learning sign language so you can make inappropriate comments to spencer while at work and you sign “want to suck your cock” and spencer just looks at you all bewildered like “since when did you know ASL?”
dirty talking to spencer in ASL
genre: sfw with sexual innuendos
word count: 1,8k
a/n: a lil something while i'm working on kinkfest :)
Spencer Reid is a man of many talents. People say — well, specifically, Spencer once told you that learning a new skill is easiest around the age of ten and how the process will be more difficult once you reach the age of eighteen. Something about neural connections forming rapidly, the unconscious system, the critical period… To be honest, you lost your focus the moment he mentioned the new skill he’d learned: sign language.
Spencer was excited to tell you about this new skill. He already knew a handful of languages, from Russian to Yoruba, but what appealed to him most about ASL was the hand motions. How he didn’t need to pronounce any of the words. You still chuckle to yourself when the memory of him pronouncing a Spanish sentence pops up in your head. How vividly you could picture Elle correcting him. There was nothing funny about him using ASL, though. In fact, you remember the way your throat tightened and your cheeks heated when his hands started moving — long fingers, decorated in veins, flexing into different symbols at a speed that other beginners would envy.
“That means ‘I love you, and that sweater looks pretty on you’.”
You had laughed. Had leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you replied. A hot pink flush made its way onto his face, a shy smile tugging on his lips.
“Does this mean you’ll be speaking to me in sign now?”
Your comment was meant as mere teasing, but Spencer had taken it as a challenge. He’d made sure to at least communicate a couple of ASL sentences to you every day. You could imagine it being a good way of practice for him. For the both of you, actually. Because over time you started to recognize some of the movements. A sign you had mistaken as rock and roll before, you had now concluded meant I love you. A swipe of his hand over his face? Pretty. There were a few others you could recognize, but as the sentences grew longer and his signs faster, you gave up.
You had always assumed everything Spencer signed to you was something sweet. You’d smile, kiss him as a thank you, and forget about it, assuming he was complimenting you. That was until Derek caught Spencer in the act, signing something to you before the elevator doors closed in front of him, ready to head over to the lab for another case you were on.
“My man,” Derek chuckled heartily, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Your brows furrowed, the smile that had lingered on your face moments before dropping instantly. “What?”
He kept laughing, not noticing the clear confusion you were in.
“Derek!” you said, giving a soft punch to his arm to catch his attention.
“Oh, you don’t-” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to you and the closed elevator doors before laughing even harder.
“Stop it!” You cried, getting embarrassed by the scene you were causing in the middle of the bullpen. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, pretty girl,” he started, taking a deep breath to recover, still grinning widely. “Pretty Boy over there should be getting the title of Dirty Boy from now on.”
Your mouth opened, then quickly closed when no words came out. “I don’t understand.”
Derek looked around the bullpen, finding no one near. Still, he leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand as he recited Spencer’s words to you.
You gasp, hand clutching your chest dramatically as if starring in a soap opera. “He didn’t,” you say in full disbelief.
“Oh, yes he did,” Morgan smirked in full pride.
“How would you even know that?”
“My buddy works at a youth center. I teach the kids football from time to time. Some speak ASL.”
You scoff. “Kids have taught you these words?”
Derek shrugs. “What can I say? It’s the dirty words that are most fun to learn.”
-`♡´-
You had struggled to think of anything else after that encounter, your mind wandering to every possible naughty sentence when Spencer signed to you from then on. It was frustrating, really, how he must be gleaming knowing you had no clue what he was saying. As long as he knows that you’re also up for a challenge.
After work that day, you told Spencer you’d be home later, having to pick something up from a friend’s house. It wasn’t completely a lie — you had to pick something up, just from a different location. You parked your car in the parking lot in front of the public library, feeling like a criminal as you knocked on the glass doors. A woman in her late sixties greeted you, her kind beady eyes framed by thin glasses that hung low on her nose.
“You’re the one who called? From the FBI?”
You nodded, smiling. “Hi, yes, that’s me. I am so sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but we’ve got a killer on the loose, and it’s very urgent.”
The older woman cringed at the mention of a killer, muttering some words under her breath, and turned to grab an entire stack of books. You reached your hands out, accepting the heavy weight of the books, the title A Beginner’s Guide to ASL written on the top one.
Her hand trembled lightly as she tapped the front cover. “This one comes with a DVD.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you for your help.”
“You better catch that bastard!” You nodded confidently in response as you turned on your heel.
-`♡´-
Unfortunately, Spencer was right: learning a new language as an adult was far from easy. Especially with the lack of time you had because of working a demanding job. You had to make do with the rare free weekends and some late nights during the week to study as much as possible.
You were tucked underneath a blanket on the couch, laptop in your lap, as you were watching a YouTube video Derek had recommended: “Sign Dirty to Me: A Guide to Dirty Talk in Sign Language”.”
“The next sentence we’ll be learning is ‘I want to give you a blowjob’.”
“A what?”
You screeched, lifting yourself up on the couch at a speed that made the laptop fall on the ground with a thud. You mutter a string of curses as the video continues playing, using your foot to stomp the laptop shut.
“Jesus, Spencer, can’t you knock?”
You turn your body, spotting your boyfriend's tall figure leaning against the open bedroom door, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re in my house.”
You groan at his smug grin, trying to find an excuse.
“What were you watching anyway?” He asks in curiosity before you could explain.
“Nothing!”
He takes a stride toward you, and you scramble from the couch to grab the laptop, holding it tight in your arms as a safety measure. Spencer leans on the plush frame of the couch, appearing rather relaxed as a gleam sparkles in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were watching-”
“No!” You exclaim in offense.
“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”
“I was not watching anything.”
The content look doesn’t fade from his face. He looks rather pleased by the scene you’re making. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. Those damn fingers. “I don’t mind, angel. I would just offer you my help instead.”
You swallowed. He was distracting you, and you were not going to fall for his dirty ploys yet again. No way.
“I’m good,” you squeak, hurriedly standing up from the couch. You point at him while your other hand clutches your laptop. “I will go to the bedroom now, and you will stay here. Don’t even think about moving an inch.”
Your words were only making you sound more suspicious, but you didn’t care. It would be worth it in the end.
-`♡´-
Two weeks had passed since you and Derek had exposed Spencer’s dirty, little secret. Two weeks in which you had spent all your free time learning ASL. You had been nervous all morning while getting ready for work, trying to resist the urge to sign something to him. But you wanted to do it in the bullpen; you needed to see him get flustered in a crowd.
Your fingers had been nervously tapping on your desk, eyeing Spencer at his desk opposite yours. You were waiting on Derek, who you had promised could be there for the “big moment”.
“Where are we going?” Penelope’s voice sounded through the bullpen as Derek grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the desks. You throw your hands up in frustration, it wasn’t the plan to make it that big of a show. “Are you kidding me?” You mouth toward Derek.
“Now,” he mouths back as he stays at a safe distance against the far wall.
Here we go.
A single kick to Spencer’s shin was enough to grab his attention. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”
Biting down on your lip to hide your smile, you began moving your fingers, a little exaggeratedly, to make sure he understood.
Look what new skill I learned.
Spencer beams, smiling brightly as the realization dawns upon him. “Hey! Since when did you know ASL?”
You don’t give him an answer right away, not wanting to get out of your flow, so you continue signing the variety of sentences you’ve learned, each one even dirtier than the last.
You knew you were doing a good job when a few snorts came from your right at certain words, Derek understanding what you were saying. Looking at Spencer confirmed it — his eyes stood wide open, red blotches of heat forming on his neck as his lips moved in a struggle to find the words.
Stop it. Right now. He eventually signed.
You grin, pride washing over you as you can understand him. This new method of communication truly opens up worlds.
But I mean it. You sign back.
He hides the small smile that forms on his face, tugging away a piece of hair before finding the courage to respond back to you.
What else would you like to do, then?
Penelope nudged Derek, looking puzzled. “What are they doing? Are they…? Oh my god, they’re trying to get in each other’s pants? Right in front of us?!”
Derek threw his head back laughing. “That’s right. They’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”
“But dirty talk is our thing!” Penelope protested.
Derek shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but they’re outdoing us.”
In which Spencer proves to you how much he loves your big breasts.
pairing spencer reid x gf!reader
genre smut (18+)
cw reader has big breasts and is insecure bc of porn standards, just 6k words of tit worship: tit play, tit sucking, tit fucking. lots of teasing, oral (f receiving), p in v, cum play, creampie, reader wears a dress and lingerie, spencer is clingy and horny, spencer and reader are slightly tipsy, soft!dom!spence
wc 6,3k
a/n for my big tit girls <3 i hope someone can relate to this, and if you don't, i hope you can still enjoy! thank u lovely @esote-rika for proofreading
Everyone who’s had the honor of meeting Spencer Reid in an informal setting is aware of the fact that he isn’t a drinker. You’d score an indefinite amount of points in his book if you have something besides alcohol to offer. And Spencer isn’t picky — some trail mix in a bowl works as a good enough replacement.
So, being surprised was an understatement when Spencer suggested coming to the bar where you were having drinks with your friends. The case he was on got wrapped up quicker than anticipated. He was about to walk to your apartment to spend the night with you when he remembered you were out with friends.
It was the plan to pick you up and walk you home, making some light conversation with your friends while he was at it (for the amount of months you’d been dating, he should invest more time in getting to know the people who are close to you). He hadn’t planned on drinking, even surprising himself when he downed the two shots of liquor that one of your friends handed him. But he had no choice. Not when he walked into the bar and noticed you dancing in the crowd. Not when you were wearing that tiny black dress that was on his mind ever since he’d found it in your closet. Not when you turned around, your eyes twinkling and a bright smile tugging at your lips when you noticed him. And certainly not when his gaze had lowered and landed on the cleavage that was close to spilling out of your dress. He truly needed the liquid courage to get through the night.
Now, standing on the corner outside of the bar, waiting for an Uber, you didn’t even notice the cold of the night as your body buzzed with the warmth of alcohol in your system combined with Spencer’s touches. He stood close to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he pressed gentle kisses to the curve of your neck — acting uncharacteristically clingy now that there’s alcohol in his system.
“So this is the real reason why you don’t drink, huh?” You ask Spencer in a chuckle, feigning annoyance while actually feeling very flattered by his sudden clinginess, which he rarely displays when sober.
“You’re just so pretty.” He says in a lack of a better explanation.
He had his palm placed flat on your stomach, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed the soft skin before his hand moved up your body at a concerningly fast speed.
“Hey there, mister,” you say in a playful warning, placing your hand on top of his to stop him in his tracks. “We’re still in public. Remember?”
He grumbled some incoherent words as his fingers toyed with the underwire of your bra. “I like this dress.”
You smile, a flush creeping up your neck, glad he can’t see how much you’re enjoying this. “Yeah?”
He hums in confirmation. “I’d like it even better off of you.”
The flush has now found its way to your cheeks, heating your skin as your heartbeat raced.
He presses a kiss to your jawline. “Bet you’d look so pretty.”
Your cheeks were on fire at this point. The butterflies in your stomach set free.
“Want to see you naked.”
Then, everything comes to a halt.
“N-naked?”
He nods against your neck, his soft curls nuzzling you.
Spencer doesn’t notice the way you tense up. To be fair, he’s not noticing any of his surroundings, completely focused on the way you feel in his grasp.
