was no such thing as a gentle touch, a warm look from across the room. Now it was replaced with something that appeared cold, indifferent almost. 

You knew better, better than his whole team if you had to put money on it. Spencer wasn’t acting uninterested in you all of a sudden because he was, rather, the opposite. 

In his mind, none of this was linear, you don’t go from strangers to roomates to friends, to fuck buddies to possible lover. 

The whole thing confused him so much that he needed time. Not time away from you, but time to think away from sex. If you were constantly fucking like bunny rabits there was no time to assess his own thoughts. 

The whole night, he sat opposite you. He spoke to you here and there, lighthearted conversations like it had been for the past two weeks. But you could always feel the elephant in the corner, looming over the both of you. The tension was so thick it felt like two opposite sides of a magnet being held apart, slowly threatening to collide with all the words left unsaid between you two. 

There were only so many times you could sit near him and catch his eyes before it all got too much. You both longed to be together, but him and his stubbornness was forcing you to be apart. You expected a few days of his contemplation, not two weeks. 

So much time had passed that you concluded that you must’ve been wrong. He wasn’t in love with you. You thought you knew how his brain worked, and how quickly he would be able to organise his thoughts and feelings and diagnose himself with being hopelessly in love with you. When he didn’t come back home one day and confess his love, you simply expected it to be the next day instead. 

Until tonight, you sit opposite him realising that no such confession was ever coming your way, feeling rather sorry for yourself, upset that you thought you knew better. 

You announced to everyone that you were getting tired and you were going to head home. You wished everyone a goodnight and left. 

They must’ve known that was strange, considering you always left with Spencer, not only because you lived together, but because by the end of the night, you were both itching to get home and rip each other's clothes off. 

You pulled your coat tighter as you started your walk home, the cold air biting the tip of your nose. You approached one particular alley, stopping to look down it. 

You remembered one night when you and Spencer left early, laughing and running down it, tipsy and full of joy, when he stopped you both and pulled you in for a kiss, cupping your head in both of his hands. 

You continued on for barely thirty seconds before you heard your name being called from behind you. 

You turned to see Spencer half jog to catch up with you, his warm breath curling in the cold air. 

“Why did you go?” He asked once he reached you. 

“I couldn’t sit there and pretend nothing’s changed Spencer” You replied, looking at his battered converse. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I know i’ve been distant with you” He shifted his weight between his feet, speaking so quietly you could barely hear him. “I just needed time to think” 

“You’ve had two weeks, that's a lot of thinking” You huffed, your frustration seeping out. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to initiate….. whatever this is the way I did. And I apologise, I never wanted to lose your friendship.”

“You haven’t!--” Spencer started. 

“-Spencer, don’t you see?” You spoke over him. “There's no way we could ever go back to being friends after this. I care about you far too much to be your friend and pretend none of this ever happened” 

“I don’t want–” 

“No Spencer, I understand. I misunderstood the situation differently than you–”

“No–” He tried to interrupt. 

“--Yes” You cut in right away. You were too exhausted to hear him try to appease you with pity you didn’t deserve. 

“-Will you ever fucking let me finish?” He interrupted you quickly, his voice low and gravely, with the slightest hint of passion laced between each word. 

You hated how much that turned you on. Now was not the time. You clicked your neck to ease some of the newfound arousal simmering under your skin. 

“I don’t ever want to be your friend again. Because I’ve been trying to find the words to try and describe the way I feel about you. But there are none. There will never be any words in any language that gives justice to the feelings I have for you” He near shouted, his hands clenching at his sides.

“You plague my mind and heart, It’s been torturous to be near you and not be able to hold you. I see you in our home and all I curse myself for not being enough of a man to tell you I've made a mistake” 

He continued, taking one fractionally small step closer to you. “So yes, I would hate to be your friend too, because it would kill me to just call you my friend when I love you” 

The words hung between you, impossibly still. Spencer swallowed hard, like even saying them had stolen the air from his lungs.

“I told you we couldn't do this anymore because every time we end up in my bed...” He paused, searching for words that refused to come. “...you leave, and suddenly I'm supposed to act like the love of my life didn't just walk back into the room next door” 

“You smile at me the next day like nothing happened, and I smile back because I don't know what else to do. So I thought if I stopped... if I put some distance between us... eventually I'd stop wanting more.” 

He got closer to you to the point where you were sharing the same air. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, his to match. 

“Instead, all it did was prove that it was never about sex. I need all of you, I can’t run from that anymore” 

He tipped his forehead onto yours, inhaling shakily. You finally put your hands on his waist beneath his coat, feeling him immediately melt beneath your touch. 

Neither of you spoke. Spencer's eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment, almost as though he'd finally allowed himself to rest. 

One hand slid from beneath his coat, climbing slowly over the buttons of his shirt until your fingertips rested against his jaw. He leaned into your touch instinctively.

"You made me think..." Your voice cracked. "You made me think you regretted me."

His face fell immediately. 

"Never." The answer came so quickly there wasn't even room for thought. "Not once."

You searched his face, looking for even the smallest trace of doubt, there wasn't any, there never had been.

Your thumb brushed over the faint stubble along his cheek, running along his lower lip and jaw before pulling him closer towards you so his lips could finally meet yours. 

His hands found you immediately, cradling your face with such devoutness it almost made you cry all over again. What started off as the purest of kisses, gentle, small touches of lips turned into something much heavier. His teeth catching your bottom lip before sucking it hard, pulling a soft moan from your throat. 

His hands trembled against your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks while his fingers threaded into your hair, gripping tight as if he was terrified you'd disappear.

You pressed your body flush against his, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers working at his buttons near his waist with shaking urgency until you could slip your palms inside and feel the heat of his skin. Spencer groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to crawl inside you.

"Fuck," he gasped against your lips, breaking away only long enough to breathe before diving back in. 

His tongue curled around yours, slow and filthy, while his hands dropped to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel him getting hard against your hip, his cock straining against his pants as he ground forward instinctively.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses, the words spilling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 

“I love you too,” you said back, overlapping with his declarations, each punctuated by another desperate kiss, his mouth moving to your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into your skin before returning to your lips like he couldn't stay away.

“Lets go home” You manage to say in between kisses, your voice broken and hoarse. 

He nodded quickly, grabbing your hand, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste to get home. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, as you walked, his hands slipped from where they rested under your coat around your waist to your ass, squeezing as you walked, pulling you in for another kiss. 

You shamelessly would retaliate, stroking his erection through his slacks as you kissed him, each whine going straight to your core. 

The door barely clicked shut before Spencer had you slammed against it, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that rattled the frame. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. You could feel his cock straining against his pants, thick and insistent as he ground forward, desperate for friction.

"I need you so much, I can't wait," he growled against your mouth, already working at your shirt with shaking fingers. The fabric tore slightly as he yanked it over your head, but neither of you cared. 

His mouth found your neck immediately, teeth scraping down to your collarbone while his hands fumbled with your bra clasp. When it finally gave, he groaned in relief, palming your breasts roughly before his mouth descended to suck one nipple between his lips.

Your hands were just as frantic, tearing at his shirt until buttons scattered across the floor. You shoved it off his shoulders and went for his belt, yanking it open and shoving his pants down. His cock sprang free, heavy and leaking, the head already glistening. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking from base to tip, and Spencer bucked into your grip with a broken moan.

"Bedroom," he managed, but the word was barely out before he was lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you deeper into the apartment, his cock pressed hot and hard against your stomach. 

He made it as far as the couch before dropping you down and climbing over you, his mouth finding yours again as his hands worked your pants off with desperate urgency.

The moment you were bare, Spencer dropped down your body and spread your thighs wide. He looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes before lowering his mouth to your pussy. His tongue dragged slowly from your entrance up to your clit, tasting how wet you already were for him. The first long lick made your hips jerk, and Spencer groaned against your folds like he was starving.

His tongue circled your clit with firm, wet strokes before dipping lower to push inside you. He fucked you with his tongue, thrusting deep and curling to catch every drop of your arousal. His nose pressed against your clit as he worked, creating friction with every movement of his head.

Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the strands as he licked and sucked at you. Spencer was relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that covered your entire slit and focused attention on your clit that made your thighs tremble around his head. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, flicking his tongue against it rapidly while two of his fingers teased your entrance without pushing inside.

"Spencer," you gasped, your back arching off the couch as he worked you over. He responded by pressing his face harder against you, his tongue pushing deeper into your pussy as he tried to taste every inch of you. 

Your hips rolled against his face, grinding your pussy against his mouth as he devoured you. Spencer let you use him, his tongue staying flat and still while you rode his face. Every movement dragged your clit against his tongue, building the pressure inside you until you were shaking with need.

He moaned as you did, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, adding another layer of sensation as he went back to work. His tongue pushed inside you again, fucking you with deep, wet strokes while his nose bumped your clit with every thrust.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building in your core as Spencer worked you with single-minded focus. The sight of him between your thighs, face buried in your heat, was almost too much to handle.

