You don’t own fanfics. They’re inherently public domain because they aren’t your IP. Agree or disagree with AI, there are no grounds for “protection” from AI because it isn’t your IP to begin with. That’s what you chose when you chose this medium
Oh dear.
Okay, you get an answer, because at least you took the effort to write your ask out properly, even if you are hiding behind the grey, sunglassed circle.
Do I, or any fanfic author for that matter, have any legal claims to our work? No, not really, no. (Although if someone took a fic, filed off the serial number--deleted the fandom specific elements--, and then had it published for financial gain, yeah, that would be a case.)
BUT
Fandoms are built on a social contract that says we respect each others work, the effort people put into their art. We don't steal or disrespect the work of our peers. By feeding people's fanworks to AI you both steal and disprect it, and we need to make people realize that before it's too late--before fandom falls apart, because there will be no more real, actual fanworks.
Also this is not true. You do in fact have the copyright to the specific writing you did in a fic, because that's not how copyright law works. Like this is not a grey area.
People who write IP content for corporations give up their copyright on a contractual basis--the company wants writing they can sell about characters/settings they own without getting entangled in royalty obligations etc, so they hire people. Who sign contracts saying they don't own what they write as part of that job.
That's why you don't own Star Wars stuff you wrote for Disney; you specifically agreed not to own it.
Writing for IP you don't own leaves you in a position where you can't legally monetize it (without taking out the Owned parts ad rebranding), but it absolutely does not automatically cede or void copyright. That is super not a thing.
SUPER not a thing, I cannot say this enough.
I can't sell my Batman fic, but neither can DC Comics without my duly authorized consent. Because they own Batman, but not the prose I composed about him.
Do not perform that kind of massive corporate overreach for them. Holy shit. Do they not own enough.
It’s fascinating that this misconception of copyright still exists. Haven’t we all seen the posts on here where authors beg fans to please not send them fanfic of their works? They’re not doing that because they feel like it, they do that because fans legally own their words and ideas, and an author who takes them even unintentionally can in fact end up in real legal trouble for taking something that’s not theirs. It doesn’t matter whether they own the canon.
Copyright is the most basic of protections for all writers. If there’s anything professional/career writers want spread around, it’s the knowledge that all writers have the same protections that copyright confers on us.
Astonishing indeed that anon would attempt to upbraid somebody on copyright issues when, themselves, they understand them so poorly.
remus being sweet to reader when they talk about being a bad person/thinking their awful
"Put your head in my lap."
When you'd confessed your innermost thoughts to Remus – your self-loathing, your private fear – that wasn't the reply you'd been expecting.
Upon your hesitation, Remus guides you gently by the neck onto his thigh. You're desperate enough for some reassurance that you don't bother pretending you're reluctant.
Upside down, he's still handsome. He bends over you, his eyes to your eyes, thick eyebrows raised just slightly.
"Everybody…" He brings his hands to the sides of your face. "Everybody worth knowing thinks they're a bad person."
"Are you sure?" you ask.
"Yeah," he says, confident, nodding his head to the side.
Your eyes are drawn to the soft uptilt of his lips. "Do you think you're a bad person?"
"Not all the time. Sometimes," he admits. "But no, I don't think so. Why, do you think I am?"
"Of course I don't."
He chuckles under his breath and presses his nose to yours lightly. Your eyes close against the soft breeze of his breathing, the featherlight brush of his thumbs as they draw quarter circles into your cheeks.
"A bad person, are you joking? You're my baby," he says fondly.
"I can be both."
"But you aren't." He rubs his nose against your nose, his cheek against your cheek and then kisses the skin just before your ear. "You're lovely."
Easy to believe him like this in the sanctuary of his lap. He only ever brings out the best of you.
ACK I'm so excited that your requests are open again! Um okay, this one feels a bit silly but I'd love a fic where fem!bau!reader is really attracted to Spencer and the way that he smells? (I just KNOW that man smells like cinnamon and a Scholastic Book Fair.) Like, she's been doing a good job hiding her crush from the team, until Spencer catches her eyes dilating at him when he's standing close. And he's an oblivious king, so he's trying to figure out why they were dilated. If it could be race blind like my last request, and from Spencer's POV, that'd be great. (Or split POV, if you'd rather). I really see this as fluff, but if you want to include angst or smut go right on ahead! Thank you for reading my request! Your writing makes my day.
-❤️🩹
A/N: This was so fun and silly, and I love writing awkward, puppy love Spencer because sometimes you just have to let yourself become mildly infatuated with a coworker. For the plot. Or at least character development. I hope you like this one!!
Warnings: none.
Masterlist
You thought you'd settled into work well in your first few weeks as a member of the BAU. You thought you were up to speed about everything going on in the office. There was just one mystery left to solve.
“Where is that smell coming from?” You whispered to yourself, frustratedly sniffing the air for the second day in a row as you attempted to locate the warm, delightful smell that seemed to follow you whenever you were in the office.
“Could be one of Garcia's scented candles. They tend to linger,” JJ said from her corner of the bull pen.
“No, I checked earlier and she said they made her throw those out weeks ago.”
Honestly, it was not knowing that was driving you insane. If you knew what the smell was, you could bottle it, spray it all around yourself, and wrap yourself in it like a little blanket. It somehow reminded you of home and of the public library you'd spent much of your childhood in.
After another day of being able to figure out whoever had bought the scent version of the Scholastic Book Fair mixed with homemade cinnamon buns, you gave up. 12 hours of paperwork, and you were just as excited to get away from the sight of brown folders as ever, and as everyone else in the bureau, evidently.
Grabbing your bag, you got in the line for the elevators alongside your team.
“Ready for the crush?” Derek said, punching Spencer Reid on the arm as they waited ahead of you.
“Ow,” the younger man muttered and you tried to hold your giggles back, rolling your eyes as you watched them in amusement.
Derek’s words were true, though. Every day at home time, the elevators packed up quickly, and being on the middle floor meant that it could often take a while for the elevator to come back to you. You swore it was half the reason Hotch stayed late most nights, just to avoid the crush of the trip home.
“I've been taking the DC public transport since I got this job. You think the elevators are bad. Try 8 am subway on a Monday morning.”