His statement wasn’t weird. It shouldn’t have thrown you off like it did. He’s been your boyfriend for over three months — nearing the four-month mark — and you’ve had sex a lot of times. Still, he has never seen you naked. At least, not completely.
All the times you’d had sex, you kept your bra on. They were cute bras, sexy lingerie sets that had cost you a fortune — specifically because the bra sizes you were looking for were like trying to find a signed limited edition of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. (You spoke from experience, having fought everyone on the internet to get a copy for Spencer’s birthday). All this effort was to hide one thing, well, two things really: your breasts. And it worked. Spencer was always hypnotized the second you took your top off. He had asked before if he could take your bra off, but when you rationally responded with, “It was so expensive, it would be a waste to take it off,” he always agreed, cupping your tits through the lacy fabric and forgetting why he ever complained.
This is a good example that shows how considerate Spencer is. He’d let the subject slide with every weak excuse you made, never asking any prying questions. You knew it didn’t make sense to think Spencer would be turned off by the way your breasts look without a bra. He is obsessed with them covered, let alone when they’re not, your friends had told you. Still, doubt gnawed at you. He was a man. Men watch porn. You knew of his exes, how they have a different body type from yours. You were just afraid you’d shatter the illusion — that he’d be disappointed when he found out that your breasts aren’t as perky without support, how your nipples aren't placed symmetrically in the middle, how stretch marks covered the skin.
“Are you alright?”
Spencer’s voice rattles you out of your thoughts. You swallow. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The knuckle of his index finger tilts your chin, coercing you to look at him. His eyes looked sweet — a little tired, very lustful, but sweet nonetheless.
“I love you. You know that, right?”
Three simple words, and still it felt like a large weight fell off your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again. “I know,” you respond with a nod, reaching out to cup his jaw. Your thumb grazes his light stubble, then gently brushes against the hidden scar underneath his chin.
“I love you,” you say back.
The intimate moment is of short duration. Spencer tilts his head, then raises his hand to signal to the Uber, who just drives into the street.
You mumble a soft thanks as Spencer holds the door open for you. You crawl into the backseat, and he follows behind you, clicking his seatbelt on and giving the driver the address to your home.
“Driver, roll up the partition, please,” you sing under your breath as the Uber driver does so.
“Beyoncé?”
You gasp, placing a hand on your heart to emphasize your surprise. “Wow, I’ve taught you so much.”
“You teach me lots of things,” he says with a goofy grin.
And he meant it. You did teach the all-knowing genius quite a lot. Whether you’d consider sharing your excessive pop-culture knowledge as impressive as the facts he rambled about was questionable. But the information was useful, nonetheless.
His eyes flicker from the driver back to you, saying his next words just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t think it would be a smart idea if you were to get on your knees, though.”
Your lips curl, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth. His comment is a reference to the song; still you could tell there was a slight invitation behind his words.
“You don’t think so?” You tease.
He scootches forward in his seat. His eyes roam over your body, halting on your cleavage, then move up to your pouty lips.
“It’s a pretty cramped space,” he settles on saying, his voice hoarse. “Not even mentioning the fact that partitions are made of polycarbonate — which does absorb up to 34 decibels on average, but that’s not enough for you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Not enough for me?”
He places a hand on your bare knee, thumbing the skin. “You’re pretty loud,” he recalls, his eyes finding yours.
You chuckle, your gaze falling down to his hand, which was slowly creeping its way up your thigh. His fingertips were digging into the muscle, massaging it with care. The act is enough to turn you on, though you were already turned on by the kisses that he had left on your neck earlier. The memory is still vivid in your mind.
“It’s not fair to blame it on me,” you tell Spencer. “You’re the reason for making me scream.”
He breaks eye contact, but not before you could catch the sparkle in his dark irises. He was trying to hold himself together; you could tell. He licks his lips, tucking a loose curl of hair behind his ear, before leaning in. His shoulder brushes against yours, his hot breath leaving goosebumps as his mouth traces the shell of your ear.
“Will you scream again for me tonight?”
-`♡´-
Spencer’s kisses were all tongue, holding your jaw as he claimed you. There was no fight for dominance — you had surrendered the second he had closed the front door behind you. You had kicked your heels off at the same speed as he had thrown his blazer and tie on the ground.
Large palms grip your face, connecting his lips back to yours as you blindly stumble through the living room in search of your bedroom. You know you’ve reached your destination as the back of your knees hit the mattress.
Spencer pulls back. A deep exhale leaves his lips, caressing your cheek with the knuckles of his hand. “So beautiful,” he whispers, taking you in.
You pull him back in by his collar, kissing him fervently. The lace of your underwear is bundled up between your folds, the material completely soaked. You roll your hips, moaning against Spencer’s mouth because of the slight friction it causes.
Spencer notices what you’re doing. What you need. He grabs your ass, pulling you flush against him in a swift motion. Another moan escapes your throat as he locks his leg in between yours. Your dress rides up and he sees it as an invitation, rubbing his knee against where you need him most.
You let out a cry, the first one of the night.
Spencer’s hands make way under the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down your arms, making your skin ignite. He pulls the dress down lower in a slight struggle as he tugs the fabric over your chest. Finally he frees your breasts, still covered with the lacy bra you’re wearing, but visible enough for his mouth to water.
He pinches your nipples between both of his thumbs and index fingers, making your eyes roll back. “So needy, aren’t you, angel?”
His question isn’t meant to sound condescending — quite the opposite, actually. Still, you feel like he’s enjoying the way you’re all glossy-eyed and fawn-legged, feeling like you can come undone by the slightest of his touches.
He continues stripping you down, revealing you inch by inch until the dress you had so carefully picked out in the evening is now pooled at your feet.
Spencer gently presses you on the mattress, pushing your knees open as he takes place on the ground in between your legs.
He hooks his hands behind your knees, scooting you a bit forward. His hands trail to your inner thighs, making you gasp as his fingertips dance over your skin ever so slowly.
His touch was a delicious tickle, not one that you wanted to scratch, but one that you wanted to last forever. The heat in your core builds with every swipe of his digits. Your chest is heaving, his fingers so close to your throbbing pussy.
“These are so damp,” he observes, curving his finger around the string of your underwear. “Think we should take these off, hm?”
A breathy moan leaves your lips.
Spencer looks up at you, head cocking. He’s waiting for you to answer. You nod your head, hands gripping the bed sheets. “Yes. Want them off.”
He’s satisfied with your response, propping the material to the side to reveal your glistening cunt.
“God, you’re perfect.” He praises in awe.
Perfect.
You blink the thought away. There was no room for your anxieties as his tongue made contact with your pussy. You gasp, clenching your stomach and squirming forward, hands immediately finding their way into his hair.
He uses the flat of his tongue to lick stripes up your folds, then uses the tip of his tongue to add pressure with every swipe against your clit.
“Tastes so sweet,” he says, letting go of your swollen clit with a pop.
You’re balancing yourself on the palms of your hands, back arched and head thrown back, giving yourself over to the pleasure. A rough hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh. His curls disappear between your legs again. Then that same rough hand… but now around your breast.
You didn’t notice anything at first — too caught up in the buzz of his hands and mouth on you. That was until he pulled the cup of your bra down, your breast spilling free.
“Spence!” You squeal.
The sound could pass as a moan to anyone else, but Spencer knows the way you sound. His hands drop from your body, mouth pulling away, leaving you empty but giving you enough time to quickly cover yourself up. His pretty face is etched with confusion. “What is it?”
“You pulled my bra down.”
“Did I break it?”
You didn’t even think of that. You turn your head to your collarbone, then pull on the strap. “No. It’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?” He repeats, golden-speckled eyes blinking up at you. “I told you that I can buy you some new brassières. I don’t mind.”
“It’s not that, Spencer,” you sigh.
It isn’t fair to get irritated by him. The first step to a good relationship is communication — it’s a sentence you’ve become sick of with the amount of times you hear it, but that doesn’t make it less true.
“Do you…” you’ve now started your sentence. There’s no going back. “You… You like my boobs. Right?”
It’s like watching a mime; the way his eyes widen in surprise, then the wheels in his mind seem to turn, his eyes narrow, and a frown line forms between them.
“Of course I do,” he says, standing up from his spot in between your legs.
You’re scared that you’ve ruined it. That the mood is gone now that he’s aware there’s something keeping your mind busy.
“I thought it was clear how much I like your breasts,” he assures, gently helping you up by your wrists and pulling you into a hug. His arms make you feel more covered, less vulnerable, because he’s still wearing a button-up and pants, while you’re merely clothed in your flimsy lingerie, wetness still coating your inner thighs.
He presses a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t like them.”
You still need to get used to being in a relationship with someone so emotionally mature. He truly had nothing to apologize for. It’s the voices in your head that tell you that he doesn’t like them. He’s never given you any reason to doubt yourself.
“You haven’t, Spence. I swear. I’m just-“ you’re glad you’re talking to his chest right now, not having to face him as the next words leave your lips. “I’m scared you won’t like them anymore once you see them… bare. They don’t look the same as when I’m wearing a bra.”
You can feel his slight chuckle reverberating from his chest. “I don’t look the same without clothes on either.”
Yes, he looks even better. His clothes hide the muscles in his arms, the thickness of his thighs, the soft flesh of his tummy.
“They just… you know. Sag a bit.” You whisper the last words, feeling like you’ve just admitted to a foul crime. The room stays silent, and his hold on you lessens.
He pulls back enough to see your face, a playful glint still shimmering in his eyes. “I have three PhD's, one of them being in physics, and you don’t think I know how gravity works?”
Well, you weren’t expecting that answer.
“I know it’s natural and all,” you shrug. “They just don’t look like they do in porn. I felt like I needed to warn you.”
He cups your face, making you look at him; a sweet smile lingers on his lips. “If I wanted a pornstar,” the word sounded foreign on his lips, “I wouldn’t be here right now. I want you. All of you.”
You nuzzle your face into the warmth of his palm. Words were just words, but you’d never find out if he meant them if you didn’t give him a chance. You swallow, gathering courage as you take a step back, just enough room for him to fully observe you, his tall figure standing over you.
Your fingers make their way to your back, trying to ignore their shaking as you reach the clasp of your bra. You maintain eye contact with Spencer, trying to see if he’d change his mind, but so far his hazel eyes are just filled with anticipation and need.
You take in a deep breath, then undo all three clasps at once, ripping the band-aid off. The relief is immediate, certain that there’d be marks on your skin because of the biting underwire.
Spencer’s jaw slackens. His irises grow with every inch of skin that reveals as you pull the cups down. Then — in a quick move of your hand — you fully remove the bra from your body.
“Jesus,” Spencer says breathlessly.
Anxiety flashes through you like a sudden strike of lightning. Your hands reach out to cover yourself up. “I shouldn’t have-“
Warm hands lock around your wrists, gently pulling them away. “I didn’t even imagine you could look this beautiful.”
His voice was tinged with complete adoration as he took you in. Your mind had to do a double take to signal to you that you’ve heard him properly. Beautiful.
You play with your hands, squeezing the tips of your fingers to keep yourself from hiding the curves that were on display. “You don’t have to say that.”
He took a step forward, his fingers knitting through yours. “I’m not just saying it,” he guides your intertwined hands to his pants; your breath catches as you notice the outline of his cock bulging through the fabric. He places your hands on his cock, squeezing your fingers around his length. A breathy ah escapes his mouth, his head slightly thrown back as you start moving your hands on your own accord.
“This is all for you. This is what you do to me,” his voice rasps.