Spencer seemed to sense how close you were getting. He doubled his efforts, his tongue working your clit with rapid flicks while he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips. Two fingers finally pushed inside you, curling against that spot that made your vision go white. He pumped them in time with his tongue, creating a rhythm that had you crying out his name.

The combination of his moans, his fingers, and his relentless tongue pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken cry. Spencer didn't stop, his tongue gentling but still working as he licked you through it, tasting every drop of your release.

Even after you came down, he stayed between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your sensitive pussy. His tongue made lazy circles around your clit, avoiding direct contact as you twitched and shuddered from overstimulation. 

His fingers slipped out of you slowly, and he brought them to his mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact.

"I love how you taste," he said, voice hoarse. He pressed one more kiss to your clit before climbing up your body, his hard cock dragging against your thigh as he settled between your legs.

His mouth found yours in a deep kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. The evidence of what he'd done to you was all over his face, his chin still wet from your arousal. Spencer didn't seem to care, kissing you like he was trying to devour you whole.

"Need to be inside you," he groaned against your lips, his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank into your wet heat.

The stretch was perfect, your body still sensitive from his mouth. Spencer buried himself to the hilt with a shaky groan, his forehead pressed to yours as he fought for control. "So fucking tight," he breathed. "God, I love you."

He started moving with long, deep thrusts that had you gasping beneath him. Each stroke dragged his cock against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that made your toes curl. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucked you with desperate intensity.

"Missed this," he panted against your neck. "Missed being inside you." His thrusts grew harder, more urgent, the couch creaking beneath you with every movement.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he pounded into you. The new angle had his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust, the sensation bordering on too much but exactly what you needed. Spencer's hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you seeing stars.

You came with a cry, your pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer followed right after, burying himself deep as he came with a broken moan of your name. You could feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with hot spurts of cum as his whole body shook with the force of his release.

Even after, he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside you, kissing you slow and deep while his hands stroked over your skin with trembling tenderness. 

"Never letting you go," he whispered against your lips. "Never letting anyone take you from me. You're mine. All mine."

Spencer shifted slightly, his softening cock still inside you as he adjusted your position on the couch. He pulled you closer, arranging your bodies so you were half on top of him, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

"I truly did miss you. I want you to know that, not just sex. I missed all of you " he said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. "What happened before... being apart... it nearly killed me. I don't want to do that again. I can't pretend I don't need you."

“I missed you too, but you don’t need to anymore. I’m all yours, Spencer, I always have been” 

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. The apartment was quiet around you, the only sounds your breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside. 

Spencer's hand moved to your hair, stroking through the strands with gentle fingers. 

His cock twitched inside you, already starting to harden again as he held you close. The sensation made you shift against him, and Spencer groaned softly at the movement. 

"I can't get enough of you," he admitted. “I’m already getting hard again” he smiled against your lips. 

You rolled your hips experimentally with a smirk, feeling him grow harder inside you. Spencer's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"Good, because I’m still not done with you "you say, your voice still rough from your earlier cries. The words scrape against your throat, raw and honest. "Two weeks without you is far too long." Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that's grown in since this morning.

The words seem to unlock something in him. Spencer's hazel eyes darken, the brown and green swirling like storm clouds. In one fluid motion that surprises you with its strength, he flips you both over. The world tilts, and suddenly you're straddling him on the couch, his body beneath yours, your knees sinking into the cushions on either of his hips.

"Then take what you want," he said, his hands settling on your hips. His eyes were dark with renewed desire, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

You started moving slowly, rolling your hips in circles that ground your clit against his pelvis. Spencer's cock was fully hard again, thick and hot inside you as you worked yourself on him. His hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that had both of you breathing hard.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Show me how much you missed me." His words send heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You pick up the pace, bouncing on his length with increasing urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, a rhythmic slap that marks your tempo. His dick fills you completely, stretching your pussy with each downward thrust.

Spencer sat up to meet you, his mouth finding your breasts as you rode him. He sucked one nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak while his hands gripped your ass. The new position had him hitting different angles inside you, his cock dragging against spots that made your vision blur.

You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter with each movement. Spencer's hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that had you gasping. The dual stimulation was almost too much, pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating intensity, your pussy clenching around him as you come with a broken cry. Waves of pleasure roll through your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. 

Spencer holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips as you shake and tremble above him. Your vision whites out, all sensation narrowing to the points where your bodies connect.

He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he came with a groan of your name. You could feel him filling you again, his cum mixing with your own wetness as he held you close through his release.

This time when you came down, Spencer carefully lifted you off his cock and arranged you both on the couch. He pulled a throw blanket over your bodies, tucking it around you with gentle hands. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Stay with me tonight," he said quietly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "In my bed I mean,. I don't want to wake up without you again." The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tight, and you pressed closer to him, seeking his warmth.

"Of course," you promised, and felt him relax beneath you. “Also, we might need to discuss who’s bedroom we will be moving into” 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Mine, obviously. There’s more space I have a bigger bed” 

“Okay. As long as we can have my plants and other trinkets in there” You say, tracing absent shapes on his bare back. 

“I think I can manage that” He smiled, flicking his nose against yours.

“I love you” You whisper. 

Being in love with Spencer didn’t feel new, as somewhere along the way, between the shared bedroom walls, movie marathons, takeouts and mind boggling sex, you had both already fallen in love. 

Love had woven itself into the ordinary, into the books you shared, into the photobooth pictures of the pair of you on the fridge, into the mugs left in the sink because you knew he’d use them again. 

You had recognised it long before you found the courage to name it. Spencer had simply been slower to see what had been right in front of him.

He hadn't fallen in love tonight, He’d simply realised that you'd been already living inside it all along.

a.n. I finally finished a series - well done me ! I lowkey loved writing this style of series, there is no plot at all but I wanted to write something that you don't really need to read part to follow along. TAGLIST - @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @moonz33 @pinkpantheris @throughmylifetimesiwatchtheworld - Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

[lowkregulusblack]

sirius would sometimes isolate himself from everyone around him for a week straight and then get really fucking depressed because he's so lonely

[esote-rika]

BLACK TIE

Summary: It is the age old story of womanhood—looking through your closet and realizing you have nothing to wear for an upcoming wedding. You're not sure when Spencer Reid becomes the person to call during times of panic, but he agrees to accompany you to the boutique anyway. Contents: 3.3k words, FLUFF, fake relationship, prof!reader who wears glasses, no use of y/n, anxious prof!reader, very slight nonsexual nudity, SO much tension, descriptions of dresses, pic isn't entirely accurate just for vibes. A/N: ILY guys. Happens after I Don't Even Dare To Wish It. Gif by @reidgif . ➳ Save the Date masterlist

Between teaching, research, and consultations, there's not much time on your schedule left for shopping. Unfortunately, shopping is exactly what you have to do, as your best friend's wedding is creeping ever closer and the dresses in your closet are comically unfit for neither theme.

A Winter Ball.

It's so endearingly predictable. Of course Melissa—who loves snow, fantasy and fairy tales, and anything tipped with silver frost—would choose a winter ballroom wedding. The colors on the invitation say dress in the colors of the northern lights, accompanied with a palette that's admittedly very pretty. Some of these colors would be flattering on you. It's workable.

Unfortunately, the dress code is black tie. Which poses a problem.

You have black tie gowns in your closet, but they don't quite fit the whimsical winter theme. Plain black silk with modest necklines, falling straight to the floor. Just pretty enough to suggest effort, but never eye catching, never particularly beautiful. Dresses that say I made an effort while simultaneously insisting please don't perceive me.

Perfect for faculty dinners.

Terrible for pretending to be a glamorous guest at a winter fairytale wedding.

Thus, shopping.

Now for your next issue: finding someone who'll come with you last minute.

In-store shopping has always triggered a very specific kind of anxiety—the tongue-tied, chest constricting, panic sweating kind. It's irrational—you know that—but knowing it's irrational has never stopped your pulse from racing every time a sales associate asks, Can I help you?

Normally, you'd simply order online and save yourself the stress. But you don't want to risk the delayed shipping, or the inaccurate sizing. Additionally, in case the whole thing is a bust, online returns take way too long.

Besides, you have friends. Surely, you'll find one willing to accompany you, right?

Right.

Before you know it, you've dialed a number. It takes a full ring before you realize it's Spencer's.

Fuck. You stare at the screen, wondering when the hell did Spencer Reid become your go-to contact. Your thumb hovers over the end-call button, debating whether you should salvage your dignity and hang up now.

He answers before you can make the decision.

"Hey, what's going on?" he sounds soft.

Your mind flashes back to when he was here, in your apartment—in your bed—armed with takeout and reassurance and warm hugs while you cried over your dissertation.

He'd used the exact same tone then. Low enough to soothe over the frayed edges of your nerves. Does he use that voice with anyone else, or is it unique when he's talking to you?