The doors opened, and the three of you climbed into the barely there space of the elevator. With a quick side step, you found yourself against the left wall of the elevator. But to your shock, the scent you'd been searching for for three weeks didn't dissipate as it usually did when you got on the elevator.
It was here. The source of the scent was here.
You tried to stay calm as it grew more potent, tried not to frantically look around searching for whatever man or woman was perfumed in heaven. The doors opened again, and more people squeezed in, and suddenly, you found yourself buried nose-first in whatever sensory heaven existed here on earth.
“Sorry,” you heard a mumble in front of you as Spencer held his hand against the wall above your head, trying to keep a polite enough distance so as not to squish you any further. Your mismatching heights, however, led to your face being just about level with his neck.
You really weren't trying to smell him, but you had to inhale, and each time you did, it was a sensory overload.
It was him. Dear God, it was him.
The proximity and his scent really weren't helping your brain stop short circuiting in that moment, and you had to remind yourself after a minute or two or three that you were staring.
Though evidently Spencer had already noticed, and was looking at you with some concern.
“Are you okay? It's pretty tight in here, but I can try and move back if you're uncomfortable.”
“No! No, it's okay,” you did your best not to shout the words out, suddenly wanting his smell and his body close forever.
You hadn't been looking before, but like a freight train at maximum speed, the weight of his attractiveness hit you all at once. There was a slight stubble peppering his jaw, his hair hanging slightly loose, eyes big, and brown, and beautiful. He was tall, and you knew he was strong from watching him manhandle unsubs each week.
To put it blankly, you spiralled. Hard. Straight into infatuation and attraction, and you felt your head growing light with the tipsy feeling of a girlish crush.
You were fucked.
Spencer was concerned about you for the next week.
For starters, he knew that most new hires pushed themselves to the extreme over the first month and ended up quickly burnt out, mentally and physically. He may not have the best physical stamina, but he knew the lengths he had to go to to maintain his mental and physical wellness while working the job.
Which was why he started looking out for you a bit more. Every time he looked at you, you were staring off into space, somewhere just past him, or around him, face glazed over.
He wondered if you had a fever a few times, subtly touching your forehead - wiping away some sweat or a strand of hair - to feel you, and you did always feel hot.
You insisted you were fine though. But the nervous panic, and the constant insistence made him wary enough to pull you aside one day and ask you straight to your face.
“Do you need something?” He said, having unassumingly lured you off to the meeting room without arousing suspicions.
“What? What do you mean?” You said, instantly defensive. You'd hoped you hadn't been as creepy as you knew you had and that he hadn't caught on to your stolen glances and sudden close proximity.
You really couldn't help it. The man smelt too fucking good.
“If you're feeling sick, no one is going to think any less of you for taking a half day, you know.”
His voice was so gentle, you almost didn't die from sheer embarrassment. Almost.
“Oh! Oh, oh no, I'm fine, I'm totally healthy. As a cow!”
“A cow?”
“Yes, I'm as healthy as your average farm animal. Can I go back to work?”
You made to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently as you brushed past him, and it was like sparks travelled up your arm and pierced your heart directly.
“Spencer!?” you squeaked.
“Your heart rate is elevated, and you feel hot and clammy,” he said, which was exactly the kind of compliment you were aiming to receive from men you were falling for. “You should go see a doctor and then get some rest.”
“No, Spencer, that's not-”
“Everyone pushes themselves in these first few weeks. I had to take a week off after two days in the field from the weight of holding a gun up for so long, which is more embarrassing than it sounds, and Derek-”
“What cologne do you use?” you snapped, desperately hoping to both shut him up and also detangle yourself from this situation with at least one win under your belt. If you found out whatever the smell was he used, you could buy it, grow accustomed to it, and grow out of whatever phase you were going through before you out your job in jeopardy.
“What?”
“You smell… really good. I was wondering what cologne it is.”
“I don't… I don't really use cologne.”
You baulked, unable to stop your face from dropping as your dreams of detaching yourself from your little crush on Spencer Reid faded before your very eyes.
“Shower gel? Shampoo maybe?”
“They're both unscented.”
“So you just… you just smell like that naturally?”
It was his turn to flush then, though the panic never left your head fully.
“Sorry, is it… distracting.”
“Yes,” you whispered, but with such an exhausted exhale, it sounded like a dreamt sigh. You wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to open his jacket, step inside, bury your face in his chest, and fall asleep.
“I see.”
“Mhmm.”
A minute passed in awkward silence, and you wanted to kick yourself for blurting everything out. Quickly turning to leave again, you wished so dearly to erase the last five minutes of your life, sending up enough hail mary’s to absolve you of any sin.
“Lavender. And sometimes patchouli,” he called from behind you as you took your first steps to the door.
“Hmm?” you said, turning back around against your better judgment.
“What?”
“That's what you smell like,” he explained, hands suddenly very preoccupied with his jacket buttons. “I'm not great with scents, but you also smell… nice. Sorry, that was weird.”
“No, not at-”
“You know, the major histocompatibility complex genes are important for the immune system and appear to play a role in sexual attraction via body odour. Studies have shown that body odour is strongly connected with attraction in heterosexual females.”
“Oh. I didn't know that…”
“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”
The words almost knocked you back into the door, as sudden as they were. Had he just asked you on a date? Or was it a friendly coworker thing? A friendly coworker thing where he acknowledged your attraction to his scent and then invited you out on a date.
“Yes?”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”
He did his best to suppress the smile, and you tried hard as well, though neither of you succeeded.
“Great, perfect,” he said, circling you as he made his way to the door, his eyes always turned to you no matter what. He likely regretted that as he bumped into first the edge of a table, then a chair, and then hitting the door with his back, but in your state of puppy love, you didn't care.
“It's a date,” he said, opening the door and walking away, cheeks flushed with heat.
hiya jadey! A hotchner!reader x spencer request for you <3 Maybe Spencer comes home a little tense/snappy from a case and reader misinterprets it as anger towards her so she starts clesning and catering to what she thinks Spencer needs so he isn’t angry at her anymore? (even thought he never was.)