Your thumb moves to his tip, circling the sensitive spot until you see a wet patch forming. Spencer’s hips stutter, bucking into your touch. “Let me prove to you how much I love you. Please, angel.”
His plea was one out of pure desperation. Not only was he dying to touch you, but it had been several hours since he’d first seen you in that dress. Several hours of fighting the urge to bury his cock deep inside of you.
“I need you so bad, Spence,” you mumble back, nails grazing his clothed cock.
A loud moan escapes from his throat. He doesn’t waste any time, holding you by your waist and letting the two of you fall onto the bed. You squeal, your tits bouncing from the effort.
“God, look at you,” he groans, making way in between your legs as you lay down. Your breasts have fallen to the sides of your body, framing you deliciously. Spencer leans in, teasing you as he licks a wet stripe right up your breastbone, curls tickling your pillowy curves, but not yet touching them.
He swallows your whiny moans by kissing you. His tongue hastily meets yours. He can’t help but grind himself against the softness of your inner thigh, seeking relief as his arousal continues to grow.
Your mind is spinning. The contrast between his fully clothed body and your naked, vulnerable state is stark. His strong hands grip your delicate face as he kisses you deeper.
With a catch for breath, Spencer pulls back. His dick twitches as he looks at you — eyes full of desire, pouty swollen lips, hard nipples begging to be touched, and your pussy glistening, ready for him to use.
“You drive me absolutely crazy, sweetheart.”
You reach out to let your hands roam over his chest, pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Please, take it off.”
He nods, making a quick effort to take his shirt off, throwing it haphazardly to the ground. With slightly shaky legs, he gets to his knees on the bed, hands fumbling with his belt, too busy staring at you.
You can’t escape the moan that leaves your lips as you see the first dusty brown hairs appear on his pubic bone. He pulls his pants down lower, revealing the thick shaft of his throbbing cock. You’re not even aware of your own hand sliding down your body, gasping as your middle finger touches your swollen clit, the feeling electrifying.
“Getting yourself off just by looking at me? I thought that was my job.”
His slacks and boxers fall to his knees, his cock slapping up against his abdomen. You felt almost guilty for teasing him this long — his tip was just as red as his rosy lips, leaking shiny precum. And his cum-filled balls stood strained, like he could bust at any moment. Your middle finger slips into your warm pussy easily, eyes rolling back as you curve your knuckle, hitting that delicious spot hidden inside of you.
Spencer takes his pants completely off, then grabs your wrist, pulling your finger out swiftly, the motion making a sloppy, wet sound. You whine, bucking your hips up in the air. He moves your hand to his mouth, connecting his lips around your wet finger as he sucks on the digit.
He swirled his tongue, collecting all of your sweet juices and moaning in appreciation. “You can wait a little longer,” he purrs as he pops your finger out of his mouth.
All you want to do is touch yourself again, especially now that that finger has been in his pretty mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance as he holds your wrists together, locking them above your head.
“You can’t show me your beautiful body and then expect me not to worship it,” he softly breathes, leaning in, his lips ghosting your cheek.
You wiggle in his grasp, making him squeeze his fingers around your wrist. “Be good for me and keep your hands up like this, okay?”
You could say no. Could decline his proposal and have his cock pounding into your aching pussy with just one word. But where would the fun be in that?
“Okay,” you nodded, anticipation bubbling in your core.
Spencer let go of your hands, and as promised, you intertwined your own fingers, keeping them in place above your head. For a second he just looked at you, taking you in and not knowing where to start. Like a feast that looked delicious from head to toe. But he was the only guest, so he could take his sweet time savoring all of you.
He eventually made his decision. His thumbs and pointer fingers each cupped a breast from the side, then lifted them up so they pressed perfectly against each other.
A groan left his throat as he bounced them, tongue darting out as he played with your tits in an adorable fascination. “Is this okay?”
You hum, a soft smile lingering on your face. “Yeah, you can be rougher; I won’t break.”
He displayed his fingers over your breasts, experimentally starting to massage the pillowy, plump skin like he’d do with your thighs. Your nipples hardened under his touch, inducing a moan from the both of you.
His thumbs swiped over your buds synchronously, causing you to whimper. His brows rose lightly, the same look he’d have every time he’d have an epiphany; he then pinched your nipples, slightly turning them as he pulled. Your back arched on the bed, accompanied by a heavenly sounding moan.
“So sensitive, aren’t you?” He muses. “My poor girl, depraved herself for so long.”
You could only cry, begging for more.
“That won’t happen again,” he gently reassures, thumbing your nipples, sending electrifying sparks to your clit. “I’ll make sure to give them all the attention they deserve, hm?”
You hastily nod in agreement, your voice a soft whimper. “Please.”
He leaned down, settling in between your legs, hissing when his cock grazed against your soft inner thigh.
“Can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered, breath fanning your sensitive skin. He stuck his tongue out, and you couldn’t wait to experience how he’d feel lapping on your tits, if it were to feel just as incredible as having his tongue on your pussy.
Your question was quickly confirmed as he licked a wet stripe over the bud. The cool air that followed formed goosebumps on the skin. He cupped your breast tightly in his hand, leaning in again to repeat the motion, then again, until the bud glimmered under the bedroom light. He squeezed your other tit, making sure to give that one the same amount of attention as he swirled his tongue around the same bud.
The only sounds that filled the space were your longing moans and the smooching of his kisses. You lay still, hands kept patiently up as you let him use you like a canvas, painting your skin with gentle strokes of his tongue.
It was after a few more teasing licks that he closed his lips around the bud, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. You gasped, not being able to help yourself as your hands shot to his hair. He didn’t mind though, moaning around you as you tugged on the locks. He let go of your nipple, placing featherlight kisses and sucks on your chest before finding his way to your other breast, connecting his lips to it. The feeling was so dizzying, and you swore that you could come by just a single tap to your clit.
He opened his eyes to look at you, blown wide pupils locking with yours as he continued to suck. His eyebrows were scrunched as if he was waiting for you to tell him that he was doing a good job, that he was pleasing you.
“God, you look so beautiful,” you say in a moan. “Make me feel so good.” His eyes twinkled at the compliment, and he grinded his length against your leg as if to say the sentiment was mutual.
He released your nipple from his mouth, hoisting himself up to press a kiss to your lips. His tongue moved around yours in the same way as it had done to your body just a moment ago.
“Thank you for trusting me,” kiss, “can’t get enough of you,” another kiss, “need more.”
An idea sparked in the back of your mind. It was something you’d never tried before, not with anyone, but you could imagine it feeling good. He has fucked your thighs before. Your mouth. Your pussy. The only thing that was missing was—
“Do you want to fuck my tits?”
“Oh God, yes,” Spencer instantly groaned in response. You giggled as he made quick work of moving up the bed, placing a knee on either side of your upper body. His hard cock was just inches away from you; a string of precum coated his tip, dripping onto you. You reached out, finger gathering the sticky essence before suckling on the digit.
Spencer’s hips twitched, releasing another thick drop of precum. “You have to stop doing that.”
“Why?” You teased, proudly showing your clean finger.
He groaned, both in frustration and longing. “Because I will come all over you before I’ve even fucked you.”
You laugh, turning him on even more without it being on purpose. You placed your hands flat against your tits, squeezing them together invitingly. “Come on, then.”
Spencer grips himself by the base, tapping his tip against your soft cleavage before sliding himself in between your breasts.
“Jesus, fuck,” he moans, throwing his head back. He’s too aroused to start out slow, instantly slamming his hips up in a steady rhythm. His upper thighs slap against your breasts, recreating the dirty sounds he'd make if he were actually fucking you.
“You feel so good like this,” he whimpers. “Always so good to me, angel.”
He reaches out to pinch your nipples, making sure to bring you pleasure as well. Not like you weren’t enjoying this — Spencer was so, so pretty; you could stare at him for hours: his jaw slack, moans and groans spilling from his swollen lips like a song sung just for you, his chest and neck covered in red splotches from the heat of your bodies, his slick, pink tip rubbing against your chest, his veiny hands playing with your tits as he kept looking at you, his eyes filled with love and adoration… You couldn’t get enough.
“I’m so close, baby,” he pants, his cock twitching, using the wetness that had gathered between your breasts as lube to move his hips faster against you.
“That’s okay,” you encourage breathlessly, pressing your tits closer together, creating more friction for him. “Let go for me, Spence.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. One of his hands clasps around your shoulder, the other kneading the soft flesh of your breast as he thrusts his hips forward once more. His muscles tense, and you catch that look on his face — the look that tells you he’s right on the edge. Your prediction gets confirmed as a throaty whine escapes his throat, followed by warm spurts of white shooting onto your neck and chest. You’re able to catch a few drops by sticking out your tongue, swallowing, and sticking it out again to show him the proof.
“You drive me absolutely crazy, angel,” he says awestruck, climbing off of your body and staying seated beside you.
You hum as you take in the way he has painted your chest, tracing your skin with your index finger, creating small drawings. He looks at you mesmerized, then blinks. “We should clean you up.”
“I got it,” you announce, cupping your breast up to your face and licking a firm stripe across the skin.
A gasp sounded beside you, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that formed on your face as Spencer looked at you in pure surprise.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
You giggled, placing your lips around your nipple as you gave a gentle suck while focusing on your boyfriend, whose cock was hardening again.
“Acting so needy when you’ve been pleasing yourself all this time,” he tsked. “Such a dirty girl.”
He matched your smile, cupping your face and bending over to lightly caress your lips with his once again. You moan in satisfaction, licking his bottom lip to be invited in. Your lips acted in a familiar play, experimentally moving around each other until you figured out each other’s moves, able to feel the urgent need in the way his tongue stroked yours, signaling back to him that you’re feeling the same by biting down on his bottom lip.
He groaned in response, his hands sneaking around your waist to hoist you up. “You’ve done enough hard work; you deserve to lie down now,” you joke as he gently makes way onto the soft bed sheets, holding onto your even softer thighs as you straddle him.
His cock feels heavy in your hands as you position it underneath your throbbing pussy, shuddering as you tease your walls with the slick head.
“You look so beautiful,” he praises, moving his warm hands up and down your hips, easing the strain you feel when you slowly sink down onto his length. You gasp when his thick tip disappears between your folds, but his sweet moans calm you down. Oh, you’re so tight. Just a little more, just like that. You’re doing so good for me, angel.
“Oh my God, Spence,” you moan as your hips make contact with his. The stinging has eased into a delicious sense of being full, placing your hands on top of his tummy to keep yourself steady as you start rocking your hips. Spencer gives a firm squeeze, fingertips digging into the curve of your ass, sure it’s going to leave marks.
You move your body up and down, breasts swaying with every one of your movements, the act completely hypnotizing Spencer. His head feels fuzzy and his throat dry as he watches you, not being able to believe how lucky he got.
You up your speed, moaning and whimpering as you use his cock as your personal toy, his voice and face working as porn as he shudders in pure bliss underneath you.
“Taking me— fuck — so well, baby,” he whines. Spencer places the soles of his feet flat on the bed, holding you tightly by your waist as he lifts his body up.
“Spencer!” you cry as his cock drives deeper into you.
“Hm, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs in apology. “Just want to help you out.”
You nod — because even though you’re very much enjoying taking the lead, you know how good it feels when Spencer helps you out by pounding into you. So that’s what you do: sinking down onto him, meeting each of his thrusts as he bucks his hips up.
“Is it painful?” he asks considerately, nodding toward the way your heavy breasts bounce with each push of his hips.