Why do you care? You don't.

Why is that important? It's not.

You push your glasses up your nose and reply, "Hey. Um." Oh wow. Brilliant. You are so eloquent.

"Is something wrong?"

Is it too late to say you've accidentally butt dialed his number? Perhaps not. However, in that split second, you decide that the truth is less mortifying than a lie so lame as butt dialing, so you blurt it out.

"Nothing's wrong. Just wondering if you're busy."

"I'm free after lunch."

Fuck. Why couldn't he make your life easier by saying he's busy? Why didn't you just call Carrie in the first place? Why was Spencer's number the first thing you dialed?

"Would you..." You squeeze your eyes shut. "Would you maybe come shopping with me?"

No answer. You power through, against your better judgement, the words spilling in one suspended breath. "I… I need to find a dress for Melissa's wedding and I hate going shopping by myself."

There's a pause, which you use to alternate between praying the ground swallows you whole, and hoping he says yes.

"Are you sure you want me to come?" his voice more animated now, colored with confusion, "I'm not exactly knowledgeable on women's fashions."

"I don't really need you there for your expertise, just the moral support."

He doesn't answer again. An image of him comes so sharply to your mind—brows furrowed, nose crinkled, lips lightly curling like he's fighting back a smile—it makes your lips twitch before you catch the action and school them into a neutral straight line.

"It's fine if you don't want to," you begin to say, voice lightly strangled. "It's a weird request."

"No, no. I don't think it's weird at all."

You can imagine him shaking his head. Cheeks dimpled and curls gilded by light. You feel it would take too much energy to expel the thought from, so you allow it to linger. It roots like some sacred memory, and you find you don't mind it too much.

"I'm just curious why you need 'moral support' when you're shopping?"

You laugh, mostly at yourself. "It's… okay, those ladies doing sales freak me out. I feel like they're always sizing me up or something, it's a whole thing and it's dumb because I know it's literally their job to anticipate if I need help, but I just feel weird going there alone."

He hums through the phone, sounding thoughtful. You push your glasses up your nose, just for something to do.

"You know," Spencer says after a moment, "there's evidence that people significantly overestimate how much strangers notice them."

"You think I don't know that? I told you, I know this is dumb. You can say no."

"Okay."

"Okay I'm being dumb, or okay you're saying no?"

"Okay, I'll come with you," for the first time this whole conversation, he finally sounds amused.

And for the first time since he picked up, your chest doesn't feel like there's a pile of bricks sitting on top of it, impeding your breaths.

"Really?" you don't bother hiding the relief from your voice.

"Really. I can pick you up around 1:30."

Pick you up around 1:30 sounds awfully close to being picked up for a date. Your brain unhelpfully goes back to the dates of your youth, what few ones you've been on, arm and arm with a man and smiling in excitement. Traitorously, your brain also replaces the faces of the men in these memories into a tall, dimpled professor.

No. You shut the thought down quick.

This is normal friend behavior. Carrie uses the same terms, except Carrie is Carrie, not a very attractive older colleague who you're also pretending to date.

Whatever. You're getting worked up over nothing.

This is Spencer doing you a favour because he's an extraordinarily kind person helping out a friend.

You thank him, managing to sound remarkably normal considering your internal monologue has descended into complete chaos.

The boutique is just as you predicted. Too bright, too many sales associates welcoming you with too wide smiles. The air is saturated with cloying jasmine and vanilla, and soft, instrumental music hums just loud enough to hide the buzz of conversation.

""Welcome!" one of the ladies chirps the moment you and Spencer step inside. "Are you shopping for a special occasion?"

Your shoulders tense automatically.

"We're just going to look around," you answer, trying to match her enthusiasm without sounding as uncomfortable as you feel.

Her smile doesn't falter. "Of course! Let me know if I can start a fitting room for you."

"I will. Thank you." You don't move until she's turned away. Once she does, you make a beeline for the least crowded rack, shoulders still tense. Spencer follows beside you, and without a word, rests his hand between your shoulder blades. You feel the warmth of it through your coat, quietly, steadily melting some of the tension.

When you glance over your shoulder, you notice the sales associate watching the two of you from across the boutique.

Before you can overthink it, Spencer shifts. Instead of walking beside you, he moves behind by half a step. You're confused for just a moment until you realize that, with him standing at that angle, the sales associate completely disappeares from your view.

Quite literally shielding you with his body.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't drop his hand either. Just follows you like a patient shadow, while you browse through rows upon rows of blues and greens. You feel you chest tightening for reasons unrelated to the perky sales ladies.

It's silent, surprisingly comfortable, until he breaks it with one of his usual tangents.

"You know," he says, lifting a hanger to inspect the fabric, "the distinction between black tie and white tie has become significantly less rigid over the last century. Certain movements have called out the elitism of these dress codes, as well as the ridiculous standards set upon each gender."

"I thought you said you know nothing about women's fashion?" you glance at him with a grin.

"I did a little research after you called."

"Are you aware that little usually means a lot?"

He shrugs with an easy smile. "I had a couple of hours to kill. Fashion, history, and capitalism go hand in hand."

You laugh, moving to the next rack while he regales you with more of his findings. Before you know it, you've forgotten about the other people in the boutique. Spencer Reid has successfully monopolized your attention, and though you can't believe you're saying this, you're glad he did. You're glad you asked him to come. You're glad he said yes.

Twenty minutes later, your arms are draped with dresses and you're surveying another one, when he breaks his current information dump with a question.

"Wouldn't you be cold in some of these?" Spencer looks at you with concern.

Indeed, most of the gowns are strapless, or made with thin material.

"The ceremony's indoors, everything will be heated." you reply. It had said so in the invitation.

"But getting there?"

"I can wear a coat over it on the way, don't worry."

He accepts your logic, keeps quiet as you go from one rack to the next. It lasts all of two minutes before he's asking something again.

"Am I expected to wear these colors too?" he asks, watching you peruse through shades of green.

You glance over, brows furrowing. "What?"

"Should I rent a new suit in these colors?" he says, gesturing at the array of gowns in your arms.

"I mean, men's formal wear is so much more straightforward, I think you can get away with a standard black coat and tie." you answer, checking a price tag on one dress and wincing lightly. Back on the rack it goes.

"I suppose that's true," he follows you to a different rack, hands deep in his pockets. Spencer's dressed the most casual you've ever seen him, in a black sweater without a button down collar peeking underneath, and a heavy black jacket to combat the cold. It's a good look on him, not that you'd ever admit it out loud.

"And I'm assuming you already have those already."

"I do, but wouldn't it be nice to match a little? If we're attending together, do men's accessories usually coordinate with the gown? I've never been someone's wedding date before."

You whirl to face him.

He smiles. "If we're going as a couple, don't you think that'll more convincing?"

You blink, mouth agape.

"No one would consciously notice," he continues, like this is something he's thought about for a while, "but coordinated colours tend to reinforce the perception that two people arrived together," he tilts his head, "it increases credibility."

"I suppose that's true." you say finally.

"It'll also narrow down my options."

"Your options?" your brows are probably at your hairline now.

"For which tie to wear. I wouldn't want to clash with you."

"Right."

"So, if you think about it, it's actually a good thing I came. I'll know exactly what color you'll pick, and I can match you accordingly."

"You realize it'll be unbelievably corny?" you joke, because how else are you supposed to react to Spencer Reid offering to color coordinate with you for a stupid fake relationship?

"I daresay most people would encourage being corny at a wedding." Spencer replies, grinning wide and proud.

"That's fair," you nod, "Yeah that's—oh god, I hate that this makes sense."

He laughs. "I'm just doing my job as your boyfriend."

There are three final contenders in the dressing room, all of them within your budget and fitting Melissa's curated winter color scheme.

The first dress is nice enough, a solid choice if you don't find anything better.

The second is gorgeous, a total steal for its price point, but the fabricis nearly translucent you can't even show it to Spencer without worrying about flashing him, so it's eliminated from the running.

Which leaves the third.

Save the best for last, so the saying goes, and this one is definitely it. It's cut in a timeless silhouette made of a heavier fabric than the other two, which makes it perfect for the cooling temperatures. Despite its weight, it is soft, draping delicately over your body, and flowing like liquid with every movement.

The neckline dips lower than anything you'd normally wear, while the back falls open a few inches above your hips, held together by slender ribbons threaded through loops and criss-crossing over across your back.

It's elegant. Daring. So unlike the plain, very classic dresses in your closet.

Which is probably why you like it so much.

Unfortunately, you can't quite get a whole picture of how it looks on you because you've unravelled the lacing while trying to put it on. One long ribbon is hopelessly tangled around your forearm, while the rest resemble the world's most expensive ball of string. You would be a cat's dream plaything right now.

"Fuck," you hiss. You're unsure how you fucked it up so badly, and you're terrified you'd accidentally tear open a seam if you keep twisting around. "Fuck!"

