in which reader has a hard time getting to sleep at night, leading to Spencer's step by step instruction of which hormones help you fall asleep
margotober masterlist
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: smut (18+ mdni)
content warnings: unprotected p in v sex, fingering, spencer infodumps while fingering you, restlessness, ambien, sex as a sleep aid, effective but not recommended, physiology, female masturbation, insecurity, reader doesn't pee after sex which you really should do, no clean up, but fanfiction isn't real. softdom!spencer. not thoroughly proofread.
word count: 1.99k
a/n: i thought i had this scheduled so imagine my surprise when i went to check tumblr and it wasn't posted. ANYWAYS. this one goes out to all the girlies with chronic sleep issues (me) and the person who requested this. don't like, don't read.
Your pillow was warm. Surely that was what was hindering your ability to sleep. Lifting your head, you flip your pillow over, resting your head on the cool side and turning to your other side.
Facing Spencer, you pull your arm out from under the covers, wondering if you should only change one variable at a time to see what actually helps you get to sleep. Huffing, you shut your eyes again, the usually muted traffic outside of your apartment seeming extraneously loud for this time of night.
You couldn’t put a name to it, but there was something keeping you up at night. You’d always had sleep issues, but your restlessness from the last several weeks was unprecedented.
“Angel,” your boyfriend says from next to you, reaching his hand out and placing it on your waist, trying to drag you across the sheets and into his arms.
Willingly, you move to his side of the bed, leaving space between the two of you to keep your body cool—maybe you were just too warm to sleep. “Did I wake you?” You ask, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He looks so ethereal in the diffused moonlight that seeps in through the closed curtains, the cool light falling over the harsh edges of his face.
He hums in response, opening his eyes and casually slipping a hand under your sleep shirt, resting his palm on your bare waist, “No,” he murmurs, even though you know he’s lying through his teeth. “What’s wrong?”
“Can’t sleep,” you tell him miserably, sticking out your lower lip even though he likely can’t see your face—his eyes would need to adjust to the darkness.
He shifts under the covers, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your ribcage, “Have you tried Ambien?”
Your primary care physician prescribed sleeping pills for you, but you didn’t have any interest in taking them. “So I can end up at the Lincoln Memorial with my underwear on my head? No, thanks.”
“I would be very impressed if you managed to sleepwalk all the way to the National Mall,” he muttered, his voice clearing as he became more alert.
You sigh in exhaustion, “I’m multifaceted.”
Spencer kisses your forehead, “Go to sleep, multifaceted.”
“I can’t,” you complain, watching him through your eyelashes, “I’m open to suggestions.”
Your boyfriend groans at your impertinence, “You could try taking the pills that your doctor prescribed to you.”
Rolling your eyes in the dark, you tuck some stray hairs behind your ear, “Nope. Any other ideas in that big brain of yours?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you get kind of snippy when you get tired?” Spencer asks rhetorically.
Frowning in defeat, you consider going out to the living room to watch something on the TV. At least that way you would be able to let Spencer get some sleep. “Are you telling me that there’s nothing you’ve read recently that has any kind of information on remedies for restlessness?”
Next to you, Spencer stiffens, and you wonder if he’s cold. You turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to cool down, “There are always new articles on sleep remedies, but none you’d be interested in.”
Your eyes flicker to the alarm clock on his bedside table, just past three in the morning, “I’m open to anything.”
“Orgasms produce some of the same hormones that are conducive to falling asleep,” he whispers, his ministrations on your waist coming to a halt.
Sighing, you flop onto your back, “I already tried that.”
He’s silent for a moment, “Were you touching yourself while I was in bed next to you?” There was a new lilt in his voice, some sort of shift as the type of frustration he was feeling changed.
Considering your options, you cross your arms in front of your stomach, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan, “Yeah, but I didn’t— I couldn’t—”
“You couldn’t make yourself come?” He finishes for you, the words that you couldn’t get out slipping easily past his lips.
It shouldn’t embarrass you, but you find your face warming under the cover of night anyways. “No,” your answer comes out as barely more than an exhale, “I couldn’t quite get there.”
With his hand now resting on your abdomen, your attention laser focusing on the way his pinky finger skimmed the elastic band of your panties, “Do you want me to try?”
Honestly, it wouldn’t be much of an attempt, like every other aspect of his life, pleasing you is something Spencer excels at. “I want you to go to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you,” you decline his offer.
He doesn’t move his hand, “Are you sure? I’m offering, if you’re accepting.”
“I-“ you falter, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try, but only if you want to.” You were perfectly fine with going to the couch and wasting the night away in front of the TV screen. You’ve clocked a lot of time with the early morning newscast recently.
Spencer twists his wrist in response, looking at you in the cool light of the room, “I’m always interested in pleasing you.” He speaks to you quietly, retaining the reverent tones of the morning while slipping his hand deeper into your underwear. His index finger slipping easily through your folds, “Oh, you got close,” he whispers.
There’s no resistance as his finger breaches your entrance, already deeper than your fingers had gotten. Your mouth falls open, a small, choked gasp escaping your throat as your hand instinctively grabs at Spencer’s wrist, “Yeah.”