You shrug, “Just a bit.” To be fair, you’re way too focused on the way your core tightens every time he buries his cock in your pussy, hitting that sweet spot inside of you as the veins decorated around his shaft tease your inner walls — to even care.
His large hands find their place on your breasts, squeezing them once, then twice, then looking back in your eyes. “I can work as your personal brassière.”
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Ah, how civil.”
“Did you know brassières were only invented in 1893? It’s fascinating because technically the first brassières dated back to ancient Greece. Actually, in Book 14 of Homer’s Iliad, there’s a reference to Aphrodite’s embroidered girdle.”
You hum, leaning forward to catch his lips. “And did you know that you talk too much?” You tease as you press another kiss to his mouth. “And did you know that no one uses the word brassières anymore?”
“But it’s the correct term!”
There’s only one other way to shut him up. You cradle your hands underneath his head, bending while tilting his head up to press his face against your tits.
“Hmpf,” he mouths against your breasts, before easily finding your nipple to latch on.
You hold onto the headboard, relishing in his touch as you pick up your rhythm again. His cock hits even deeper inside of you in this position. There’s something so electrifying about the stimulation of your breasts in combination with the pleasure against your G-spot. A feeling so electrifying you doubt you can hold on much longer.
“Getting close, Spence,” you cry as his hands cradle your ass, holding the cheeks open as he pumps his length in and out of you.
“Not yet, sweetheart. Wait on me.”
His hot breath fans against your wet nipples, and you cry loudly, gripping the headboard until your knuckles turn white.
“I can’t, Spence. I can’t — feels so fucking good.”
“Yes, you can. Just a little longer. Make me proud, angel; I know you can.”
You tighten your walls around him — maybe it can be considered as cheating — but it works. Spencer groans as he bites down on your breast, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you squeal.
Spencer holds you tight against him, chests pressing together as he moves his hips with force. “That’s it — Oh, I’m close. Let go for me.”
With one more jolt of his hips, you come undone. You cry incoherent words in the crook of his shoulder. Your legs are shaking from the strain of holding them open for so long. Your pussy flutters around him repeatedly until Spencer’s legs quiver in the same way as yours, filling you up with his warmth.
He groans in satisfaction, pushing his hips up a few more times to make sure his release is buried deep inside of you. The round head of his cock slips out of your folds. You let out a sharp gasp, still feeling the print he had left inside of you. You can feel the way your pussy twitches as his cum drips out of you and dribbles onto his thighs.
Spencer pulls some hairs out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as you settle your head down on his sweaty chest.
“It's okay,” he soothes you. “You did so good.”
You smile sheepishly, drawing figures on his chest. “Yeah?”
He mirrors your smile. “Yeah. You did perfectly.” Another kiss to your face. “My beautiful, brilliant girl.”
Your heart does a leap out of joy. It’s easy to say afterward, but you can’t believe how you were ever scared to show yourself to him. Now only regretting not having done it sooner as you see the physical proof of how enamored he is with you. Maybe you didn’t fit the ideal you’d been forced to fit in all of your life, but if anything, there’s only more to love.
judt thinking about reader and spencer making out and just doing stuff over clothes yk and spencer cumming his pants 🥰 (love your work btw !!)
dry humping with spencer
genre: smut (18+)
cw: just a bunch of variations on dry humping lol, inexperienced!spencer but his confidence grows throughout it, tit play, fingering, handjob over clothes
wc: 1,6k
a/n: i wrote this "drabble" so quickly, felt so inspired by your request. this was a really fun one, thank you!
From the moment you started dating Spencer Reid, you knew your relationship would be nothing like your previous ones. Not only was Spencer way kinder and more thoughtful than anyone you’ve ever dated, he was also more inexperienced.
Spencer’s lack of relationships and experience in the bedroom never posed a problem for you. In fact, you found it endearing that he was shyer than the average man, and it felt good to know you’d found someone who took your relationship seriously and wanted to take things slow before moving to the next step.
Spencer didn’t mind all physical touch, though. You often found yourself cuddled up on the couch, facing him as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around you and his face hidden in the crook of your neck.
As much as you tried to contain yourself, you were just a girl. And sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he held you close and smelled deliciously like leather-bound books and overly sweetened coffee, turned you on. A lot.
So it was a little more than an accident when, one day, during a passionate makeout session on the couch, you found yourself moving your hips against him. Spencer’s response was immediate, inhaling a sharp breath against your mouth. You pressed your lips back to his in a soft peck, making him forget about it until you repeated the movement a few minutes later. He responded with a whimper, and you pulled back enough to see the slight furrow in his brows and the twinkle in his eyes, his face speaking words he was too nervous to admit.
“Do you want me to do it again?”
Spencer swallowed, giving a hesitant nod. His nerves quickly faded into pleasure as you put your hands on his shoulders, giving you enough grip to continue your motions. Your lips found his neck, and with a couple of licks and bites, he came undone, moaning incoherent words as his hips stuttered into you.
This event became a solid foundation to build on. Spencer’s confidence grew over time. Whereas it used to be only you who touched him, Spencer now dared to explore your body as well: his hands roaming over the sides of your thighs, wandering to the curve of your ass, kneading the covered skin as you grind your body against him.
His warm hands would glide under your shirt, leading you to assure him that he could take it off. First came your top, then your bra. The more clothes you removed, the bigger Spencer’s need was to touch you. To take control. On his own initiative, he would squeeze your breasts, biting down on his bottom lip as your nipples hardened in reaction. He’d reach out to rub the buds in circular motions, until they stood peaked enough for him to wrap his lips around them.
You’d revel in the feel of Spencer hungrily sucking on your nipples, gripping your tits tightly in his hands. He was like a man starved, having spent all his years without the touch of a woman. He couldn’t get enough, especially not because it was you.
After a while, you even convinced him to get rid of his shirt. He didn’t regret his decision as you showered his chest in kisses, making him feel more loved than he thought was possible.
Eventually, Spencer wasn’t intimidated by the concept of dry humping anymore. Going as far as putting you into different positions. He’d have you on your hands and knees, your back arched as he thrusted against you. His strong hand would hold you by your thigh, the other placed on your shoulder as his denim-clad bulge repeatedly pressed against the thin fabric of your leggings. The rough material of his pants gave just enough friction for you to orgasm, your face pressed into the mattress as you cried out. Spencer only stopped once his pants reflected the same wet spot as yours had.
-`♡´-
It was on a sunny morning that you found yourself tangled up in each other on top of his bedsheets.
The heat of the night had resulted in both of you undressing down to your underwear. You woke up with Spencer pressed against your back, sleepily grinding his cock against the swell of your ass. Your moans woke him, and in practiced ease, he pulled you into a deep kiss.
In all the months of dating, you had never seen Spencer in his underwear before. You could predict what his cock would look like based on the feel, but seeing his hard length stand proud in his boxers, pointing up to the small patch of hair covering his stomach, was a more mouthwatering sight than you’d imagined.
Spencer lay on his back, his upper body propped up against some bundled-up pillows. Golden streams of sunlight hit his chest, and a tired smile graced his lips.
You happily climbed on top of him, your knees bent on either side of his body. You lowered yourself down onto his bulge, a satisfied moan leaving your lips as his length perfectly fitted between the space your thighs had created. His warm brown eyes never left yours as you placed your hands on his stomach, fingers digging into the soft skin as you moved your hips up and down. The room was filled with the soft creaking of the bed and the mixture of your moans. Another thing you loved about Spencer: he was loud. A whimpering and moaning mess every time your covered pussy made contact with his bulge.
When you looked down, you caught a glimpse of the tip of his cock peeking out from underneath his boxers, revealing itself as the fabric moved with your movements. It flushed a deep shade of pink and glistened with precum, seeming to accumulate with each roll of your hips. You didn’t want to bring any attention to it, scared he’d turn self-conscious, so instead you locked your lips with his.
He bit down on your bottom lip and moved his hands to your ass, helping you quicken your movements against his cock. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him a beautiful view of your breasts as they caught the sunlight. He cupped them in his hands and thrust his hips up into you.
His name left your lips in a high-pitched moan. “Oh, Spencer.”
“Am I making you feel good, sweetheart?”
You cried in response, nodding your head. Your sounds of pleasure always encouraged him. He felt bolder as he slipped his hand in his underwear, adjusting himself so that his tip rubbed deliciously against your soaked underwear.
“Turn around for me, baby.”
You turned around on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Your knees remained spread and bent, and he held you up by the back of your thighs as he slammed his bulge up into you. Your hand slipped to your underwear, rubbing your palm against your heat. Your clit stood swollen, the layer of cotton forming no barrier for your pleasure.
Experimentally, your hand slid lower down to his cock, rubbing the length and cupping his balls over his underwear.
“F-fuck, do that again,” Spencer breathed heavily.
You obeyed, jerking him through his boxers. You felt overwhelmed by the feeling of him, finally able to know how heavy he felt in your hands. Your fingertips softly traced the veins of his cock, and you could feel his breath heaving against your neck. He pressed a wet kiss to the sensitive skin, making you shiver.
Spencer resumed where you left off, his hand making its way to your pussy. He hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, pulling it aside and revealing how soaked you were. “All of this for me?”
You gasped as his long fingers trailed your outer lips. The pleasure clouded your mind, and you couldn’t find the words as your boyfriend, for the first time, slipped a finger inside of you. He curled his finger skillfully, and you would’ve believed it if he told you he’d done this a thousand times.
The warmth in your core started building faster than anticipated. You reached out to grab Spencer’s wrist in an effort to ground yourself. He didn’t stop his movements, though, pumping his finger inside of you as he rutted against you at the same fast pace.
“Spencer, I’m-”
Your words got cut off as a leg-shaking orgasm washed over you. Spencer let out a deep groan, and you could feel his hot release forming underneath you.
You hurriedly got off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him as you took in the scene. His underwear was translucent from your juices, and his happy trail was coated in his thick, white cum.
“You made a mess of me,” Spencer chuckled, his voice still hoarse from waking up.
You gave him a dreamy smile, and he returned it with a big, goofy grin.
“You look so incredibly hot, I wish I could fuck you.”
The words escaped your lips before you realized. You always made sure not to hint at wanting anything more than he was ready for, not wanting to rush him. You nervously looked up at him, but where you expected to find your boyfriend looking uncomfortable, his eyes shone with a compelling glimmer as he licked his lips.
Hey I loveddddd the legging pervert!spencer fic, I’d love another one, maybe a part 2, or maybe just another with the same reader and perv!spencer. I love your fics!
SWEAT FOR ME ´-
In which Spencer has a different kind of workout in mind.
pairing perv!spence x leggings!reader
genre smut (18+)
cw reader is part of the bau + certified gym rat, gym semi public sex, male masturbation, fingering and oral (f receiving), p in v, fwb relationship
wc 3,8k
a/n we have an official reader! yippie! this is not a pt. 2 but another story in this universe. tysm for this request! feel free to send in more for them :)
Being a loyal gym member came with its set of advantages.
The tenth anniversary of your membership at Quantico’s “Fit4FBI” was coming up. When you joined the BAU, you had signed yourself up for the FBI’s designated training center. Though it was essential for your job to be in good condition, this gym also had the natural pattern of people massively joining during the first weeks of January and collectively giving up around the holidays.
You were one of the few customers that visited regularly. To be specific, every day that you weren’t out on a case. The gym felt like a refuge to you, a place to blow off steam and clear your head from the gruesome cases that seemed to always be on your mind.