"You okay? You've been in there six minutes and forty-nine seconds, that's three minutes and thirty-one seconds longer than normal." Spencer calls out.

You stop struggling long enough to frown, even though he can't see you.

"Why are you timing me down to the seconds?" you huff.

"It's an old habit," he replies. "Need any help?"

No. Yes, but are you really prepared for that?

"I could call one of the ladies and—"

"No," you croak. You do not want one of them coming in, no matter how nice or accommodating they are, "I think you'd be… sufficient."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure… I'm just, uh, a little tangled up."

"Ah." he knocks on your door, as if to indicate he's ready and willing.

"Don't peek or be a creep, Spencer, I swear to god."

"Of course not!"

The front of the dress is held up only by an arm tightly pressed to your chest. It's not so bad. He'll catch maybe a hint of side boob, but you can live with that. You crack the door open and peek out.

His owlish eyes greet you, concerned and unblinking. The rest of the hallway is clear.

"All right, here." You open the door wider, and turn around, letting him see the twisted mess of silk across your back. "The ribbons are supposed to go into the slots along the sides, see?"

Spencer's quiet. You feel his gaze like an insistent weight, and suddenly the room lacks oxygen.

"Spencer, do you see where they're supposed to go?" you repeat, your free arm twisting to run over the material, trying to feel for where the loops are located. "I think I missed a slot here, so it's always uneven when I tighten it."

"Yes, I see." his voice is low, hoarse, and lands in a space so unfamiliar you can't even name it. His exhale is a lick of heat across the back of your neck and shoulders, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he tugs at the silk ties, slowly separating them one by one.

"Okay."

"You really did tangle the entire thing, it's kind of impressive." he chuckles.

You can only sheepishly laugh in return, eyes fixed upon the ground, and arms crossed protectively over your chest. Anything to distract you from his proximity.

He's close enough that his scent surrounds you, the warm spices and slight musk of old books now welcome and customary.

"How'd you get so tangled up like this anyway?" he asks, pushing some of your hair back over your shoulder. The continued contact of his fingertips makes you suppress a shudder. He's going back and fixing the mistake from the top, and you're wishing the knot in your stomach is as easy to unravel as these ribbons.

"Beats me," you say, laughing weakly.

"They go kind of like shoelaces." he answers in that same hoarse voice.

You exhale. "Mhm, but those are easier to fix."

The ribbons drag across your back as he tugs, slow and steady. He repeats the same motion to the other side, quiet in his focus. Rough knuckles brush on your skin every now and then. Accidental. Probably unavoidable.

You think you're two seconds away from combusting.

The worst part is, you're not entirely sure why.

Because nothing about this is should be riling you up. He's lacing you in, for heaven's sake, not out. A friend helping a friend.

But every brush of his fingers on your skin, accidental or otherwise, lingers far longer than it should.

The frightening thing is, part of you wants to welcome it. Wants to become familiar with his touch, wants to lean in and relish it.

Spencer is quiet, guiding the ribbons through every loop with sure fingers, steadily getting lower. He fumbles with the loop by your waist. You can't help but jump.

"Did I hurt you?"

How could he possibly, moving this delicately?

"No, I'm good."

"Ticklish, then?" he asks, amused.

"I'm—yeah." Sure. Ticklish, let's go with that.

"My bad. I'll be more careful."

"It's fine, really. I'm not porcelain."

"I know, but I'd rather be."

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the insides of your cheek. The dress settles to your form as he works, the bodice now properly hugging your torso, snug enough that you can lower your arm without fear of the top collapsing.

"Do you think it's too much?" you ask, relaxing now that you're more covered. A quick glance at the mirror confirms your initial assessment—this is the dress. Far more sensual than what you're used to

Now that it's fitted to you properly, it might be your favorite out of everything you've tried. Snug at the top, hugging your curves just enough. But the low, exposed back is a little out of your comfort zone.

"The dress?"

"Yes." You feel one harsh tug as he tightens the last row, and something in you clenches and burns.

"I don't know."

Unbidden, your stomach sinks. But then, he adds,

"This isn't my area of expertise, remember?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "You don't need to be an expert to give an opinion, Spencer."

"For a wedding? No, it's not too much. It fits the dress code, doesn't it?"

"It does. I really like it but I'm—I don't know, it's not something I normally wear."

Spencer's head lifts finally, looking over your shoulder. Your eyes meet in the mirror, equally apprehensive.

"I think it suits you." he says, "Different can be good, right?"

"Right." You exhale, relieved.

"Do you feel comfortable in it?"

You pause, considering. Are you willing to spend an entire evening in this dress without being worried about wardrobe malfunctions? You shift, turn to one side, eyeing your reflection in the mirror. Oddly enough, even though it reveals a lot more than what you're accustomed to, the dress feels very secure.

"Yeah. I do. It's a pretty thick fabric, too." You consider for a moment, before adding, "I like it.

"Then that's what matters," he smiles, watching you move around the dressing room, feeling out the dress. He adds, in a rushed tone, "For what it's worth, I think you look beautiful."

The words make you pause. Even the haphazard speed couldn't mask the earnestness in his voice. You manage a smile, murmur a thanks, because he might not know it yet—hell, you don't want to admit it yourself—but it's worth a lot.

Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed!

➳ more prof spencer x prof!reader fics here!

[reidfullyyours]

[mistiemoon]

He is SO boyfriend. This picture especially.

He lives in my mind rent free.

[mistiemoon]

If I ever talk about Spencer swallowing; this is what I mean btw.

He’s so expressive I wonder what he’s like during a bj….. 👀

[petrerpkr]

My favourite spencer reid fanfics

apoptosis

Imposter Syndrome

las vegas kid

DRY IN THE BAYOU, WET IN THE QUARTER

Five Ways Spencer Reid Lets Himself Be Loved

the living & unseen

Dealer's Choice

Are we still friends?

Five People Spencer Reid Slept With - and One He Didn't

home is the barrel of a gun

The Asphalt Burned

Unmasking the poker face

[snowsmoked]

Even after they come out, Shane is a private person. So is Ilya. And, look, Shane is very happy that the centaurs are so accepting. He really, really has to remind himself how relieved and happy he is about it. He also remembers that this is how locker rooms are. As captain of the metros, the amount of times he had to tell off a player for showing pictures of their girlfriend's breasts or ass to other players was uncomfortably high.

So he really should have expected the question, "so who is, you know, the man?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dude, you can't ask that," a very progressive Young advised. "You gotta ask who's the top. Not the man."

Shane exhaled slowly. He loves his team he loves his team he loves his team.

"That is private," Shane said firmly. "And inappropriate in the workplace."

He was, of course, largely ignored. And while neither him nor Ilya really enjoyed their team, their friends, the internet, and homophobic players guessing their bedroom arraignments, Shane was surprised that nearly everyone got it wrong.

The general consensus what that Shane was the man. His going out outfit was usually jeans and a t-shirt, Ilya's was tight leather pants and a leopard print with four buttons undone. When they drank, Shane got a beer and Ilya either got shots or the sweetest cocktail they had. Ilya was more flamboyant, Shane was more reserved. Ilya liked to bake, Shane liked to grill.

And yes, Shane was aware why all these seemingly innocuous personality traits accumulated to make Shane the man and Ilya the girl. Still, it didn't stop it being generally annoying, offensive, and uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Shane liked finding the silver lining in that this was something just for them to know.

Ilya finds it more amusing then Shane. And, like most things, tries to use it to his advantage.

"Shaaaane, carry my bag," Ilya held out his hockey bag.

"No."

"I can't believe you treat your girlfriend like this."

~*~

"Is it a happy bouquet or an 'i'm sorry' one?" Holmsberg asked as he and the rookies peered over Young's phone. "Get the all roses one."

"That's the most expensive one!"

"Dude."

"Shane," Ilya whined, calling their attention to him. "Why don't you ever buy me flowers?"

"That's messed up, dude," LaPointe shook his head.

"I'll buy you roses, Roz." Wyatt grinned.

"You will not," Shane grumbled.

~*~

"Ah," Ilya winced as he lowered himself on the bench.

"You okay?" Shane asked him. He had taken a hard check into the boards early in the game and, despite reassuring Shane he was fine, he knew his hip was killing him.

"Fine," Ilya said predictability. "Just sore. Will be fine in a minute."

"Hey," Zane nudged Shane's shoulder. "Go easy on him on game days, okay? We need him."

"Go easy?" Shane's eyebrows drew together. "What do you - Oh! No, that isn't - he - I didn't -"

"It's fine, man. Whatever you two-"

"No!" Shane interrupted. "He's still sore off of Richard's check - Not - Ilya, stop laughing!"

~*~

"Doesn't it bother you?" Shane asks Ilya one day.

"What?"

"That everyone assumes you're, you know," Shane gestured, a cute little blush on his cheeks. "The girl."

"There is no girl," Ilya raises his eyebrows and palms Shane through his pants. "I would know."