His motions are slow and precise, making sure you can feel every slight movement as he withdraws his finger before sliding it back into your pussy. Adding a second finger before his other hand pulls down at your underwear, haphazardly leaving them around your thighs before finding a rhythm. The peace of the night pauses only for the crude sounds from you, muffled by the blanket strewn over your bodies.
Gently, Spencer presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, maintaining the thrusts of his hand as he slowly encircles the sensitive nub, “Spence.” Your voice is a breathy laugh in recognition of just how quickly he can get you there.
There was something about having someone else touch you. When you do it yourself, you can hold yourself back or overthink it, but with Spencer’s hands on you—or in you, rather—there was nothing to hold back. “Sex can help you sleep for the simple reason that it’s physical activity, but it’s when you cum that your body releases hormones that can actually help you sleep,” his ministrations don’t suffer as a result of his physiology lesson. If anything, it all becomes more intense.
A sharp, high-pitched noise comes out of your mouth, the all too familiar knot in your lower belly coiling. And coiling. And coiling. “So, you can—” your voice cuts out as you gasp, “You can literally fuck me to sleep?”
Spencer hums a confirmation, “Sex reduces cortisol levels, and your body’s going to release oxytocin and prolactin,” he assures you, “and those will induce pleasant and relaxing feelings. All of which means I get to fuck you to sleep tonight.”
“’m close,” you breathe, closing your eyes as the pressure in your core nears unbearable levels. “Oh, Spence,” you say, your grip tightening on his wrist as his hands don’t let up on you.
His unoccupied hand reaches up to your face, gently sweeping hair off of your forehead in a way that makes you dizzy, his head falling to your shoulder before he kisses the worn fabric of your t-shirt, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”
He doesn’t want you to hold it in, so you don’t. Your head tips back into the pillows as the coil in your belly snaps, going off like a slingshot—sharp and quick.
Spencer’s fingers keep working you through your orgasm, slowing at the same pace that your orgasm does, the sheets sticking to your back as you slowly unarch, coming back to the surface as the pleasure of your orgasm drifts away almost as quickly as it came.
Every part of your body trembles as you fall away from your high, hooded eyelids staring over at your boyfriend as you catch your breath. Timidly, you reach down and push your underwear down your legs, kicking them off into the abyss of sheets to be discovered at a later date as you turn on your side.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, shifting under the covers as he pulls his cock out of his boxer briefs.
You hum, scooting yourself closer to him on the mattress, heat emanating from his body in a way that you now find welcoming, “You can’t even see me.”
Grabbing your thigh, Spencer slings your leg over his waist, opening your body to him, “Not right now,” he admits, “But I know you. I know the way you look right now, while I’m slipping myself into you.” His voice is low, but your attentions are focused on the feeling of his tip at your pussy, slowly pushing into you. He lets your body adjust, this isn’t an angle he usually takes you at, but you can feel every single ridge as he moves.
“I know the glossy look your eyes have right now,” he mutters, pushing your lower back closer to him, leaving his cock impossibly deep in you. “A combination of the orgasm that you just had and the sensations you’re feeling right now.”
You shudder at his words, tentatively rolling your hips against him, silently signaling to him that you’re ready for him to move. A soft cry escapes your lips as he withdraws his hips, pushing himself back into you while your cunt throbs around his length, “Spence.”
He grunts in response, finding a steady, gentle rhythm as your mind goes blank. You find yourself searching for that high again, “You feel so good, angel. So, so good.” His voice is low as he pulls your body closer to him still, “Fuck.”
“Spence,” your voice cracks at stimulation, overwhelming you as he breathes into the crook of your neck. You dig your nails into his back, trying to keep yourself from screaming as his hand slips between your conjoined bodies, swiping softly at your clit.
Spencer keeps moving, fucking into you as his movements grow messier and messier with each passing thrust. “You’re so pretty,” he repeats, seeing your features in the soft moonlight as your mouth gapes and your second orgasm quickly approaches.
Whimpering, you bite down on your lower lip, your leg that’s slung over him shaking uncontrollably as you chase your orgasm, “Oh my god,” you gasp helplessly.
“So good for me. Let it go, I’m close too,” he says, continuing his motions even as your pussy clenches around his length, the waves of your orgasm pulsating around him, sending him hurtling toward his own.
Stars dance in front of your eyes, and you let them fall shut. His movements come to a stop and you loose a sigh of relief at the realization that you’re exhausted. “Don’t go,” you mumble.
Spencer presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding you close to him with one arm while readjusting his underwear with the other. “I won’t,” he whispers, “You need to call your doctor about wanting new sleeping pills.”
You grunt in response, too close to sleep to form a coherent response.
“I’m not opposed to a more natural remedy, but I’m not always around at night, and I need to know you’re sleeping at night,” he tells you, his voice growing softer as sleep threatens to take him.
Humming, you nuzzle closer to him, letting your body melt into the mattress as you finally fall asleep. Staying cold was no longer a concern, staying close to Spencer was.