You were quick to befriend the owner, Mr. Isaac Dalton, a man in his mid-sixties (but don’t be fooled by his age; there is no trainer as encouraging and persistent as him). It all started with your suggestion to introduce a boxing lesson as a break from the usual Wednesday Pilates classes. It seemed like a small thing to you — boxing has been part of your life since childhood. But to him? It meant everything.
From that day on, you were his favorite customer. Hell, his favorite person even. You gained access to the staff dressing rooms, even to the staff showers — which were a huge upgrade from the shared customer spaces that made even a high school gym look good. Yes, it was that bad. You now knew where they were cutting on the budget to be able to afford the tablets and private jet.
But the best benefit that came with being a star customer was getting the title of rightful owner to a spare set of shiny keys.
Going to the gym after closing hours was the best thing that could happen to you. You were sure that the handover of the keys was a moment that not even your future wedding or the birth of your first child could ever beat. No more eyeing the Smith machine while walking the treadmill, waiting for the right opportunity to take a sprint and claim it before someone else did. No more cleaning of seats because the people before you were too lazy to wipe their sweat away. And thank God, no more annoying people complaining in your ear about how exhausting working out is. Well… besides Spencer.
“I- I can’t,” he panted, letting the dumbbells fall to the ground beside him. In moments like this, you couldn’t help but regret offering him personal training when the gym was supposed to be closed.
You placed your hands on your hips, not hiding the look of judgment as he lay on the training bench, chest heaving like he had just climbed Mount Everest. On heels.
“I truly wonder what you did to pass the physical exam.”
“I was in a remedial training program,” he put his hand on his pounding heart, taking a deep breath before continuing. “They needed new agents in the field, so they made me an exception.”
Well, that explains it.
You shook away your thoughts, extending your hand to help him up. With a groan he stood, legs wobbly as he held onto your shoulders. Your skin felt soft and cool, in contrast to his clammy hands.
Naturally, he started massaging your shoulders, causing a small groan to leave your lips. Spencer was about to slide his fingers under the band of your sports bra, but you stopped him.
“We should do a leg exercise next. Maybe your legs are stronger than your arms.”
Now it was his turn to groan. “Have you seen me? I’m not even standing straight right now.”
“I know, Bambi,” you chuckled jokingly. “People usually find leg extensions one of the easier exercises. You’ll be fine.”
“That makes sense. Your legs are part of your body’s largest muscle groups. Studies have shown that your creatine kinase and myoglobin levels increase significantly after an arm exercise compared to a leg exercise.” He explained as you walked to the equipment at the back of the gym.
You raised an eyebrow. “And that means?”
“It means that your arms are easier to get sore than your legs. They’re also easier to get damaged and heal after an extensive workout.”
You hummed, saving the information to the back of your mind. There must be a day when these random facts will come in handy.
Spencer continued his info dumping as you changed the amount of weights on the machine, putting the pin into 80 lb — a standard beginner’s weight.
You clapped your hands when you were finished. “Okay, you’re all set up.”
“What do I do?” He asked cluelessly.
“Take a seat.”
He did as you said, waiting for further instruction.
“And now you place your feet under the lever and lift it up. You can hold onto the handles for support.”
Spencer followed your instructions, holding onto the levers before he lifted his legs. He paused them at the top for a moment before slowly lowering them back down.
“That’s it. Good job.”
Spencer didn’t respond to your compliment. Concentration was etched onto his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth slightly agape as he repeated the motion. His tongue poked out to the side as he counted the reps in his head, occasionally wetting his lips.
You looked at him. First to make sure he was executing the exercise correctly, but you quickly got distracted. Sweat dripped down his neck, the droplets falling into the white tank top that he wore. At this point it wouldn’t have made a difference if he wore a shirt or not, the fabric being so translucent that you could see the color of his skin.
Your eyes traced him until they landed on his arms. He had a tight grip on the handles, making the veins that decorated his arms and hands look prominent.
Your gaze fell even lower — and it really shouldn’t have — because now you noticed how his shorts have ridden all the way up to his thighs. It wouldn’t surprise you if they dated back to high school. The material clung tightly to him, and every time he tilted his legs, the shorts bulged around his crotch.
To put it simply, he looked hot. Extremely hot.
Get your head out of the gutter. He’s here to train, to gain more confidence in the field. Not to be your personal eye candy.
You were supposed to stay with him the entire time, as a personal trainer does. But you don’t think you can stand here for a second longer trying to fight the urge to jump him.
“I’m going to do some sets on the Smith machine,” you pointed toward the device that stood a couple of feet away, still in clear sight.
Again, no response from the still focused Spencer.
You made your way over to the machine, picking out the weights that you wanted to add to the bar. In routine, you positioned yourself under the bar, placing your feet at shoulder-width, before bending your knees.
In the meantime, Spencer had completed his set of reps. He grabbed his water bottle from the ground next to him, feeling like a real gym jock as he gulped the contents down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his fist.
He looked up to find you. And he was so grateful that he had swallowed, or there’d be a fountain of water bursting from his lips right now.
He didn’t know what a Smith machine entailed, but he definitely didn’t expect to find you in a squatting position yet again. His eyes went to your ass first, obviously. Seeing how perfectly you filled out your leggings, the fabric clinging to every curve, giving the illusion that it could rip at any given moment.
But then his eyes snapped to your upper back. How the muscles in your shoulders flexed as you lifted the bar of weights. There was something so enticing about how strong you were. He thought back on all the times he had pinned you down underneath him, not having realized that you could easily spin him around. Dominate him.
A shiver soared through his body, straight to his pulsing cock. He looked down, embarrassed to find himself twitching, the tip of his cock begging to escape from under his shorts. He placed a hand on his bulge — meant to stop himself — but with the way you kept bending down, he had no choice but to rub his hand over his length.
A breathy moan escaped his throat as he watched you. He imagined lying down on the ground beneath you — germs and safety hazards be damned — holding you by your hips as you’d press your bare cunt into his face. He’d make sure to make the most out of every squat, licking your folds and kissing your clit, before you stood back up.
Spencer didn’t know during which set his hand had found its way into his shorts, only that he struggled to keep quiet as he tugged on his length. His eyes rolled back as he circled his tip with his thumb, collecting precum and using it as lube to stroke the rest of his cock.
He fantasized about you walking up to him, holding onto his shoulders as you’d climb on top of his lap. How you would free his cock from the restraints of his boxers. The way your mouth would open in a gasp at the sight of his throbbing length springing free. You would grab him by the shaft, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips before sinking down onto him. His hands would clasp onto your ass, massaging the flesh like his cock would massage your inner walls as he pumped his length into you.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered, flicking his wrist faster as his gaze remained burnt on you.
He had his eyes closed shut, nearing the brink of an orgasm, when he heard the loud clang of the bar attaching to the machine. At record speed, he adjusted his length, tugging his tank top over his shorts in an effort to hide how hard he was. He then wiped his hands on his shorts, just in time before you walked up to him.
“Hey,” you said, out of breath. “How did it go?”
“Good! Good. I completed all the sets, actually.”
A beautiful, bright smile tilted at the corner of your lips. It almost distracted him from the way your breasts pushed up in your sports bra, shining in a light coat of sweat. Almost.
“I thought of another exercise we could do,” Spencer suggested.
Curiosity filled your mind. “Okay, gym rat. Let’s hear it.”
Spencer walked you to the hip abductor, a machine that trains the muscles of your inner thighs and glutes by sitting down and spreading your legs against the resistance of the padded weights.
You waited for him to sit down, but he remained standing behind you. Your neck flushed with goosebumps as he leaned in, breath tickling the skin. “I want you to use it.”
“Okay,” you chirped, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked as you stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. And that’s when you felt it. His erection poking at your lower back.
“You can’t possibly work out in an outfit like this,” he said, fingers playing with the waistband of your leggings.
You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”
His hand slid lower into the fabric, fingers grazing your hip bones. “I think you should take these off. Don’t want it to be ruined with sweat, or you know, something else.”
You raised your eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Reid?”
“You never seemed to back down from one before,” he dared.
A glint of mischief flickered in your eyes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your leggings, and you swore you could hear him take in a sharp breath.
You bent over. In an agonizing slowness, you pulled your leggings down, revealing the plumpness of your bare skin.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Spencer praised, eyes scanning the curves of your nude ass and legs.
You slipped away from his grasp, grinning as you took your place at the seat of the machine. As the manual explained, you spread your legs, grateful that you kept the weights at beginner’s level.
You threw your head back laughing as Spencer kneeled in front of you, finally making the connection on what he was about to do. “You are absolutely insane. Do you know that I could crush your head with these weights?”
He hummed, not really caring about the possible consequences as he was face to face with your spread-open pussy. “It’ll be worth it.”
He reached out with his finger, drawing a line up your slick folds. “Also — considering your expertise in exercises like this, and the fact that the weights are way less heavy than the ones you’d usually choose — I estimate that my chances of not dying are pretty high tonight.”
Before you could give a clever response back, he pressed his finger down on your clit. A shudder coursed through your body, accompanied by a flutter of butterflies.
“You’re so wet already,” Spencer mused. “What have you been thinking of?”
“Same thing as you,” you responded, thinking back on how hard his cock was when he pressed it against you.
He continued trailing his fingers up and down your slit, warming you up, before halting them at your entrance. “Ready?”
You nodded hastily, anticipation pulling at your core.
Spencer slipped a finger inside of you with ease, groaning at the sweet sound that escaped your lips. Being fingered never felt special before; that was until you met Spencer. Though it wasn’t fair to compare him to any of the other people you’ve been with. His fingers were heavenly: long, slender, soft. He pumped it in and out of your pussy before leaning in and capturing your clit with his tongue. Surprise washed over you, but you didn’t have time to adjust to the feeling. He clouded your mind by switching between flicking his tongue and sucking on the bundle, while his finger matched the steady rhythm.
“Need more,” you whimpered, rolling your hips into his face. He hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending tingles through every part of your body.
When he pulled back, his lips were glistening with your juices. “Can you handle another finger?” He asked as he swiped his tongue over his lips.
You quickly nodded, not even needing him to ask for permission. He stretched you out by inserting another finger, not stopping until he was knuckle-deep inside of you.
“I like this machine,” he stated, curling his digits up to your g-spot. “I don’t need to hold your thighs open to keep you from squirming.”
You softly cried as the tips of his fingers hit your pleasure point, increasing his pace in a way that made you see stars.
“You look so pretty. All spread out for me, letting me use you how I want.” He muttered, more to himself than to you, before he attached his lips back onto your pussy.
The pleasure felt overwhelming. Spencer stimulated you with his hands and mouth in all the spots that he could. He was good at this. Too good at this. You felt almost sad when you felt the familiar heat building up, not wanting it to be over yet.
Still, you gasped, “Just like that!” Your hands were gripping the handles of the machine for dear life as the tip of his tongue drew figure eights against your clit.
Everything cut to white noise, your abdomen tightened, and your hips started spasming until you finally cried out his name.
Your body trembled in aftershocks as Spencer made sure to lap up your juices, not wanting a single drop to go to waste.
He stood up, taking his time as he lovingly grazed your cheek with his clean hand. “Felt good?”
You hummed in response. Your eyes fluttered to the obvious tent in his shorts, not able to ignore it. “That looks painful,” you observed.
“I really want to be inside of you.” He confessed.