"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Ilya smiled. "But no. It does not bother me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's hot," Ilya lifted his hands, over Shane's chest and up to his face. "That people can't even imagine you like this."

Ilya dips to kiss his neck and Shane's eyes flutter shut.

"Makes no sense," Ilya continued, hands roaming down to Shane's ass. "To me, I know this immediately."

"F-fuck off, you did not."

"Oh, I did," Ilya gripped his chin, forcing Shane to look at him. "I see you... those beautiful freckles and I know how desperate you are for it. So obvious. Thought everyone was looking at this boy thinking how good he would look getting fucked. How well he would take it."

"Ilya..."

"Shh," Ilya patted his face. "But I think is better this way. That only I get to even imagine you like this. Only I get to have it."

"Only you," Shane agreed readily, hands flying to the zipper on Ilya's jeans.

"Only for me," Ilya agreed, letting Shane take down his pants and boxers. He pressed down on Shane's shoulders, the slightest pressure getting him to sink down, eyes already heavy. Ilya ran his hand through Shane's soft hair, watching the gold of his wedding ring catch the room's low light. "Only for me. Forever."

[sincerelyemery]

nsfw

sirius cockwarming remus. remus gently easing him onto his dick, mumbling a “that’s it, good, easy now.” against sirius’ lips. sirius squirming on remus’ lap because he feels so full but its still not enough and remus is just. staring. admiring sirius with his head tilted to the side and that stupid knowing smile on his face and those stupidly pretty eyes that sirius so desperately wants to see rolling back. remus softly tapping the inside of sirius’ thigh when he’s moving too much, his other hand holding sirius’ jaw to keep his eyes on his own. remus cooing “i thought you could take this? you seemed to have no problem teasing me last night, but now you’re all whiny and pathetic for me, aren’t you?” and sirius who’s so desperate for more so he’s just apologising incessantly and nodding “yesyes ‘m sososo desparate for you— fuck, moons, please—” until remus gives in and guides sirius’ hips feverishly against his own. or something idk

[apcqlypse]

wolfstar one night stand but they get breakfast in the morning and then they go grocery shopping and then they cook dinner and watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch and next thing you know they've been living together for ten years and have a cat

[shadowww-bunny]

「Just a friendly thing」 -S. R.

❥ 4 times you and Spencer pretended to be friends and 1 time it became too obvious.

❥ fluff, workplace romance, idiots in love, secret relationship

Your relationship with Spencer had become the BAU’s collective headache and favorite topic of discussion. Two geniuses, constantly dancing around the edges of friendship, completely oblivious to what was happening. You were both absolutely, phenomenally blind.

Or maybe you were just incredibly good at pretending.

⟡₊ ⊹

It was a rainy, wind-swept wasteland on the outskirts of Seattle.

You stood by the police barrier, clutching your notebook with white knuckles. The weather had turned on a dime—the sky bruised into a heavy slate gray, and a freezing sleet turned the ground into a muddy swamp. You were wearing a light dress shirt, which did absolutely nothing to keep out the damp.

Spencer, who had been studying the UnSub’s footstep patterns, suddenly turned to look at you. His hazel eyes narrowed with instant concern behind his rain-speckled glasses.

"You have a stage-one tremor. Your peripheral blood vessels are constricting to preserve heat for your vital organs. This is highly counterproductive."

Before you could even squeeze a word in, Reid unbuttoned his olive-green cardigan in one swift, decisive motion. He stepped right into your personal space—so close you could smell his cologne, old books, and coffee.

You didn't pull away. Instead, you cooperatively lifted your elbows, letting him drape the oversized, warm knit over your shoulders.

"My, my. So chivalry isn't dead after all," you teased softly.

Spencer`s lips twitched into a tiny, comfortable half-smile as he carefully wrapped the lapels over your chest and did up a couple of buttons. His hands lingered on your shoulders just a beat longer than hypothermia protocol required.

Right at that moment, Derek Morgan stopped next to you.

"Hey, kid," Morgan arched an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Decided to play the chivalrous martyr? That’s... actually pretty sweet."

Spencer didn’t even blink, however he quickly adjusted his satchel strap.

"It’s pure pragmatism, Morgan. Studies show that cognitive function drops by fourteen percent when core body temperature falls below normal. She is the lead analyst on this profile. I’m simply keeping her brain operational."

Morgan nodded slowly, throwing you a highly expressive look.

"Right. Sure. 'Operational.' Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid."

⟡₊ ⊹

The case was brutal. The team hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. The bullpen was a disaster zone of empty coffee cups, scattered crime scene photos, and maps. JJ had crashed on the couch in the breakroom, Hotch and Rossi had locked themselves in the office, and you and Spencer were left staring at the murder board.

You were sitting in one of the office chairs, legs stretched out. Your fingers were lazily and methodically running through Reid’s soft, messy brown curls.

Spencer was currently lying on the floor and holding a tablet, his head resting face-up right in your lap. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, untangling the messy locks, and Reid`s eyes fluttered shut in sheer bliss every time your nails lightly scraped the back of his neck.

Penelope Garcia, carrying a tray of fresh donuts, froze on the threshold. Her eyes went wide behind her round pink glasses, her mouth dropping into a silent, delighted gasp.

"Oh," Penelope whispered, pressing the tray to her chest. "Am I... interrupting a session of highly intellectual bonding?"

You didn't even take your hand out of Spencer’s hair, just offered a tired, amused smile. Reid, without moving an inch or even lifting his head from your lap, calmly replied:

"No, you're not interrupting anything. She is helping me stimulate my cerebral cortex. It lowers cortisol levels and increases blood flow to the frontal lobes, helping..."

"That's friendly support, Garcia" you chimed in with a soft laugh.

Spencer nodded seriously, but when your fingers scratched a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, a sharp sigh escaped his lips, and the genius melted into your lap.

⟡₊ ⊹

The jet shuddered violently, the cabin walls groaning under the turbulence. Most of the team was dozing off. Rossi was reading a book, and Hotch was skimming through reports.

You were walking, buried in a case file, when the plane suddenly dropped, hitting a massive air pocket. You gasped, the file flying out of your hands as momentum pitched you forward.

Spencer, sitting right across the aisle, reacted with lightning speed.

He caught you by the waist, saving you from a nasty collision with the table, and pulled you flush against him. You ended up sitting squarely on his lap, facing him. Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, while his long fingers locked securely around your lower back to anchor you.

The jet kept shaking, but neither of you panicked. It was comfortable, safe, and entirely logical. You rested your hands on his shoulders, while Spencer kept his grip firm and natural, holding you as easily as if you did this every single day.

Rossi slowly lowered his book, peering at you both over his reading glasses. Hotch, too, looked up from his paperwork. A very loud, heavy silence filled the cabin.

"What?" You looked back at them with a straight face.

"Uh, kids," Rossi said smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "I appreciate the safety precautions in turbulent weather, but I’m fairly certain there are still empty seats on this aircraft"

Spencer, whose heart was currently hammering against your ribs at a frantic pace, cleared his throat, giving his voice a lecturing tone.

"According to the laws of dynamics and mass distribution, under angular acceleration, two bodies bound to a single center of gravity experience a significantly lower moment of inertia. We just minimize the risk of closed-head trauma from colliding with cabin fixtures."

Hotch let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a choked laugh, turned a page of his report, and said dryly:

"Just make sure your 'single center of gravity' is buckled in if the turbulence gets any worse."

⟡₊ ⊹

It was barely 7:00 AM. The bullpen was empty, bathed in the soft, pale light of dawn. The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee and floor wax.

"Spencer, hold still for a second," You called out, catching up with him in the hallway.

You reached up, your fingers deftly catching the cool silk of his tie. Spencer immediately went quiet, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. He stood perfectly still, barely breathing, as you got closer—so close your shoes were nearly touching.

With practiced, gentle movements, you began to adjust his collar and slowly knot his tie. Your knuckles lightly brushed against his collarbone, sending a subtle shiver through him.

"You know," you purred, twirling his tie on your finger, "if you keep showing up looking like you fought a wind turbine and lost, Hotch is going to start questioning your cognitive efficiency."

A lopsided smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Actually, my current state is a direct result of circadian rhythm disruption. And technically, my tie was only skewed at a twelve-degree angle. That's well within acceptable margins."

"Keep telling yourself that, genius," you gently patted his chest, lingering you hands there, right over his heartbeat, which was rapidly speeding up. "There. Now you look like an actual FBI agent instead of a chaotic academic."

"Thank you," Spencer murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze locked onto yours. A quiet, heavy warmth settled between you, neither of you making any move to step back.

"Good morning, early birds," a dry, amused voice echoed from the stairs.

You both almost jumped, but slowly turned your heads. Emily Prentiss was standing there, holding a travel mug. She looked at your hands, still resting on Spencer's chest, then at Spencer’s face, which was now flushing a light pink, and finally at how ridiculously close you two were standing.

"Let me guess," Prentiss said, tilting her head. "This is another friendly thing?"