She sort of regresses into what she did when her adoptive parents weren’t pleased with her :(
love you love you love you superstar!
i love u <3 | fem, 1k
cw past emotional abuse
The door to Spencer’s apartment closes with a distinct clunk. Certainly shut too hard.
It sends a horrible feeling deep into the very pit of your stomach. Like you could cry, then and there. You frown at the odd feeling and stand to shake it off.
Spencer’s home.
“Hey,” you say, calling without seeing him, making your way into the living room from his kitchen to find him at the door.
His bag looks heavier than usual on a slouched shoulder, his hair puffy. He must’ve showered before they flew back into Virginia and air-dried his short curls. He drops his bag on the floor, scrubbing his face, nose and eyes screwed up tightly as his glasses push up to his forehead.
“You okay?” you ask.
His face flickers. “Fine.”
It’s not the greeting you’d wanted. Maybe you’re egotistical or something but you’d at least expected a hug. He’s the one who invited you over, surely he wants to see you?
The queasy feeling worsens.
You give him a little kiss on the cheek to test the waters. “Missed you.”
“Yeah, I missed you too.”
You aren’t convinced. Spencer rubs his face again, trudging to the couch to lay down.
You send yourself into a tailspin. Looking around the apartment, you can see why he’s unhappy. You left your cup on the coffee table, your handbag on the armrest, there’s so much to clean up and put away.
His silence means you did something wrong.
He asked you to be there. He left you the key. But maybe he didn’t really want you there after all.
When you were younger, you’d get home from school, and a half hour later your father’s car would park in the driveway. You’d get this feeling, then, a tenseness, not necessarily fear but anticipation. Some days it wouldn’t matter, and most days he’d come through the door like a animal to be coaxed into softness. You’d convince him to be angry at something else. Enable his fury, agree with every word he said.
Smiling, calmed, he’d walk into a spotless kitchen and find a pan soaking in the sink. I just wish you’d have some fucking consideration, he’d say. Or, Really? Or he’d sigh like he couldn’t believe it and slam a cabinet door.
Nothing was right. You weren’t worth any patience.
“Dove?”
You peek around the doorway again, your tidying having taken you to the kitchen to wash your cup. “Yeah?” you say.
“What are you doing?”
“Just– just cleaning up.”
“It’s fine. It’s clean, don’t worry about it.” He frowns at you. “Are you okay?”
“‘Course.”
His frown deepens. Spencer only ever frowns when he’s confused. When he’s upset he tends to press his lips together in an accidental pout, and when he’s angry, he’s stony. Spencer’s good at profiling because it’s his job. You learned it at home. Seeing anger in things most of all.
“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you ask, wiping your hands on your shirt. “Sorry, I should’ve asked how the case was. It was tough, right? It– I mean, they’re all tough.” You smile as you sit on the couch beside him, one leg tucked underneath you.
He shakes his head. “I’ve missed something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re not acting like yourself.”
“Sorry.” You wince. “I thought you were having a bad day?”
“I am. Or, I was.”
Spencer holds out his hand. When you take it, he pulls you toward him with the care of someone who knows what it’s like to be startled, shuffling toward one another to be knee to knee. He holds your arm like it’s all of you, pressing you to his chest.
For a while, you just sit there. Quiet, almost silent, the apartment rests around you. Spencer frowns at your hand as he draws lines up and down your arm, but slowly his frown softens, and you realise your stress has faded with it. Spencer isn’t angry. And if he were, it’s not with you.
“Sorry I shut the door hard when I came in,” he says.
You feel caught. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Today was really bad, I got into it with Emily and the case… I don’t know. But coming home to you…”
Spencer curls your fingers over his hand and presses them to the underside of his chin.
“Thank you for coming over,” he says. “Did you eat?”
You can’t help smiling, turning your hand slowly to cup his cheek, to hold him still. “I was waiting for you.”
“Well, you decide and I’ll go pick it up.”
“I can’t come with you?”
“Do you want to?” He turns into your touch, glasses pushed against his eye, his lashes on the lense.
You take back your hand. “Sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, we’ll walk. It’ll be nice, the weather’s not too bad.”
“You feel okay?” he asks.
“Worried about me?”
“What your brother might do to me,” he says, nodding into the joke. Then he cracks just as quickly and tugs you in to hug you sideways. “Worried about how I made you feel.”
It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, but you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You push up taller than him to encircle his head and neck, pressing your nose into the soft crop of his hair. He squeezes the small of your back with similar gusto. “Got my wires crossed,” you mumble.
”Want me to uncross them?”
You say, Please, and Spencer pushes you away from him to put your arms firmly on the right sides of you, uncrossing you, and kissing you on the nose.
Despite your promise not to sneak behind the team again, you find yourself in a compromising position when you’re forced to ride in the same car as him.
Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Nipple/breast play, dry humping, semi public, dirty talk, and technically this isn’t car sex but everything happens in a car, there’s just no penetration. ~2.5k words (not proofread)
A/n: This wasn’t supposed to be in my WIP but… I blame him for looking so slutty in that shirt. Btw, this is shorter because I already have a lot on my plate but I really wanna squeeze this in, so enjoy! If you’ve been following since the first part, our kinky, slightly exhibitionist duo is back
You liked to think you had a good sense of self control when it came to your sex drive. In your past relationships, you were rarely the one to make the first move. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy sex—far from it, actually—but you didn't see it as the centerpiece of a relationship. Sex was enjoyable, yes, but it wasn’t everything.
At least, that's what you thought until now.
You recently reached a realization that three factors led you to reconsider this long-held belief, and unsurprisingly, they all revolved around Spencer Reid.
The first one was his choice of clothes. It seemed like he had woken up one day and decided that undoing the top buttons of his shirt was the new norm. It was as if he was taunting you, and it was working. The moment you saw him wearing that shirt this morning, all you could think about was dragging him into a storage room and have your dirty, nasty way with him.
The second thing was the way your heart raced when he accidentally brushed his hand against yours as you both reached for the car keys. Emily had asked you both to interview a key witness, and naturally, you assumed you’d be the one driving because Spencer rarely volunteered to take the wheel. But to your surprise, he insisted on driving.
It was strange. You wondered what had prompted this change, but you didn’t protest. In fact, you let him. Happily. Because this set the stage for what became the third significant moment that made you reconsider everything.