His words made you chuckle. Spencer always made sure to satisfy you first, before thinking of his own needs. Even when his achingly red tip had been leaking precum ever since he saw you in that gym outfit earlier today.
“Where do you want me?” You purred, making a groan escape his throat. He loved the way you let him take direction, how you made it seem like he was the one in charge — when you were both completely aware of the fact that you could have him on his knees at any given time and at any place that you’d like.
His eyes scanned the gym, landing on an empty bench.
“That one.” He decided, like he chose some Sour Patch Kids in a candy shop.
You got up — used to having shaky legs due to working out every day — and took Spencer’s hand in yours, guiding him to the sole bench next to the colored kettlebells.
Spencer was glad you were holding his hand, or otherwise he’d have stumbled against every surrounding object, too entranced by the way your hips moved from side to side with every step that you took. If he wasn’t so hypnotized by the sight, he would’ve given your ass a slap — more like a tap — not enough to cause you pain, but enough for you to squeal. Enough for you to move to your tiptoes in reflex. Enough to see your ass shake.
As if born ready, you laid down on the bench, spreading your legs that bent perfectly due to the position you’d just held for minutes.
Spencer didn’t waste any time, pulling his shorts and boxers down in a single, swift movement, his cock jumping free from its confinements. You grinned when he also got rid of his tank top. You bit your lip as you looked at him, wet curls of hair sticking to his forehead and his chest glistening in a light layer of sweat.
His large hands wrapped around your ankles, holding you in place. He then tilted his hips until his length lined up with your needy pussy. A drip of precum spilled from his tip, cock aching as he took in how perfect you looked: your clit still swollen from his tongue, and your soft thighs glittering from the wetness that was still leaking out of you.
In a single motion, he pushed himself in. His cock disappearing all the way in between your folds.
Your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open as he started moving his hips, not giving you the time to recover.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “You just feel too good. So warm. Couldn’t wait.”
Your hands gripped around the air, needing something to hold onto as he fucked you deeply.
You settled on your tits. Cupping them through your sports bra, pinching your nipples that were so hard they poked right through the layer of fabric.
“Oh fuck, baby, you look so hot like that.” Spencer moaned. “I’m so lucky,” he said in awe.
He opened your legs further — surprising you with your flexibility — as he hovered above you. His cock slipped in even deeper, your pussy swallowing him to the hilt. You could feel every vein as he massaged your inner walls, relieving you of your aching. He was close enough for you to dig your nails into his shoulder blades. He didn’t attempt to muffle his whimpers when you pressed little half-moon indents into his back. Your in-sync moans and the colliding of bare skin were the only sounds that echoed off the bare gym walls.
Spencer anchored you in place with his length while his hand reached out to pull the cup of your bra down, freeing your breast. In a second his mouth was latched onto your nipple, sucking on it like he was a man starving.
“Kiss me,” you whimpered, hands tugging at his hair. You needed to feel those soft, pink lips on yours.
As much as he loved your tits, he obeyed in an instant. Hungrily locking his mouth with yours. He placed his bent arms on either side of your head, large hands cupping your face as he kissed you intensely. His tongue swiped against yours in the same exquisite way as the tip of his cock swiped the place inside of you where you needed him most.
“Legs hurt,” he whined against your mouth.
“Count it- fuck,” you moaned as he thrust deep into you. “Count it as an exercise.”
He chuckled breathlessly. “This might be the hardest one yet.”
Literally, you thought. But the word couldn’t make it past your lips, transforming into a high-pitched moan as he upped his speed.
“Just like that, please, Spencer,” you cried out.
There was no bigger motivation than your sweet pleas filling his ears. With all his might, he slammed into you, your pussy pulsing around him, making his vision hazy. All that was on his mind was you. How you felt. How you tasted. How he needed to spill inside of you.
A string of yes’s repeatedly left your lips, signaling to him that you were close.
“I’m going to come inside of you,” he announced, swallowing your moans by pressing his lips back to yours.
You clawed at his back, bucking your hips up into him until a jolt of electricity shot through your body. Your back arched off the bench as you gave yourself over to the all-consuming feeling. It was not even a second later when Spencer’s legs gave out. His cock twitching as spurts of white filled your insides.
He collapsed on top of you, feeling your racing heartbeat against him. For a moment you lay down like that, on the way too narrow bench. Enjoying each other’s presence as a comfortable silence filled the air.
Once his breathing had calmed down, Spencer seemed to notice a small, red flickering light that was attached to the ceiling. A security camera.
spencer and readers first fight ! can you possiblyyyy do something along the lines of spencer said something sassy/petty/mean which results in reader giving spencer the silent treatment and he crashes out begging for her to speak to him 🤓☝🏼
your first fight with spencer
genre: slight angst, fluff
word count: 1,7k
a/n: i've been so excited to write this one! honestly way too long for a drabble, but i hope you enjoy it
“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this."
Spencer didn’t understand the gravity of his words before you huffed out a sigh, placing your hands on your knees as you lifted yourself up from the spot next to him on the couch. His eyes followed your body as you walked straight toward your shared bedroom, opening the door before shutting it behind you with a bang. The click of the lock echoed through the now silent living room.
Spencer sat frozen in place, his gaze fixed on the door as if you’d magically reappear in front of him.
Everything about your body language hinted at you being angry, but he couldn’t grasp why. He replayed the situation back in his head in an effort to decipher the reason.
You had cheerfully greeted him when he entered the apartment. He’d been away on a case for several days, not having had the time to speak to you over the phone or give you any updates on how he was doing.
As much as he preferred keeping clear boundaries between his personal and professional life, Spencer couldn’t resist telling you the details of some of his cases when coming home. Not when the psychology behind the unsubs fascinated him so much. And especially not when you eagerly pulled him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the soft cushions as you handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, ready to hear about his day.
You sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes twinkling with admiration as he told you about today’s case. He explained how he discovered a pattern in the way the unsub took his captives, using the numbers 11235 — the first five numerals in the Fibonacci sequence.
He noticed the frown forming between your brows as he got into more detail.
“Can you explain that to me? I don’t get it,” you asked.
“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this.”
Spencer wasn’t lying. He remembered how his coworkers had blankly stared at him when he analyzed his theory — how Emily made eye contact with JJ, their silent looks saying there he goes again, and how Hotch had to cut him off to tell him to get to the point. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to explain it to you, he just didn’t see the point in doing so, not when he knew this was a connection only he could understand.
After a couple of minutes, there was still radio-silence. Spencer got up and walked to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. “Angel? Can you open up for me?”
“Just go away, Spencer.”
Your voice cracked, like you had been crying, and the sound made his heart sink.
“Please open the door so we can talk. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong?” Your scoff vibrated through the door. “I don’t even want to talk to you if you can’t understand what’s wrong.”
Spencer swallowed hard, his hands turning clammy. He didn’t like confrontations and especially not with you. You’d never fought before. Rationally, he knew fights weren’t necessarily a bad thing — conflicts usually stemmed from deeper fears and feelings that get triggered, and confronting these feelings could lead to creating an even stronger bond. But right now, all he wanted was to turn back time and make sure those words never left his mouth.
His mind blanked in situations like these, so the only logical fix he could come up with was to call Derek.
“Hey,” Spencer spoke through the phone, balancing the device between his ear and shoulder as he nervously paced through the living room.
“Hey man. What’s up?”
“I messed up.”
Morgan’s chuckle sounded through the speaker. “Our genius making a mistake. Who would’ve thought the day would come?”
Spencer sighed, losing his patience. “It’s serious.”
Derek paused before responding. “Alright, slow down. Tell me what happened.”
Spencer repeated the conversation for what felt like the hundredth time that day, his guilt accumulating with each repetition. He gulped when he heard Derek take a sharp inhale at the other side of the line. He could almost see him shaking his head.
“Okay,” Derek began. “Now listen to me. When it comes down to it, all women are the same, they just need some loving and appreciation. Go buy her some flowers before the store closes.”
Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced one last time at the still-locked bedroom door before heading out.
Thankfully, Spencer’s apartment was close to downtown. He hurried into the first flower shop that he spotted, his eyes scanning the bouquets until they landed on a pair of bright colored lilies. The outer corners of the petals shone with a radiant shade of pink, fading into a soft white at the center.
He cleared his throat as he placed the flowers on the counter. “Can I have these, please?”
The woman behind the counter started wrapping them in pink paper, reaching out for lint to tie a bow. “Trouble in paradise?”
Spencer blinked, not often experiencing someone seeing right through him. Besides his coworkers. And you.
“Ya know, I see so many men come in here on the daily. You can just tell they got in trouble with their lady; sweating bullets and rushing to pick a bouquet the second before the store closes.” She twirled the bouquet in her hand as she pulled on the strings of the lint bow. “At least you picked a nice one.”
“Do-,” Spencer hesitated, his voice softening in an uncertain whisper. “Will she forgive me after this?”
“Depends on what ya did,” she answered with a lift of her shoulders. “What I can tell you is that flowers don’t do much fixing.”
Damn it, Derek.
The florist turned around, rummaging through a drawer, before pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the counter.
“Write,” she stated in a single syllable. “We need words. We need to know that you care, and we need you to put more effort into it than paying ten dollars.”
With a new plan in mind, Spencer hurried home. The apartment was still silent when he returned, the door firmly closed and no signs of you having left the bedroom. He sighed and made his way to his desk, shoving aside piles of books and papers until he had enough space to write. He opened the envelope the florist had given him, and carefully pulled out a sheet of blank stationary.
My Lover Dearest,
It is ironic that I have read so much poetry and so many books in my life, and yet I cannot find the words to describe how much you mean to me.
Sometimes, I find it difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as you would want to be with me. That I’m allowed to deserve the love that you give me.
My mind works in strange ways, and as much as you’ve praised me for it, it can work as a curse as well. I am scared to overwhelm you, to talk your ears off (which would be a shame, because you have beautiful ears) to the point that you grow tired of me.
I never had the intention to cause you pain, or to initiate that you’re any less brilliant than you are. You are the brightest part of my life. I feel grateful every time I get to talk to you, and I would love nothing more than to explain any concept you’d want me to. I’m sorry for not having understood that before.
I love you. I love you. I have been wanting to tell you this in a special way, please know that I am not just saying this to ask for your forgiveness. I love you.
Sincerely,
Spencer
The clock chimed 03.00 a.m. by the time Spencer finished his letter. His hand ached and he could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled to the bedroom door. He turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. With a resigned sigh he slid the letter under the door and sat down against it. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake him.
The repeated knocking of the door against his back woke him.
“Spencer?”
Your voice sounded like a siren, and he instantly scrambled away from the door, allowing you to open it fully.
You stood there, holding the envelope in your hand as your eyes softened when you glanced over him, mouth forming a small oh. “What are you doing here?” you asked in worry.
“The door was locked,” he answered, voice still hoarse from sleep.
A curse escaped your lips as you pressed your hands against your face. “I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep with the door still locked.”
Spencer’s lips lifted into a small smile, relieved that you hadn’t locked him out intentionally. “It’s okay. Orthopedists actually recommend sleeping on the floor from time to time. Sleeping on a hard surface encourages a more natural position for your spine, which can reduce back pain. It even strengthens certain muscles, so the pressure on your body evens out. As a matter of fact, anthropological studies have shown that-”
He stopped mid-ramble, blushing when he noticed the faint smile tugging on your lips.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll stop,”
“Don’t you ever stop,” you replied as you lowered yourself on the ground next to him. You reached for his hands, placing them into your lap.