Without breaking physical contact, you and Spencer answered in perfect, synchronized unison:

"Obviously."

⟡₊ ⊹

The rest of the team had already gone home. The bullpen was dark, and only the deep basement archives, buried under endless shelves of closed cases, flickered with a dim, yellow light. You had volunteered to help reorganize files from a decade-old case Hotch wanted double-checked.

You were standing by the back shelf, stretching on your tiptoes to reach a heavy archive box on the very top rack.

"Need a hand?" a soft voice murmured right behind you.

You spun around, finding yourself pinned between the cold metal shelves and Spencer. He had approached soundlessly and his tall frame completely blocked out the hall light. Reid reached up with a long arm, effortlessly sliding the box down, but he didn't step back.

In the shadows of the archive, his eyes looked incredibly dark. The exhaustion of the last few days, the sleepless nights, the whispered conversations, and all those "scientific" excuses you both used to shield yourselves suddenly evaporated. There was only a heavy, electric silence.

"Spence..." your voice caught.

His gaze dropped to your lips. "I... I know the statistics. The probability of co-workers transitioning into..."

"Screw the statistics, Reid," you breathed.

Something in Spencer snapped.

All his formulas, theories, and defense mechanisms crumbled to dust. He took that final step forward, erasing the last few inches between you. His large, cool hands gently cupped your cheeks as if you were made of spun glass. His fingers tangled deep into your hair, and he leaned down.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant for a fraction of a second, before bruising into something deep, desperate, and hungry—a dam breaking after months of waiting.

You pressed into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer, erasing any boundaries left. Spencer let out a soft sigh against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening.

The sharp creak of the archive door made you both spring apart.

Morgan stood on the threshold, a forgotten jacket dangling from his hand. He froze. You and Spencer were flushed against the shelving—your lips were slightly swollen, your breathing shallow, while Spencer was panting, his tie askew, and a faint smudge of your lipstick marked his jawline.

Morgan’s gaze drifted from Spencer to you. Slowly, the widest, most victorious smirk you had ever seen spread across his face. He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Well," Derek drawled, his grin practically split his face. "I'm all ears. What scientific theory explains what I'm looking at right now? Oxygen deprivation? Salivary synchronization? Preventive measures against the common cold?"

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, his eyes darting frantically across the bookshelves. He looked down at you, but you had already hidden your burning face against his chest, sharing his utter embarrassment. For the first time in his entire life, the genius couldn't find a single fact.

"We... we were just..." He let out a breath, nervously adjusting his glasses, and muttered, "Damn it, Morgan, just close the door."

[sweet-t33a]

tears — your first time with spencer reid

summary: after a month of deliberation, healing, some avoidance and lots of talks with garcia, reader finally builds up the courage to get it on with Spencer. part two to "couldn't make it any harder"

genre/tags/CWs: fem!reader, pictures on header are just for aesthetic, reader has no descriptive features other than hair and afab features, very little angst, lots and lots of fluff, porn WITH plot, statistics about s/a recovery, reader is still wounded but healing, garcia is here!!, dacryphilia, no use of y/n, smut, breeding kink if you squint, implied that reader is on birth control, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), swallowing, creampie, honestly not very proofread, sub!spencer if you squint, lots of stuttering, whimpering/whiny!spencer, honestly very intimate, established relationship

a/n: this is loosely based off tears, and part two to couldn't make it any harder! thank you so much for all of your support so far, it means the world! please comment or reblog with your thoughts, I love hearing from you guys and would love more moots!! ALSO, all of these statistics are real.

w/c: 5.6k (oops)

One month, 4 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes had passed since you told Spencer about your history regarding sex, your aversions, and why you wouldn’t let him touch you. In the infinite moments between now and then, he still hadn’t tried to initiate anything with you. If anything, the frequent (and somewhat juvenile) hasty makeout sessions had all but ceased in the weeks following. Not that Spencer was outright turning you down, but he seemed more preoccupied. Always reading or tacking away at a laptop, too busy to pursue getting into your pants. Whenever you came onto him, however, in the small way you did, he never denied you. If you were able to pry his eyes away from whatever it was he was working on, get your hands in his hair and bring his lips to yours, it would be as if his laptop never existed. Like the printing press was never made— everything else but you melted away. Despite the progress you had made in your healing, you hadn’t gotten to the point of anything, “real”.

However, with every passing day, your wants began to overtake your worries. You knew Spencer loved you, and honestly, you were getting needy. Spencer had always been the most attractive man you’d ever met, but it seemed like every time he did something kind, it made your mouth water. He’d hold the door for you, smile at you and tell you you were pretty mid brushing your teeth. Every normal action elicited something absolutely primal to stir inside of you. It was only a matter of time, and you confided in Penelope as much.

…

“Pen, it’s bad. Like really bad. He looks at me with this sweetheart puppy dog look and I absolutely unravel.”

Penelope smiled deviously and twirled her hair with a fuzzy pen. “All those brains and he still can’t see you basically panting for him? You practically jump out of your seat whenever he mentions sexual sadism just because he’s saying the word ‘sex’.”

Your face burned. Of course, only you and Penelope really noticed, but when he was describing the habits of one of the usual monsters you dealt with, lord forgive you, you were imagining all of the other ways he could bring up that word. You groaned and put your face in your hands.

“Oh, god, I’m SICK, Garcia! I don’t know what to do.”

She smirked devilishly.

“Yes, you do.”

You cocked your head and removed your hands to look at her. “What?”

She smiled.

“Him. Do him!” She threw her head back and laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s not that simple, Pen, and you know it.” You sat down in the chair next to her, and she gave you a sympathetic look.

“Look, angelface, I know — it is hard to move on. But you want him. It might be worth it to give him the chance to prove to you how different he is. More importantly, shouldn’t you help yourself heal? If this is what you want, don’t let those villains from your past rob you of this.”

You were quiet for a moment, then slumped into your seat a little further. “You’re right,” you said. “You are… and honestly, Pen, I don’t think I can wait any longer anyways.” You gave her a small smile, and she grinned back at you.

“I know I am! Now go get him, Tiger! Your resident gossip goddess wants to know how boy wonder treats my girl!”

..

When you entered your shared apartment that night, the room had a different air to it. The atmosphere was heavier, your heart was racing. And there was Spencer, sitting on the couch, reading like nothing was different. But right now, everything was different.

“Hi, hunny!” You said, trying to keep your voice even. He perked up instantly, his eyes filling with a light when they met yours.

“Hi! How was your day? You went to see Garcia, right?” He asked, always the caring lover. He never asked out of principal, only ever because he genuinely wanted to know. You felt the familiar heat pool in your core. You smiled and tried not to let it show, not yet.

“Yeah, I did. My day was good, we talked about… we- yeah. Just chatted. Gabbed..” You winced and let yourself smile, hearing how ridiculous you sounded. ‘Couldn’t just be normal, could you?’ you thought to yourself.

Spencer smiled and cocked his head, amused by your ridiculously obvious coverup. “Gabbed, huh?” He laughed and waved you over. You moved to him and sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you – he smelt like cologne and book ink. It was intoxicating. A blush, ever so slight, crept up your face as you tried not to focus on the fact you were just a couple layers of fabric from your fantasies coming true. You looked at him with a self-pitying, half-wince, half-smile. “Are you okay?” He asked, still smiling, only a hint of worry gracing his features.

You felt your stomach drop, and your palms grow sweaty. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh before facing him. You looked at him, his deep hazel puppy eyes making you squirm.

“Spence.” you said, putting your hands on his shoulders, the blush on your face deepening.

“Baby?” He said, utterly confused by your strange behavior. He knew there had been a lot on your mind recently, but this was extra out of the ordinary.

You considered what to say. ‘I want to have sex with you now please,’ seemed immature and very cold. ‘I’ve decided to take destiny into my hands, let’s fuck’ also seemed.. not right. You bit your lip, your eyes tracing the outline of his own. You could see his expression grow more worried, and you knew you were kind of freaking him out. Not the mood you want your partner to be in when you’re trying to do him for the first time. You decided to ditch words completely. In a last ditch effort to get your point across, you shifted so you were straddling his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, tangling your fingers in his soft curls. You smiled– a real, steadying smile, and leaned in to kiss him.

Kissing Spencer always felt like the world’s problems were melting away. You kissed him softly, unhurried. Light brushes of your lips to his, then pulling him closer for more contact. He was warm- so, so warm. Your grip tightened in his hair, ever so slightly, and he whined softly. The noise reminded you of your intentions tonight. But unlike so much of the buildup so far, the reminder didn’t stress you. It brought you closer to him, and you ground your hips down onto his lap.

He shuddered, passing over your lips softly with his tongue, asking for polite entry. Polite– that was so much of Spencer’s behavior. He held the door, bought you flowers, massaged your aching body at the end of a long day. He read to you when he couldn’t sleep, asked “please” every time he wanted you to play in his hair, in the gentle way only you could. He was a kind, responsible man, and that did things to you.