Him driving the damn car.
You found yourself unable to keep your eyes off him. The way his hands gripped the wheel, moving with effortless control that hinted at a confidence he rarely displayed. Your gaze traveled up his arm, noting the tension in his muscles, and the way his shirt tightened across his shoulders with each turn.
Then there was his face. Your gaze drifted to his jawline, appreciating the sharp angles and the way it tightened slightly when he was deep in concentration. You had to squeeze your thighs together because watching him drive was enough to make you wet.
It was highly inappropriate, of course. You were both on the job, and there was a witness to interview. So you forced yourself to stay professional. It wasn’t until after you finished, after you and Spencer had informed Emily of what you had found and given her the necessary details over the phone, that your ogling became more prominent on the drive back to the station.
And despite being subtle about it, Spencer seemed to know the effect he had on you.
“Is there something you want to say?” His voice was low, slightly amused, as he spared a quick glance in your direction before focusing back on the road.
You forced yourself to look away from his hands. “What do you mean?”
“You seem… distracted.”
You swallowed, trying to muster up an explanation that wouldn’t give away too much. “Just thinking about the case.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. “Really? Because it looked more like you were deep in thought about something else.”
You felt a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks. “Well, maybe the case isn’t the only thing on my mind.”
“Oh? And what else were you thinking about?”
“I don’t know if you’d be interested.”
“Try me.”
You turned your body towards him. “It’s highly inappropriate.”
“Now you’ve really got my attention.”
You hesitated, feeling the car’s warmth envelope you, making the space seem smaller, more intimate. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking about... how well you handle the steering wheel.”
Spencer laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the car. “Is that your way of saying you like my driving, or something more metaphorical?”
“Maybe a bit of both. I mean, a person’s driving does say a lot about them, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he agreed. “And what does my driving say about me?”
“That you’re good with your hands.”
Spencer’s eyes met yours briefly, and you squeezed your thighs tighter.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said finally, his voice low. There was a brief pause and you wondered whether you had gone too far, whether this wasn’t the right time or place to flirt so openly, but then he spoke again.
“And since we’re sharing, I was thinking about something a bit inappropriate too.”
Your breath hitched slightly. “Like what?”
“Like how it’s hard to focus on the road when you’re looking at me like that.”
“…how am I looking at you?”
He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Like you want me to pull over to the side of the road and kiss you.”
A silence fell between you, and for a moment, you could hardly breathe. You felt a flush of warmth spread through your body, and you bit your lip, considering his words.
“And what if I do?” You asked softly.
You noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting to maintain his composure.
“Then I’d have to find a quiet place for us.”
Your body responded immediately, a wave of heat coursing through you as your breath quickened. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your veins, an urgent, needy beat that matched the thoughts racing through your mind.
“Spence?”
“Yeah?”
“Pull over.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours. Then, without hesitation, he scanned the road for a safe spot. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him steer the car onto a narrow, dark lane shielded by dense shrubs. The path seemed to swallow the sound of the engine as he drove further away from the main road.
The silence that followed was thick as he turned off the engine. You both stared at each other, acutely aware of what you were about to do, about the potential consequences, but everything blurred as you both moved at the same time.
Everything was fast, a rush of motion and emotion as Spencer leaned over the console. His lips met yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, while you clung to his arm. He kissed you hungrily, desperately, as if trying to communicate every unspoken word through the press of his mouth against yours. The more he kissed you, the more you felt the heat between your thighs and you realized that, in fact, you really had no control over your sex drive.
You then opened your mouth, letting him sink his tongue into you, pressing your body against his. But he was too far away, and you needed more of his heat, more of him. So, you undid your seat belt and did the only thing that felt natural—you climbed onto his lap.
You both moaned when his cock finally pressed against your core, and he found your lips again, his hand cradling the back of your head while the other rested firmly on your hips, urging you to move. The movement was instinctive, a rhythm that was driven by desperation.
You felt his mouth kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, marking a trail of heat that had you burning for more. Your fingers found the buttons of your shirt, and before you could second guess yourself, you undid them one by one.
Spencer’s hands followed the path you created, tracing the newly exposed skin. His large palms moved along your ribs before they rested just beneath your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples through the fabric of your bra. You gasped, your head falling back in sheer pleasure.
His lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. His fingers pulled down your bra, exposing your breasts, and when he quickly sucked on your sensitive nub without warning, you bucked your hips, a strangled moan escaping your lips.
His sound of pleasure vibrated against your skin when you moved your hips at a steady pace, the friction driving you both to new heights. You could feel the material of your underwear sticking between your wet folds, and you wished desperately that there was no barrier between you. But time was ticking, and you both knew you were on the clock.
This had to be enough.
Spencer pulled back slightly, your nipple stretching with him, your supple skin following his movements until he let go with a soft pop. He then turned his attention to your other breast, his tongue teasingly circling your hardened nipple before hungrily engulfing it in his mouth.
Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as you arched your back. You felt his hands roaming over your waist, holding you steady, grounding you even as you felt yourself spiraling higher into a state of pure ecstasy.
“Spence,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. His response was to look up at you with those intense, brown eyes as he continued to suck on your nipple.
His mouth moved with deliberate precision, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, driving you completely insane. You could feel your control slipping, your body responding to his every touch, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but him. The way he made you feel, the way his touch ignited every nerve in your body.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. His lips left your breast, trailing kisses up your chest and neck until he reached your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss that left you breathless.
The taste of him, the feel of his body against yours, was everything you had been longing for.
“More,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a desperate plea.
“I know, I know,” he murmured back. “I got you.”
You shook your head, breathless. “I wanna feel you.”
He groaned. How he wanted that to happen, but you were both gone long enough and reality was beginning to intrude on your stolen moment.
“We can’t, not here,” he said, his voice strained with desire as he rested his forehead against yours. “We don’t have enough time.”
You bit your lip, trying to push back the disappointment. “I know, but I-I need you.”
“Soon,” he promised. “When we have more time, I’ll give you everything you need.”
Your hips moved faster. “Everything?”
He nodded, his eyes fluttering close when he felt you pressing harder on his cock. “Everything.”
“You’ll finally fuck me?”
His breath hitched at your bold words, his control slipping further.