Spencer’s blush deepened, and he struggled to suppress a grin. Your encouragement reassured him, and he went on about groups in Japan and Tanzania who experience significantly lower rates of back pain due to their minimal use of furniture.
“Spencer,” you gently interrupted after a while.
He blinked at you, seeing the gleam in your eyes as you adoringly stared at him. “Hm?”
‘spencer’s “first” time showing you his jealous/possessive side’. bau reader and spencer just started dating and are a bit reserved when it comes to showing affection in the office. a new agent starts flirting/trying to get readers attention and for the first time spencer make sure everyone knows who his girl friend is <3 thank you !!!
the first time spencer gets jealous
genre: fluff
word count: 965
a/n: oh how i love this prompt!! thanks for the request
Spencer Reid wasn’t big on PDA, so it didn’t surprise you when he suggested keeping your relationship under wraps once it became official. You didn’t mind much—sure, it was a little frustrating when he’d pat your hand away at the round table or create distance the morning after a particularly fun night, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you—but in general, you were glad to keep things private. You had no problem avoiding the “no dating between coworkers” policy drama, and it gave you the opportunity to focus on the cases and enjoy Spencer’s company even more when you’d sneak off home together at the end of the day.
So, when you found yourself chatting with the new addition to the team—Agent Owen Rogers—you didn’t expect the effect it would have on your boyfriend.
“Of course he’s taken an interest in her. That woman makes everyone fall head over heels,” Penelope half-sighed, her voice a mix of awe and envy as she watched you talk to Owen from the office window. Her words caught Spencer’s attention, and he turned to the scene, spotting you mid-conversation. He recognized the looks his colleagues were giving Owen—those same dreamy, admiring glances they'd had for Hotch’s brother whenever he visited the office.
Spencer’s posture stiffened as the understanding sank in. If he were being honest, he’d liked the new agent when they first met, but now, seeing the way Owen was smirking at you as he moved closer, that initial fondness had quickly morphed into distaste. He could still hear his colleagues gushing over the agent as he quickly got up and headed down the stairs toward you.
“So, I was thinking Italian? Do you like Italian?” Owen asked, his voice upbeat.
Before you could even open your mouth to turn him down, you felt the familiar warmth of your boyfriend’s arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.
“We love Italian.”.
You stood there, completely bewildered, as your boyfriend not only inserted himself into the conversation but also made the boldest display of possessiveness, wrapping his arms around you without a second thought. It was so un-Spencer-like—especially in the office—but you weren’t about to complain, your hands instinctively resting over his arms.
“Actually, Owen—I can call you Owen, right?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before continuing. “You know, it’s fascinating how often people pick Italian food for a first date. Objectively, it’s a terrible choice. Think about it: you’ve got these long, slippery noodles—spaghetti, for instance—that are practically designed to humiliate you. The odds of splattering marinara sauce all over yourself—or worse, your date—are alarmingly high. And then there’s the garlic. People convince themselves that a mint will magically erase it, but we both know that’s just a delusion. Why anyone still thinks it’s a good idea is beyond me. Kind of stupid, don’t you think?”
You bit your lip, struggling to suppress your laughter as Owen’s face crumpled. You truly felt sorry for the poor thing—he really was a nice guy—but seeing Spencer get this sassy, especially when it was all because of you, was strangely entertaining.
“I—uh, yeah.” Owen gives a nervous laugh, his fingers awkwardly brushing the back of his neck. “Pretty stupid.”
“But we’d love to have Italian food with you! Right, baby?” Spencer gives your waist a subtle squeeze, his silent cue for you to play along.
You cough slightly, trying to cover your laugh. “Right! Yes, totally—Italian sounds great.”
“Yeah, that’s cool, guys. But, uh, now that I think about it, I’m swamped. You know, being a new agent and everything.” Roger’s voice wavers just enough to betray his weak excuse.
“So unfortunate. Maybe another time,” Spencer replied smoothly. Owen nodded stiffly, forcing a tight smile before quickly walking off.
You scoffed a laugh as Owen disappeared down the bullpen, the shock still lingering. You turned to Spencer, your eyes wide in disbelief.
“What in the world has gotten into that pretty head of yours?”
Spencer’s cheeks flushed a little, suddenly aware of how much of a spectacle he had just made in the middle of the office.
“He was asking you out,” he said quietly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You chuckled, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I was just about to say no.”
His arms found their way back around your waist, leaning into your touch as if he’d forgotten where he was. His eyes flickered from your hands to your face, his expression softening. “I know you were. But he should know not to ask you.”
You smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, amused by how the man who’s so intent on keeping your relationship discreet in public is now letting his clingy nature shine through.
“You know he can’t smell that I’m taken, right?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.
“Well, maybe we should change that,” Spencer whispered, his voice low as he leaned in. His curls tickled your neck, causing you to giggle.
Unbeknownst to you, the whole team had quietly tiptoed their way down the stairs, and gathered around on the other side of the bullpen. They stood there, wide-eyed, like they were watching an episode of their favorite drama.
“Derek… Am I seeing this right?” Garcia whispered, voice dripping with curiosity as she watched Spencer's face disappear into your neck.
Morgan’s chuckle echoed through the bullpen. “Oh yes, babygirl. You’re seeing it just right.”
Spencer’s grip on you tightened as he sensed the peering eyes, but instead of discomfort, he radiated a quiet pride. He wasn’t hiding anymore—he was proud of what you shared, proud to be yours, and for you to be his, and he wanted the world to know it.
In which your dinner plans with your boyfriend spencer get ruined by your period, but he comforts you that any time spent with you is worth it.
genre fluff x comfort
cw moody and emotional reader, mention of eating habits during period, reader feeling blegh and insecure, mention of blood stain, spencer being a sweet and understanding bf, sappy and domestic
wc 2,3k
Today was not your day.
You had known from the minute you woke up. It was a feeling you couldn’t quite place, but every bone in your body screamed at you to roll back around in the sheets. And so you did.
The universe had blessed this feeling to occur on a free Sunday. You would’ve loved to be productive, to clean the windows — a task you didn’t do often enough because life gets in the way — to meal prep your favorite lunch for the upcoming week, or to answer some emails to give yourself a head start on work.
But none of that happened.
You put your phone back on the nightstand, and sleep pulled you under for another two hours. When you woke up, you scrolled through some TikToks — ignoring Spencer’s voice that echoed in your mind, telling you how doom scrolling influences your mood and shortens your attention span drastically. Basically telling you that your actions will turn you into some brainless zombie.
Not feeling that hungry yet, you pulled your pillow over your face and drifted off again.
When you woke up for the third time that day, there was a brief moment where you thought that you did, in fact, turn into a zombie. The ones that appeared in The Walking Dead and were overcome by one emotion: hunger. Due to a lack of humans or brains in your fridge, you settled on a frozen pizza. Your appetite was stilled, but now your mind seemed to process the load of other emotions you were feeling. After a cry sesh (that you would not admit to Spencer was caused by watching videos of rescued puppies on TikTok), you found your way back to bed — again.
It was 5PM when you smiled for the first time that day, hearing your melodic ringtone accompanied by the name Spence ♡ on your phone screen.
Swiping your finger, you opened the call. The engine of the jet roared in the background, together with some muffled talking and a repeated shushing that could be no other than your boyfriend.
“Hey, Spence,” you start the conversation, a giddy smile on your face.
“Hi!” he chirped happily, then cleared his throat. “Can you hear me? I’m on the jet.”
“Hearing you loud and clear, Doctor.”
You knew that if you were with him right now, you’d catch the faint blush blossoming on his cheeks.
“I have good news,” he announced after a moment.
You sit up on the bed, pressing the phone closer to your ear. Spencer was away with his team to catch an unsub that had escaped prison by digging a tunnel in the ground that went on for miles. You remember when Spencer had told you about the case a month ago — how you clung on to every word, while holding his hand in your sweaty palm as your heartbeat raced, knowing your boyfriend was to face this dangerous and meticulous psychopath.
“You finally got him?”
He beamed. “We got him, sweetheart.”
Spencer walked you through the last couple of days, and yes, while it was clear that the team worked well together, they never would’ve found the unsub in time if it wasn’t for Spencer. His insights hadn’t only been brilliant, something that was to be expected from him, but genius.
Spending most of your days without having him at home was tough, but all those frustrations always vanished whenever he told you stories like these. Your heart swelled with pride, and if you could kiss him through the phone, you would.
“I thought we could celebrate tonight,” he said. “I’m landing in two hours. We could go to that fancy new Thai place downtown.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you murmured. You adored his colleagues, but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel out of place during their intense and detailed FBI talks — ones you had no clue what to contribute to.
“You won't be. It’s just the two of us.”
Your heart did a leap, and you bit back a smile, even though there was no one to hide it from in the solitude of your room.
“Okay,” you smiled, trying to keep your voice neutral and not show how pleased you were that it would just be the two of you.
“Hey pretty girl, not feeling in the mood for me today?”
Damn profilers.
“Hi, Derek,” you chuckle. “No offense to you, I just missed my very handsome and very smart boyfriend.”
Derek scoffed at the other side of the line. “You’re feeding his ego too much.”
“Oh, he deserves it. You know that,” you remind him. “I bet you haven’t complimented him yet, have you?”
As clearly as you could picture Spencer’s amused smirk, you saw Derek’s signature eye roll in the back of your mind.
“You heard that?” Spencer asked after some muffled exchanges of words in the background.
You responded with a proud mhm.
“Will you be ready when I pick you up?’
You nodded. “Count on it.”
♡
Well, that was a lie. Not a little, white one, but a big, fat lie.
Two hours seemed like a plentiful time. There were days where you had gotten ready in twenty minutes. So the first hour you spent — you’ve guessed it — doom scrolling on your phone.
Getting out of your bed an hour later was harder than expected. Your happy mood had tumbled down the second Spencer had hung up the call, and it seemed like it had created a snowball effect where everything went wrong after the other.
Starting out with a pimple on your face that you had sworn wasn’t there when you looked into the mirror yesterday. Trying to keep a positive mindset, you opened your makeup drawer. Things seemed to be looking up as you covered your face in powders, and you were almost done with applying all your products, when your arm made a sudden movement. Your eyeliner has created a sleek wing on your face instead of on your eyelid. And to make matters worse, you jumped up in panic, making you drop the liner so that the black tip fell down your elegant, ruby-colored top, marking a line you wished was washable.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Any logical-thinking person in your situation would’ve calmly made their way over to the sink and wiped the spot clean. You, however, were too wrapped up in panic to think straight, and instead yanked the top off your body and sprinted toward the closet.
Opening the closet doors, you came to the realization that your side looked tragically empty. You had done a big cleanup when moving in with Spencer, giving away lots of items in the hopes of a fresh start. It was the plan to go on a shopping spree, but because of the lack of dates you and Spencer had — blaming his demanding job — you were now faced with only one option left: a deep sapphire dress.
It is Spencer’s favorite. His eyes always doubled in size, and his adam’s apple would bob whenever he saw the smooth fabric hugging your curves. The dress made you feel confident — sexy, even. So you didn’t expect to feel the complete opposite when you looked in the mirror.
The dress clung to you in all the wrong places. It did not give the wow factor it usually gives; instead, you were overcome with insecurities, even noticing flaws you had never picked up on before.