You welcomed his tongue into your mouth, brushing yours against his, the kiss now becoming more feverish. His hands gripped your waist, grounding him. You were so beautiful, and he was in awe at his luck. The most beautiful woman in the world was on top of him, kissing him, pulling his hair and grinding on him. He felt his cock stir in his pants, and gently thrust up into your grinding. The pressure coaxed a soft gasp from you, and you moved your hands to his face and neck. You grabbed his chin to face you, and looked deeply into his eyes. “Spencer,” you panted, “I want you.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and his mouth fell open just so. “Baby…” he hesitated. Ever since you had told him about your past, he had held off from pressuring you in a way that might make you concede to an act you didn’t fully consent to. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you brushed your thumb over his lip, barely resisting the urge to slip it past and have him suck on it. “Don’t you want me, Spence?” You leaned in, whispering into his ear.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed hard. “I.. you have no idea… But, are you… sure? I’ve been..” he blushed, harder than he was before. You pulled back to look at him when he spoke.

“I’ve been, uh, reading? Researching, on- on how to aid recovery for those with negative sexual experiences?” He said it like it was a question. He was terrified– terrified that he might make you feel like a case study, but he wanted to show you how he cared. And statistics, experiment reports, that was how he cared. You nodded slightly, letting him know he was okay, that you were okay. He looked at you, then looked away. You brought your hand to the side of his face so he’d face you again.

“I found that, in numerous studies that regarding sexual experiences and, uh, there was a study that found the more space that the partner of the person who had a negative sexual partner, the easier the survivor found ways to enjoy sex– in this particular study, all but one survivor/couple group was able to make sex enjoyable for their partner after their negative encounter, and all of them in some way credit the enjoyment to the creation of a space where consent can be expressed and explored frequently. A-all this is to say, I want you. Badly- I want you badly. But I was trying to implement a space where you could explore your own wants without feeling entrapped into a false consent. Basically, I wanted to give you your own time.” He nervously smiled, sheepish at his admittance of his secret project.

You felt your eyes fill with the familiar sting of tears. Spencer wasn’t avoiding you, he was building you your own comfort zone. Letting you come to him, taking the pressure off. You hadn’t realized it fully, but before your first conversation, you always felt this kind of.. Clock ticking. Something inside you telling you that if you didn’t give it up, and soon, Spencer would move on. He’d leave for someone easier, though he never gave you the indication that was true. But ever since the conversation, when you initiated intimacy in the way you did, kissing and holding, marking and whispering, the clock was off. There was no more ticking, no more deadline you felt you had to meet. Your actions were your own. Spencer never gave you any reason to think he wanted you to give it up, he was never desperate. Just willing. Just there for you, in every way he could.

“I…” You trailed off, your voice choking up as you smiled at him, a single tear dripping down your face. You’d never felt more cared for in your life. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I… I want you, Spencer. I want all of you, and I want to give you all of me. Penelope said something today… and she’s right. You’re different. You’re nothing like the people I knew, the people who hurt me. Spencer… will you sleep with me?”

Spencer smiled at you, and brought his hands from your hips to your hands. “Are you sure? Like I said, I’d wait forever-”

He was cut off by you crushing your mouth to his. You knew, you knew he’d wait forever, and hearing him say it made you want to do nothing more than jump his bones. His kindness had you dripping, his thoughtfulness its own kind of dirty talk. “Spencer, I’ve never been more sure in my life.” You wiped your face and smiled. “Now, get naked.”

…

Spencer’s hands flew to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of it before he shrugged it off and threw it behind him. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Lean and toned, with the faintest happy trail. You pressed kisses to his neck, making your way down his chest. You shimmied down his body until you were at a good enough position, and began to palm him through his pants. Spencer let out a broken gasp, and gripped the side of the couch till his knuckles turned white. Your hands went to his waistband, but before you could pull it down, he grabbed your hands. “Wait,” he simply said. You sat up, confused. He stood up, walked to face you, and picked you up bridal style.

You squealed, and he smiled. “If we’re doing this now, I want to be in our bed. I need to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, and statistically-” you cut him off once more, by kissing him as he walked you to the room. He smiled and laid you on the bed. He climbed over you, straddling your hips and leaning down to kiss your neck. His mouth found the spot just behind your ear that made you sigh, one hand on the side of your head and the other holding your waist.

Spencer moved his kisses down your body until he got to the hem of your shirt, and grabbed onto it before looking at you with a question in his eyes. You smiled and nodded, and he smiled back. You sat up slightly so he could pull it off of your head, and when he sat back on his heels, all he could do was admire you. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, so you were bare in front of him. He’d seen your chest a couple of times before, but never like this. He was in awe, and bent down to place gentle, reverent kisses. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling around it with his tongue, massaging the other with his hand. You moaned, and laced your hands in his hair and grasped hard. He nipped you slightly, and you writhed in pleasure.

Once he decided he couldn’t wait any longer, he moved away from your chest and moved to where you wanted him most. He settled his head between your thighs and gently massaged your legs. You looked at him, and felt a tremor of nervousness and excitement course through you. Ever so gently, he hooked his finger and pulled your shorts to the side. You had chosen a pair of flexible lounge shorts for your in-home coffee date with Penelope, and now you were thanking your lucky stars that you’d done so. He hadn’t pulled your panties aside as well, giving him an all-access look at the pool of wetness that marked your underwear. He breathed heavily in utter disbelief that you could feel this way about him. He licked a stripe up the spot and you moaned and wrapped his hair in your hands. He did it again, and again, licking and sucking until he could tease himself no more.

“Baby,” he panted, “Lift your hips, please.” You did as he asked, arching your back so he could slide your pants down. Along with them went your panties, and as soon as your legs were freed of the clothes, you were struck with another wave of nervousness. You had planted your hips back down, and before Spencer settled once more between your thighs, his eyes met yours. There was so much love in that look — complete adoration. You gave him a shy smile and nodded, and he smiled back. He moved back to the spot he was at, and paused, looking in complete infatuation at your core. You were wet, so wet to the point of nearly dripping.

“So beautiful… you’re so perfect.” He brushed a thumb across your clit, featherlight, and you whimpered into his touch. You squirmed, eager to get what you’d waited so long for. He laughed, before pressing a kiss to the very same spot. There was more pressure this time, and you moaned, pressing into him. He groaned in response, wanting nothing more than to please you. Holding back no longer, he began to eat you like you were the fruit of an oasis in the desert. He was starving, he was begging, and he held onto your thighs like any moment you might disappear.

You were in heaven, between the strong strokes of his tongue and the vibrations of his moans, you couldn’t believe you had waited this long.

“S-spence, ohmygod-” you ground yourself into him, chasing the release of the coil you felt building in your stomach. Spencer moved one of his hands to slip a finger inside of you, curling it so it hit the roof of your walls. You yelped, and your back arched. The pleasure was building, but there was something stopping you from reaching your release.

“I- I- Spence, I can’t.. I ah, can’t do ittt….” you whined, clenching your fists and pulling his hair.

“Shh, it’s okay.. You can do it… you can let go…” He added a second finger and moved a little faster, and you cried out. “Please baby, let go for me.. Please, come on my fingers. I’ve got you.”

The reassurance and added stimuli combined were just too much for you. When he stopped talking and went back to your clit, your vision went white and you saw stars. You came hard around his hand, body spasming and twitching as you sobbed. Spencer only moaned, determined to continue until you had fully ridden out your orgasm. Once he saw your body’s reactions slow, he kissed your clit gently and moved up to kiss you, not removing his fingers. They slowly pumped in and out of you, sticky and warm. “Hi, baby, you did so well.” Spencer said, kissing your face and your lips, while you began to come down from the intense high. You panted, looking at Spencer and seeing only complete adoration.

Even though you just had one of the most amazing orgasms of your life, you found yourself still unsated. Like he’d awoken a beast inside of you that screamed to be fed. You launched to bring your lips to his, and he startled for a moment before kissing you with the same fervor you had. He finally removed his fingers and brought his hands to your head. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and Spencer whimpered at the intensity of your connection. You rolled over, so you were straddling him. Spencer’s eyes went wide and his mouth gaped with a broken whine as you ground yourself onto his pronounced bulge, still trapped in his sweats. You cocked your head and smiled deviously. “Didn’t I tell you to get naked?”