“Say it. Say you’ll fuck me.”
His self-control wavered, the raw desire in your voice pushed him to the edge as his palms gripped your ass.
“Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?”
You never thought there would be a time when you’d hear those words from him, and yet here you were, craving for more. You nodded and grinded against him, trying to find that delicious pressure on your clit.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice laced with urgency. “I want you to fuck me hard.”
Spencer groaned, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Then imagine me inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Think about my cock sliding into you, filling you up completely.”
“F-Fuck,” you gasped, moving against him rhythmically. Who would’ve thought he’d be good at this?
“Imagine my hands gripping your hips, pulling you down onto me,” he continued, his breath warm against your neck. “You’d feel every inch, deep and perfect.”
Your heart pounded as his fantasy played out in your thoughts. “Yes,” you gasped, finding it hard to keep steady. “Please, keep going.”
“I’d set a rhythm that drives you crazy,” he murmured. “Fast, then slow, teasing you, drawing out every moan and gasp until you’re begging me not to stop.”
“Oh God…” you moaned. “Please…”
He continued, relentless and commanding. “And when you’re close, when you’re right on the edge, I’d look into your eyes, whisper how beautiful you are, how good you feel wrapped around me…”
“Spencer, I—”
“And then I’d thrust harder, deeper,” he cut off your words, his tone intense. He pressed a hand against your lower abdomen as if to illustrate his point. “I’d fill you completely, over and over, until all you can do is cling to me and take it.”
You were practically trembling now, his words and slight touches driving you wild.
“I’m so close,” you managed to breathe out, your movements becoming less rhythmic and more desperate. His hands went back to your hips. His grip tightened, steadying and encouraging your frantic movements as he felt his own orgasm nearing.
“Come with me,” he whispered, pressing himself closer to you.
His words, his grip, his presence overwhelmed you. You felt the buildup, almost unbearable, as if every nerve in your body focused on the impending release. Then, with a final, mutual push, you felt the wave break.
Pleasure surged through you, intense and all-consuming. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you down as he drove himself up, his name spilling from your lips in a cry of release. You felt him tense, heard his own cry muffled against your skin, as he reached his climax with you.
Panting, you both slowed, the car filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft hum of the engine in the background. Spencer’s hands softened on your hips, caressing now, soothing the spots where his fingers had pressed.
You ran a hand through his thick hair. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a dirty mouth?”
His grin was both sheepish and proud as he met your gaze. “You’re actually the first person to hear it.”
Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, his hands carefully adjusting your clothes. “It seems you have a way of bringing out a side of me I didn’t know I had.”
You watched him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There was so much you wanted to say, so many feelings swirling inside you, but the words felt too fragile for the moment. Instead, you settled for the silence.
Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He tapped your hip gently, drawing your attention. “Come on, I think we need to drop by the hotel before we go back to the station.”
When he caught the startled look you sent him, he laughed.
“To change my pants. Nothing else.”
“…oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
You blushed, caught off guard by his remark and your own reaction. “No, I just—” you started, then paused, searching for the right words. “I mean, yes, maybe a little.”
His smile widened, pleased by your response. “I’ll tell you what,” he began. “After we finish this case, after we fly back, let’s spend time together. Just you and me.”
Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. You wondered what it would be like to have him pressed against you with nothing between you, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat directly under your palms.
The thought made you both nervous and excited at the same time.
Y/n and Spencer finds a way to spend the night together on a team retreat. Based on;
warnings: 18+ includes overstimulation, chocking, unprotected sex, creampie, and soft!dom Spence with a mirror involved
words: 5.9k (hehe)
a/n: my goal is to make you hot and flustered by the end of this, also watch the edit I made based on this writing (using voice ai because I mastered eleven labs!). The more delusional we are, the better🥰
MASTERLIST
“…when you put your body on mine, and collide, collide…”
"SNEAK INTO MY ROOM TONIGHT."
Spencer’s gaping mouth was an indication of how baffling her suggestion was. He tried not to give away the disbelief in his eyes, especially when he was good at maintaining a poker face—given he was a master of the game—but it was hard to act as if her words weren’t affecting him. And they did. Badly.
In fairness, it wasn't simply her words that stirred him. It was everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she stood in front of him, a silhouette against the backdrop of crashing waves and gently swaying palm trees. The way the sun illuminated her features, highlighting the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.
But it was her words that heightened his senses as his mind conjured vivid images of what would happen with her proposition. It also reminded him how her suggestive offer happened at an inappropriate time, a moment when he should have exercised restraint.
"I'll leave the door unlocked," her sultry voice, carried by the gentle wind, reached his ears like a melodic symphony. It was a sound that evoked a longing deep within him. "Come by around midnight."
He gulped as his eyes wandered to their teammates gathered by the shore, engaged in a spirited game of beach volleyball, their competitive spirits matched by bursts of laughter and playful banter. Everyone was there except for Rossi who sat under the shade of a massive umbrella, and of course, excluding the two of them, who were now huddled under a food stall nearby.
Spencer had the duty to bring in more snacks and drinks when Y/n offered her help. It turned out she had other intentions behind her assistance, which was anything but innocent with the way she was standing close to him, bringing up their ongoing rendezvous without their friends' knowledge. At the thought of this, he nodded their way. "They'll notice."
"Not when they're fast asleep they won't."
His eyes drew back to her. "Hotch is a late sleeper."
"You're right," she mused, then she gave him a coy smile. "Come by my room around 2 then."
His eyes darted around nervously, his mind locked in a relentless battle between reason and longing. His thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of forbidden fantasies, each one more tantalizing than the last. With a heavy sigh, he gathered the strength to resist the pull of his desires. "Do you think we should do this?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm offering you to sleep with me and you're opposed to the idea?"
"What? No!" He quickly shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way."
She fixed her eyes on him with an alluring gaze, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. He watched as she removed the plastic wrapper of her recently bought popsicle, pulling out the frozen treat, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness.
"Loosen up, Reid. It'll be fun. Besides," she continued as she drew the ice pop closer to her lips, feeling the coolness radiate from the icy surface. "I brought something along this trip that I really want to show you."