Your throat tightened, and you tried to swallow the lump away. Tried to blink the building tears away. But to no success. Rather dramatically you lowered yourself to the ground with a defeated sigh, leaning against the mattress of your bed and wrapping your arms around your knees.
Today was not your day. It was too much. And you felt incredibly stupid for feeling that way. Your boyfriend had spent restless nights — plural — cracking his mind over a case, only being fed on caffeine. Saving lives. Making a change. And now he’s on his way to take you out to dinner. And what were you doing? Crying away your messed-up makeup and not being on time. Not even achieving the one single thing your boyfriend had asked of you.
Punctual as always, the front door of the apartment opened with a creak.
“Are you ready, baby?” Spencer’s voice called from the living room. “Restaurants usually get busiest around seven. They have a special this week, so if we want to get the window seat I know you will like, we have two more minutes to leave. One and a half if you’ll be wearing heels.”
His words only made you cry harder. When he entered the room — wearing a nice button-up he must’ve packed just in case there’d be something to celebrate — his puppy dog eyes landed on you, frowning at your figure.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out, not even daring to face him.
“Hey,” he softly cooed, walking up to you and crouching to be at eye level. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
“I’m not ready,” you sniffled. “I look like a mess. I am a mess.”
Spencer brushes your hair out of your face, his warm palms gently cupping both cheeks as he makes you look up at him. “You’re not a mess. That’s nothing we can’t fix in a couple of minutes,” he encourages as he uses his thumb to swipe away the eyeliner stain on your cheek.
“We don’t have a couple of minutes. The window seat will be taken.”
“We’ll figure something out, angel,” he reassured, before a silly grin formed on his face. “I can do some flashing around with my badge, hm? That will work.”
A breathy chuckle escaped your throat, the corners of your mouth lifting slightly. You gathered the courage to meet his gaze. You were no profiler, but his soft eyes told you everything: that he didn’t mind, that it was okay.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated in apology, your voice calmer now. “This was supposed to be your day, and I ruined it.”
Spencer wrapped an arm around you, hugging you to his chest and pressing a kiss on top of your head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I know your period can be much.”
Period.
Period.
Of course.
How is it that the same occurrence happens every month for most of your life, and still it manages to surprise you each time? Like puzzle pieces clicking together, you mentally retrace the events of today, the world slowly making sense again.
You let out a frustrated groan. “How did you figure that out before me?”
“You are two days early, so it doesn’t match the cycle I’ve been tracking. It makes sense that you didn’t catch on right away.” He was quiet for a moment, wanting to bring his next words as carefully as possible. “But the bloodstain on your thigh made things pretty clear.”
You couldn’t even process your surprise of Spencer casually confessing to tracking your cycle, as the last words left his mouth. Looking down at your lap, there indeed was a crimson-colored spot on your thigh. And on your dress. Oh no.
Noting your anxiety before you could react, Spencer reached out to lock your wrists in his hands.
“Don’t panic,” he tutted. “I’ll put the dress in the washing machine, and you can focus on taking a warm shower and think about what food we can order.”
“But the restau—“
He tsked, catching you off guard. “Shower,” he repeated in one word, so as not to trigger any new thoughts in your mind. Just one word. One mission. Shower.
♡
In the time you and Spencer had been dating, he’s never been wrong. And the steaming shower he suggested was, in fact, exactly what you needed.
Dressed in a cozy pajama set, you made your way back to the bedroom. Spencer had changed too, dressed accordingly in a matching set as he lay on the bed, long legs crossed over each other, and an old-school paper menu held between his fingers.
Quietly you crawled into bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you snuggled up to Spencer’s side, humming as he had warmed the spot.
You glanced over his shoulder at the menu. “That one,” you said, pointing at your go-to dish.
Spencer hummed in approval. “Excellent choice, m’lady.”
“Ooh, new nickname,” you teased, running your fingers through his soft curls.
“It’s on theme, actually,” he grinned. “Because today we’ll be watching…” With a groan he leaned over the bed, hands reaching out and coming back up with three DvDs in hand.
“Medieval movies…” you finished the sentence, trying to sound cheerful, but it came out as more of a question.
Spencer didn’t catch on to the confusion that laced your tone; instead, he eagerly asked you which movie you preferred.
“I don’t mind, Spence. It’s your big day,” you answered genuinely.
He asked you once more if you were sure, but when you confirmed — and he was allowed to choose a movie — he was overcome with a giddy excitement that made your heart flutter.
You truly didn’t know how you got so lucky. To be with a person that never raised his voice at you, who never judged you, who always took all of your feelings like they mattered. Because to him, they did. To him, you mattered. And as long as he could spend his time with you, he didn’t care when or where.
He looked up at you, noticing you as you were staring at him, like he was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.
“I’m so lucky you’re mine,” you whispered in adoration.
He leaned forward, cheeks heating as he pressed a small kiss to your lips. “Derek was right; you really feed my ego too much.”
“Maybe,” you agreed with a smirk. “But you better get used to it.”
i love your firsts idea and i wanted to know if you could write something with experienced reader/unexperienced spencer where he is like an ass guy cause i always see him being a boobs guy in fics so id like to read something like this, maybe abt how he gets worked up looking at readers ass or some other scenario, totally up to you! love your fics 🩵
spencer seeing you in leggings
genre: smut 18+
content warnings: perv!spence having dirty thoughts, dialogue from s9e18 but no spoilers
word count: 1,3k
a/n: i love your prompt!! i wasn't sure if you wanted reader and spencer to actually do something, so i hope i've found a good balance
“8.49,” Penelope groaned, wiping her forehead after running her third lap in a row. “Good God, that’s not even close.”
Spencer’s breath came in sharp bursts, his hands gripping his knees as he leaned forward. “You think they’ll really terminate us if we can’t run fast enough?”
“Probably something worse,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “They’ll probably make us take another fit test.”
Spencer grimaced at the thought. “I’d rather be terminated.”
Penelope snorted. “I just hope the PT instructors aren’t jerks. Those jock guys are always jerks.”
“Yeah, total jerks,” he agreed with a nod, but then his attention drifted away as he caught sight of two figures in the distance. “That’s probably them right now.”
Penelope squinted, following his line in sight. “Oh, look,” Penelope hissed, whipping her head back to Spencer. “He’s totally walking like a jerk. And ugh, look at her! That figure… that is just unfair.”
Spencer blinked rapidly as he could recognize your confident, hypnotic stride from miles away. “Wait a minute.”
“Oh my god, it’s them.” Penelope gasped, confirming Spencer’s suspicion as you and Derek made your way over to them.
“Why are you two here?” Penelope asked, trying to piece together what was going on.
“It looks like we’re your new PT instructors,” Derek responded, flashing an amused grin.
The second you came into view, Penelope’s complaints faded into the background, muffled to his ears. Spencer always thought you looked pretty. He admired how professional you looked, even in the field, but today was the first time he saw you outside the office. The training jacket you wore ended just above your hips, the fabric pulling snugly against your torso. His eyes traced the curve of your waist until they landed on your hips. The lavender color of your skin-tight leggings clung softly to your thighs, and Spencer had to fight back a moan at the sight. Penelope was right. Your figure was, indeed, unfair.
"Kid, where's your mind at?"
Spencer's head snapped up at Derek’s question, clearing his throat as he scrambled for an excuse. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks from the way he’d been staring at you.
Derek waved him off with an exasperated shake of his head. "Alright, from now on, I want you two to focus," he commanded in a no-nonsense tone, pointing at Spencer and Penelope.
“Shall we start with stair climbing?” Your voice rang out and Derek nodded in agreement.
“Let’s do that. Follow us,” Derek said, gesturing toward the stone stairs in the distance.
You turned to follow Morgan, and the movement knocked the breath right out of Spencer’s lungs. He choked on his inhale, his gaze drawn to the way the fabric of your leggings clung to the plumpness of your cheeks. The tight material left little to the imagination, every contour visible, accentuating the soft swell of your ass with every step. Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest, racing faster than it had during those grueling laps around the field.
Spencer’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he fought the heat beginning to pool low in his stomach. He couldn’t help the way his body was reacting to you, and the effort to control it only made things worse.
The exercise was simple—walking up the first few steps of the stairs and back down again. You called it a warm-up, unaware that every step you took made it harder for Spencer to keep his focus. Just the sight of you moving, the sway of your hips as the leggings stretched over your thighs, was enough to drive him crazy.
"This is torture," he muttered under his breath.
"I know, right? I can’t believe they’re making us do this." Penelope replied, completely oblivious to the source of his frustration.
———
A wave of relief washed over Spencer as he finally finished the exercise. His legs were burning, and he knew he’d be feeling it for the rest of the week. But at least it was over.
"Good job, Spence," you said, flashing him a bright smile as you gave his chest a quick pat. "And cute outfit," you added with a teasing tone, a compliment that made his heart skip.
"Oh, I—uh, thanks," he stammered, patting his red hoodie as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
"We're doing squats next. Derek's with Penelope. Want me to help you with your form?"
"Sure," he squeaked, his voice betraying his nerves.
You positioned yourself in front of him, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was paying attention. And, obviously, he was—his gaze fixed on you almost too intently.
"Okay, the most important thing is to keep your back straight," you instructed, your voice calm and focused as you lowered your hips, sliding down until your thighs were parallel to the ground.
Spencer stood right behind you, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off your body. His shorts were growing uncomfortably tight from the proximity. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to pull you in by your waist, holding you flush against him.
"See how I'm doing it?" You asked innocently.
"Mhm. Looks good," he breathed out, his eyes lingering on you as he licked his lips.
He could picture it vividly—how perfectly his length would fit between your cheeks. How he would make you repeat that same motion against him until his dick would stand tall in response, throbbing with need. He imagined how easy it would be to slide your leggings down to your knees, leaving you exposed. Were you even wearing anything underneath?
The thought sent a surge of heat through him. He wondered if your closeness was affecting you in the same way. Wondered if he would find you wet, your pussy glistening with anticipation. Would you like him to softly trace your puffy lips with his finger? Or would you want him to waste no time, grabbing you by your thighs as he would enter you?
He asked himself if you were the type to let him take control, or if you’d bend over, pushing your own hips back against his, matching the deep rhythm of his thrusts. The thought of filling you, of hearing your gasps mix his moans, was clouding his mind.
Spencer hadn’t realized just how much his thoughts had turned him on, until your voice broke through his haze.
“Okay, your turn.”
He looked down, seeing how his dick had twitched up to the point where it was almost peeking out of his boxers. Shit. He made quick work of his hands, adjusting himself before you turned around.
“I—I’m so sorry. I need to go,” Spencer stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush before he turned and fled, leaving you without an explanation.
———
“Oh, come on man!” Derek groaned in disappointment as he spotted Spencer slumped on the grass at the far side of the field.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled.
“Just one more round. You’ve got this,” Derek encouraged.
“I can’t.”
“You’re capable of more than you think.”
“Derek, I swear… I literally can’t get up.”
Derek raised an eyebrow, and with a defeated sigh, Spencer pointed awkwardly toward his shorts.
“Oh shit,” Derek responded as the realization dawned upon him.
“Is it because of…?” He pointed to the direction where you were standing and Spencer just nodded.
“Damn,” Derek muttered. “Well, okay, just take a break. Have some water. Relax those muscles.” He winced, immediately regretting his choice of words.
Spencer nervously looked up at him. “Will you tell her?
Derek shook his head. “Nah. As long as you don’t tell Penelope this whole fit test thing is just a formality and that I could’ve got the whole thing waived.”