Spencer felt a flurry of butterflies as you moved to the side, freeing his lap so he could take off his bottom layers. When he moved his boxers down his legs, his cock hit his stomach with a mouth-watering thud. His length was about as big as you’d assumed based on the print you had become familiar with over the months you’d been together, but seeing it now almost had you drooling. It was shiny, precum dripping down the length, weeping with intent. When his pants were on the floor, he grabbed the base of his cock, desperate to relieve some of the ache. You whined at the sight. You were sure you could get off to the sight of him touching himself in front of you, but that was a theory you’d test another day. You bent down, giving the head a kitten-lick, the salty taste of his precum tastier than you’d ever believed it could be. Spencer bit his lip and moaned, determined to make this last as long as possible, but quickly realizing that time was burning like kerosene. Quick, hot, hotter than in even his fantasies. And god, did he have fantasies. Before he knew what he was saying, words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’ve thought about this so many times, you’re s-so pretty, “ he mumbled as you licked up his length once more. He bucked, sensitive and leaking still. “Y-you’re all I think about, all I wanna do is make you feel– oh fuck–,” He choked out as you took his length into your mouth as far as you could. Such a sweetheart, he was. You were ravenous, and began to suck him off, determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His hand dropped from the base of his cock and fisted the sheets beside him, the other hand instinctively coming to your hair.

He made no move to force your pace, just needing the contact with you to ground himself so he’d last any amount of time longer. “Oh my god, oh my god- fuck, y-you’re really –ngh– good at that,” He babbled, lost in the feeling of it. You pressed up with your tongue as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks. He already felt himself climbing to the edge of his orgasm. He twitched, and you knew he was close.

“W-wait, I’m- if- I’m gonna cum, y-you’re gonna make me-,” He let out something in between a moan and a sob, a broken cry as his hips stuttered. His cock pulsed, letting out warm spurts of salty cum into your mouth. You continued to stroke him as he came, swirling his head with your tongue. He came hard, whimpering with every continued motion. When you felt he’d finished, you pulled off with a pop! and swallowed in one quick motion. You bit back a gag, the taste and texture not quite appealing, but the action itself hot enough to ignore. Spencer panted where he sat, cock still not shrinking. Your eyes widened, and you smiled. He opened his eyes to look at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry, you just felt really really good, and you looked really good, and-” You cut him off once more.

“Shh, it’s okay. I knew you were close, I wanted to make you feel good.” You grinned at him and licked your lips. “Do you think… you’re able to go again..?”

Spencer let out a soft laugh and smiled, looking down at his still stiff erection. “I’d love to. Actually, I’m kind of surprised? Not surprised that I want to, but surprised at being able to so soon. Typically men 25 or younger have a minimum refractory period of 15 minutes, at least.” Spencer grasped his erection and gave it a quick stroke before let out a shuddering breath. “Still very sensitive, but I can definitely go again.”

Your eyes glinted as you laid on your back and opened your arms, beckoning him to climb atop you. He did so, embracing you as your legs wrapped around him. His cock pressed to your clit, still wet, and you melted into the feeling. He pulled back to look at you, and he paused.

“I love you. I’m so grateful I get to share this part of myself with you, and that you feel comfortable doing the same.” Your heart soared as you pressed your mouth to his in a gentle kiss.

“I love you. I’m grateful, too,” was all you said before looking down your body to see his erection pressed against your core, and you pulsed around nothing, needing to have him inside you. Spencer received your silent message and pulled back to sit on his heels. He grabbed his cock and aligned with your entrance. You met his gaze and nodded, and he began to slide in.

The stretch was addictive. Just a couple of his seven inches slid inside your aching hole and your back arched. There was a slight burn, filling you so perfectly. He drew soothing shapes onto your hips in reassurance. His head was tipped back in pleasure, in almost disbelief at your softness. You were so tight, it felt unbelievable. “So good, so perfect for me…” he whispered. He brought his head back to meet your gaze, your eyes glazed in pure pleasure. He pushed in slowly before bottoming out, both of you moaning in unison. You hadn’t felt this full or cared for in your life, and felt tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Spencer waited just a moment before slowly, ever so slowly, pulling out. The drag along your insides had your eyes rolling back inside your head, and Spencer was biting his lip so hard he was worried it’d bleed. He didn’t stop though, the pain necessary to prevent him from getting lost in the pleasure and cumming right then. He pictured the first time you’d kissed him, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him in. He thought he was enamoured then. But now, as he thrust back into you and you moaned his name, he was on cloud nine. He pressed on your uterus as he thrust in, and you let out a guttural sound.

Spencer began to thrust faster, but with just as much intention as before. Just as you were drunk off the feeling of his cock, he was completely intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you. He was babbling and moaning, nonsense coming out of his mouth. How you smelt good, how good you felt, how lucky he was.

“I’m so lucky- you’re so mngh beautiful, so so perfect, feels so good… you’re so good, wanna be good for you, can’t believe you’re oh my– m-mine…” His words made you clench around his cock. It’s like his every move was magic, made to coax your orgasm from you. Every stroke was beckoning your climax, every moan he let out just for you. It was almost too much, but the final straw came when he folded you just to be closer.

He moved his hands and slid them underneath your thighs, using a gentle strength you didn’t really know he possessed to push them up. He folded you, ever so gently, into one of the meanest mating presses there was, and fucked you so deep you saw stars.

“Oh, god Spence, it’s so- s-so deep,” you exclaimed, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you.

“I know baby, I know,” he said, eyes shut tight, deep in concentration. He sped up now, using the new angle to try and brush against the spot that made you cry out with every thrust. “Touch yourself, angel, wanna m-make you cum,” he whimpered, opening his eyes to look at you with the sweetest puppy dog expression. You moaned at his words and reached down to circle your clit, and you knew it wouldn’t be long.

“S-spence, I’m close, s-so close,” you cried out, and Spencer continued to fuck into you like his life depended on it.

“P-please come, please come on my cock baby please,” Spencer babbled, his eyes now brimming with tears. His poor overstimulated cock begged to release, but he was determined to please you. His pleas were too much, the angle too deep, your clit buzzing with pleasure. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, making your legs tremor and shake. Your pussy drenched his cock, clenching around him like you’d never let him go, and Spencer cried out.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, oh god, oh god I’m gonna cum, you’re so good, f-feels too good,” Spencer moved to pull out but you grabbed his hand on your thigh and had him look at you. You shook your head, purposely tightening around him, dizzy in pleasure. His eyes widened, and you whined.

“Cum inside, please don’t pull out–” You went to beg for him to stay once more, but who was Spencer to deny you? His orgasm hit him like a train, and he felt himself release inside of you, warm and sticky and just too good. He felt tears run down his face. To you, he looked like the picture of beauty. His hair was disheveled and he was red, sweating. He panted as he rutted inside you, his crushing orgasm finally subsiding.

You both lay there a moment, Spencer letting your shaking legs down. You panted, letting yourselves come down. You wrapped your legs around Spencer, having him lay on you. He practically collapsed when he did so. His softening cock twitched inside you. You held him, and began to giggle. Just a little at first, and then uncontrollably. Soft laughs, and without really knowing why, Spencer joined you. You both lay there laughing, the picture of post-coital bliss.

After who knows how long, he finally lifted off of you to pull out. You felt the pressure change, then his release began to leak out of you.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go grab a towel.” He stood up, and went to the closet outside your bedroom, then the bathroom to rinse it with warm water. You looked at his surprisingly sculpted ass as he left, smiling and giggling once more. When he returned, you were sleepy, and felt comforted by the warm washcloth cleaning you.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered as he cleaned you, then handed you the pajama top he had grabbed on his way back in. “That was incredible…did you have a nice time?” He asked, gentle and kind, doing one final swipe with the rag on the bed just beneath you, though you’d still have to wash the sheets before you went to bed. Your heart melted at his thoughtfulness as you sat up to put on the top, which was really just one of his softer button ups you often wore to bed.

“I had the best time, Spencer. It was everything I’ve ever hoped for and more.” You smirked. “We should do it again.”

Spencer laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t tempt me. After the lack of a refractory period earlier, I’m both eager to and terrified to find out how many rounds I could consecutively ejaculate, and I just went flaccid.” You hummed, and brushed the hair from his face.

“Another time, then. Do you want to order some food? Indian, maybe?” You asked, and he gave you a look of pure adoration.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[silentstars0]

remus bought sirius a record player for his birthday, and from then on whenever they have misunderstandings or argue, instead of trying to hash it out (and ultimately getting nowhere), they play a few songs and sway together until they've both calmed down enough to talk.

[sincerelyemery]

sirius and remus running away together at sixteen. the two of them wandering the city streets late at night, and for a fleeting moment, they’re able to pretend that they’re on a night out together like normal teenagers. them trying to share remus’ worn out jacket but it keeps slipping off their shoulders so remus just wraps it around sirius without saying a word while remus pretends he isn’t freezing. sirius giving remus his gloves despite them not really fitting but remus’ hands are beginning to turn pale and sirius swears he doesn’t need them, even though he’s having to tuck his own hands into the crooks of his arms to keep them warm. them sitting at the park in the middle of the night, talking about what their future house is going to be like as if they don't have to worry about having a place to sleep at all in the first place. maybe one day they’ll get a little reading corner, a record collection they get to display and a kitchen with mismatched cutlery and wonky pictures on the fridge but for now, its just the two of them, the empty open air, and fear and uncertainty keeping them company while the world — their world — rejected them.