Then he watched her, his eyes drinking in the way she wrapped her lips around the cold treat, unraveling the boundaries of his imagination. She savored the tangy sweetness that burst in her mouth, her eyes never leaving his gaze. The bright red juice trickled down her chin, leaving a sticky trail in its wake and Spencer felt the weight of temptation pressing upon him, especially when her tongue slid along her mouth, capturing every last drop of the delicious treat.
Her movement exuded a potent magnetism, a subtle yet irresistible lure that drew him closer to the edge of indulgence. He would be a fool to decline a night of having her sweaty, naked body writhing under him.
"I'll be there."
And that was how he found himself walking stealthily through their rented villa hours later.
True to his words, Hotch was a late sleeper. But he wasn't the only one still awake in the dead of the night. Somehow he and Rossi were still in the kitchen, indulging themselves in the expensive liquor Rossi had brought along on this retreat. They had also invited him to join, but Spencer feigned fatigue and quickly excused himself, only to find Morgan and Garcia coming down the stairs as he climbed up to the second floor.
Now it was barely past midnight and half of the team was still wide awake—but he couldn't wait any longer. Not when the curiosity of what she wanted to show him fueled the fire within him, intensifying his longing with each passing second.
That was why he was making his way toward her room as stealthy as possible. He glanced down the dim-lit hallway before stopping right in front of her door. It was then he heard the faint shuffling noises coming from the room next door, certain it was Emily's lodging for the night. Then suddenly the door next to him rattled and Spencer's eyes widened as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heartbeat quickening its pace.
He reached out in a single fluid motion, his hand trembling ever so slightly, and grasped the cool metal handle in front of him. A rush of relief washed over him as he quickly slipped into the room before closing the door harshly amid his panic, a jarring thud echoing in the silence.
The sudden sound jolted Y/n as she twirled around in surprise.
"Reid," she hissed, her eyes darting toward the clock on the wall. "What are you doing? I told you to come by in another two hours!"
He looked over to her, and whatever thoughts he had at that fleeting moment completely dissolved into thin air. His eyes fell upon her and his words become entangled in a tangled web of astonishment. Spencer had seen her in clothes that weren't exactly modest, but he had never seen her adorned in a risqué outfit that accentuates every contour of her body.
The dress clung to her like a second skin, embracing her curves with a provocative grace, tracing the outline of her waist and hips with tantalizing precision. His eyes caressed the gentle slope of her shoulders, the smooth expanse of her collarbone, and the delicate neckline that plunged daringly. The delicate lace and sheer panels teased his senses, offering glimpses of beauty that lay beneath the surface—a beauty he could see a fragment of as his gaze lingered on her hard nipples pressed against the see-through fabric.
"Is that—" He cleared his throat, the hoarseness in his voice sounding foreign to him. "Is that what you wanted to show me?"
She looked into the full-body mirror she stood before by the bed, catching her reflection. "Technically. I brought a bunch of these and I was trying them on..." Her eyes drew back to him. "Until you came sooner than expected."
"Should I not be here now?"
"It kind of ruins the surprise."
His eyes slowly roamed across her body, stopping a little longer on the short hem of her fabric that stopped in the middle of her thigh. "I'd say you've accomplished whatever reaction you were aiming for."
She watched as he took a slow step forward, his eyes never wavered from her, locked onto her form with an intensity that had her feeling breathless. "I take it that you like this one?"
"I love it."
An amused smile formed on her lips. "But you haven't seen the other ones I brought."
"I'm certain I would also love them on you. But this—" His gaze revealed the depths of his desire, a hunger that burned bright within him. It was a flame that flickered in his eyes, igniting the anticipation that coursed through his veins. "Never knew I liked the color red."
As he took deliberate steps towards her, a surge of anticipation gripped her being. The intensity of his gaze, filled with longing and need, held her captive. With each stride, he closed the distance between them, his presence growing stronger, more intoxicating. She could feel his gaze caressing her, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation.
As he finally stood before her, the weight of his presence wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Visibly heaving and clenching her thighs, she peered at him with veiled anticipation, unbidden lust scorching at her core which lost all battle to and demanded to be consumed by the heat that radiated from his body. She could feel the intensity of his need, tangible and potent.
"You're beautiful," he said, reaching for her waist, both of his thumbs lightly rubbing along the material of the soft fabric. Then his hands slowly slid their way up her hips, gradually snaking their way up over her rib cage until both of his large palms paused at her breasts. "So fucking beautiful."
Then he squeezed her breasts roughly over the material and she gasped, thighs tightening together.
Y/n wasn't sure which reason she was surprised more, the way his touch was rougher than usual or the fact that he was cursing, because there were only two occasions for that to happen—either he was really, really mad, or he was far too aroused to properly filter his mouth.
It was definitely the latter considering she could distinctly see the bulge forming in his pants. And then his hands were quickly sliding down her body, gliding down over the curve of her ass. Feeling his fingers splay wide over each cheek beneath the fabric, he abruptly gave her a firm squeeze.
The way they stood in front of the mirror gave him a clear view of her backside as he marveled at the way her flesh molded in his grip. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, the fabric having ridden up while he roughly kneaded her ass. Spencer almost purred when both of his hands fully slipped under the material only to be greeted with bare skin.
"Are you not wearing anything under this?" he whispered into her ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling into her cheek.
"It's called a thong."
He took a step closer and she could feel his arousal pressing into her leg. His forehead dropped down to her shoulder, resting there as his nails lightly dug into the flesh beneath his hands. "You want to torture me, don't you?"
She couldn't stop the giggle falling from her mouth. "Maybe."
He lifted his head, gently nipping at her shoulder. A shudder ran down her spine when he lightly kissed the spot afterward. "Laugh all you want now," he softly murmured against her skin. "You won't be able to laugh by the end of tonight."
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to surrender completely to his caresses, to the raw intensity that pulsed in her veins. "Spence."
The way she pronounced his given name held a power that transcended the ordinary, leaving him spellbound. "I love it when you call my name."
She felt a surge of confidence in his words that she let out a moan a she threw her head back, giving him better access while he gently peppered her neck with kisses. "Spencer."
Then it happened in a flash. One moment he was holding her gently and the next thing she knew, rough fingers gripped around the base of her throat, forcing her to look into the depths of his eyes. She could sense the unyielding force of his longing and desire. It was a palpable energy, a hunger that radiated from him, enveloping her in its intensity. She squirmed in his grip, mouth open as she gasped for air.
"Now you're just playing with fire."
She sensed the dominance that simmered beneath his touch, an innate desire to take control, to possess her completely. His hands, firm yet gentle, left trails of sensation along her skin, marking her as his own. It was a force that she couldn't ignore, nor did she want to. Instead, she surrendered to the raw power of his need, allowing it to wash over her.
"I must warn you," he murmured, licking across his bottom lip. "I'm not feeling like my usual self tonight."
She felt a shiver of anticipation ripple through her body. His words, laced with a commanding tone, sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
"You trust me, don't you?" She found herself nodding in agreement. "And you'll tell me if I'm being too much on you?"
She nodded again.
A satisfied smile played on his lips. "Good."
Then his breath was on hers. Their lips finally met in a gentle, tentative union, the soft brush of skin against skin. It was a delicate dance, a mingling of breath and desire that sent ripples of sensation throughout their bodies. She gasped out a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her, rolling her lips into the frantic motions of his wandering tongue.
As their bodies pressed closer, their mouths molded together with a hunger that defied words. It was a sensory feast, an exploration of pleasure that left them craving for more.
He slowly pulled away and breathed against her lips, "Turn for me."
Her hazy mind was trying to comprehend his request. "W-What?"
"I want to see you. Turn around for me."
She obliged his command without further thought, mostly because she was already willingly surrendered to the force of his dominant nature.
He stood behind her, his gaze fixated on the reflection before him. The soft glow of the ambient light accentuated her curves, casting a mesmerizing aura around her. His fingertips grazed the smooth surface of her arm, a gentle caress that sent shivers of anticipation coursing through her body. "Look at how beautiful you are."
He watched himself in the mirror as his hands made their way from caressing the softness of her stomach to gripping onto points of her hips and then up over the swells of her breasts. He gave them both a firm squeeze, admiring how they looked in his hands, how her skin radiates beneath his own. Then his lips descended upon the nape of her neck, pressing gentle kisses that left a trail of fire.
She whimpered when he pinched gently at her nipples to see it harden instantly against his touch. "...Spence."
He hummed a satisfied sound as his hands found their way back to her hips again, directing her with a low, sultry groan, "Sit down between my legs." Her eyes snapped towards his through the reflection. He simply smiled. "Don't worry. Just let me admire you."
That was how she ended up sitting in front of him on the bed, her back resting against his chest. Spencer carefully nudged her legs apart with his hand, and she couldn't resist looking away when she saw herself in such an explicit and vulnerable position. His breath, warm against her skin, mingled with the scent of her arousal, creating a heady atmosphere of desire. "I thought you wanted me to admire you in this outfit?"
Her eyes were brought back to the mirror. "I do."
"Then watch me while I do exactly just that."
He didn't leave her time to react because his fingers were already trailing around to feel over her stomach, across the dip of her navel, up and down the thickness of her thighs until they stopped between her legs. She could see herself clearly. The slick fabric of her thong was already a second skin to her, sticking against her arousal which barely covered her sex. Then his fingers moved deliberately slow as he grabbed onto the flimsy material, gently knitting it together in his hand before pulling it up along her wet folds.
Oh my god.
The friction startled her as she felt an unfamiliar pain while he continued to tug on the fabric, but at the same time, she felt a surge of arousal as it nudged against her clit. She was lost in this feeling, of him grinding the material against her core, of the view of her legs spread wide open in the mirror, of his ragged voice breathing in her ear... it was all too much.
And when she thought she couldn't take more of the pleasure building up in her body, he proved her wrong by pushing her thong aside, finally exposing her flesh in the open. The second his fingers slipped into the pooling wetness of her folds, spreading them open for himself to see, she couldn't help but let out a moan louder than she intended to.
"Shh," he cooed, his breath hot against her skin. "We don't want the others to know what we're doing, do we?"
She shook her head helplessly, watching as his fingers continued their exploration. She could already feel him harden with each steady, rhythmic beat of his heart while his fingers explored her, collecting the slick of her arousal before spreading it along her folds. His voice was a bit louder this time, the filthy words echoing in her clouded mind, "You like this, don't you? Look how fucking wet you're getting."
There went another curse word and somehow it managed to peak her arousal. There really was something about being the reason for him to act this way, so primal and dominant, so crude and demanding. His voice, deep and resonant, carried an authority that sent shivers of anticipation cascading through her body. It was a voice that commanded attention, demanding her full submission to his desires.
"Do you wanna see how my fingers look inside you?" He was taunting her now, teasing his fingers around the entrance of her like a twisted, evil game.
One of her hands gripped his thigh, the need to be pleasured so strong in her core that she couldn't help but cry out desperately. "Spencer, please...please."
He gently laughed at her despair, the throaty sound made her shiver. She let out a soft whimper when he finally gave her desperate pleas by sliding his middle finger into her.
Her eyes rolled at the back of her head before she instinctively closed her eyes. "Fuck..."
It wasn't long before his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to open her eyes. "Keep your eyes open or I'll stop," he groaned into her ear. This alone almost sent her teetering right over the edge, just feeling his finger locked inside her. She settled to watch how his hand flexed as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of her before adding another to stretch her out.
The bedroom was quickly filled with the lewd sound of his fingers plunging into her, suddenly moving at a crazy, mind-numbing pace as he curled them the way he knew would make her weak.
Her throbbing heat swallowed his fingers greedily as she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, the only sounds echoing in their shared space were the hard breathings and low noises of her wetness and his fingers finding that sweet spot relentlessly. Spencer gently placed a kiss on her cheek and pressed his palm against her clit, feeling her body jolt in pleasure as he moved his hand.
She turned her head towards him, her lips capturing his in a needy kiss. He swallowed all her whimpers and bit her bottom lip before her tongue slid inside his mouth, sloppy and rough, and yet he wouldn't have it any other way. The closer she was reaching her high, the more intense the movements of his fingers became. She let out a gasp when the coil in her stomach tightened her core.
"Keep your voice down," he whispered, his fingers still driving in and out of her. "Don't worry, I got you. I got you."
She did her best to try to drag her focus back to their reflection through her fogged daze from her heavy, closing lids. The sight of him withdrawing his soaked fingers from her to circle changing patterns across her clit elicited a symphony of sighs and gasps, a testament to the depths of her pleasure. She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and tantalizing, as he placed gentle kisses along the nape of her neck.
"Spence...I'm so close," she sighed between heavy pants.
He nodded against her. "I can feel you. Let go for me. I want to see you."
She closed her eyes, ready to simply enjoy the thrilling and wonderful feelings of the pleasure he was bringing to her. When she was about to reach for her high, rolling her hips against his fingers as the tension in her body rose higher, he suddenly pulled them out and she whimpered at the loss. Her eyes settled on his gaze through the mirror.
"Sweetheart," he whispered gently, but then his fingers gripped around her throat again, forcing her attention back on her arousal glistening in the light. "I need you to keep your eyes on yourself."
She let out a strangled moan but managed to nod her head helplessly. Satisfied she was listening to him, he then started rubbing her clit roughly. She let out a muffled cry as she felt her orgasm rushing, his hold tightening around her throat as his fingers kept stimulating her clit in quick motions. She cried out his name over and over like a skipping, broken record.
"That's it. Say my name," He nipped at her skin, stinging that sensitive flesh between his teeth. "You're doing so good."
One look at the reflection before her was all she needed to fall apart. Seeing his arms holding her in place while his thighs were wide open behind her was more enticing than she had ever imagined. The way he touched her, so caring yet so dominant was the last drop for her to come hard, nails digging painfully into his forearm as her body went rigid.
The person staring back at her was one she almost didn't recognize. Her hair was frizzy and disheveled as it stick to her cheeks, her cheeks were flushed bright red and her face was coated in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes followed down her own body to see the mess coating his fingers, pooling between her thighs. She was still trying to reel back her senses when he suddenly let go of her.
"Lay on your back," he demanded, carefully pushing her onto the bed.
Then he proceeded to jump off the bed, his hands quickly removing his shirt before throwing it to the floor. Then she watched him as he started unbuckling his belt and—how did he manage to make it look so sensual? He dragged his tongue across his lips as he lingered at the sight of her sprawled wide open before him. The sound of his zipper being pulled down echoed throughout the room while he locked her gaze, finally slipping out of the last piece of clothing.
In one swift motion, he reached out and hooked his arms under her thighs and roughly yanked her further toward the edge of the bed. She squealed at the sudden movement in which he leveled her with a strong, disapproving gaze. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet?"
She nodded and watched as he slipped off her thong through her legs, slightly lifting her hips. Then he moved closer and positioned himself between her legs, taking his twitching cock in his hand as he stroked from base to tip, ready to bury himself inside her.
"So messy," He mumbled, dragging his cock along her folds as the head caught her entrance. "You're drenched."
She grumbled out a faint whimper.
"Make one noise and I'll stop," he sighed before slotting the head of his cock through her slit, catching the dewy arousal pooling there. Every fiber of his being trembled with the weight of desire, teetering on the edge of control.
"S-Spence," she mewled, her cheeks heated at the sensation of him pushing into her, the burning stretch of his tip reached places that felt nearly impossible to find.
"Shh," he whispered, desperately holding onto every self-control he had with the way she was already gripping him. "God, you're so tight."
"Baby," she mumbled, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at him with the utmost desperation. "Just fuck me already."
It was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of pent-up desire that had been building within him for far too long. The walls he had erected to hold back his cravings began to crumble, surrendering to the tempestuous storm that raged inside him.
With a breathless whisper, he reached out, his hands trembling in anticipation. "I'm afraid I don't have the restraint to be gentle," he exhaled, appetence thick in his throat. Searching fingers trailed over her stomach and eventually rested at her thighs and dug into the flesh until he couldn't hesitate anymore, and thrust to the hilt. "Forgive me."
At that moment, he finally let go, relinquishing control to the overwhelming force of his desire. He started out slow, enjoying the tightness wrapping around him as she gasped out his name. It was like he was reading her mind, moving at exactly the right pace to make her comfortable, but also building that delicious pressure. The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting.
She watched as he threw both of her ankles up onto his shoulders, his hands pinning them to his body. She felt his fingers firmly grip her legs tighter before he abruptly snapped his hips forward, his cock driving all the way into her instantly.
“Keep going," she breathed out, eyes snapping shut.
The grip on her face startled her as her eyelids fluttered open again. "Keep your eyes on me."
A low moan escaped her lips. He leaned over, hovering above her, his hands pushing her legs as they pressed against her body. The position allowed him to bury himself so deep inside of her, that the pleasant sting of him hitting her reverberated around her entire body. Her legs along his chest were already trembling against him as he continued to slam himself into her over and over.
"Don't make a fucking sound."
She hummed a reply before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, hungry kiss. He trailed his lips down her throat before slightly pulling away, watching the way she was staring up at him, gasping and withering at every hard thrust of his hips. Her eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his stare, her mouth going slack as she felt the slow withdrawal of his cock, but she wasn't prepared for the way he rammed himself swiftly forward into her seconds later.
"Fuck, baby," she whimpered, feeling him stretching her all over again.
His hand slid back down to her throat, wrapping his fingers around it. Squeezing with just the right pressure, he picked up his pace, his hips rocking more rapidly into her. The hand on her throat tightened and she relaxed into his touch, feeling her climax reaching up to her as her own hand latched onto his forearm.
She continued to meet his savage thrusts with her hips, though his pace was near impossible for her to keep up with. Every soft grunt of his was falling almost into her ear and she couldn't help the way it was sending goosebumps across her skin. "Spence."
He could feel her walls clenching around him. "Don't come before me."
The demand startled her, because in honesty, Spencer always prioritized her needs before him. "W-What?"
"Trust me," he grunted, his lips hovering inches above hers. "Hold on a little longer."
There was nothing else she could do but to obey. There was something addicting with the way she easily surrendered control to him with so much trust that made pride swell in his chest, something about the sight of her obediently agreeing to him. Each forward thrust of his hips had her jolting, her breasts bouncing inside her barely covered outfit as the tip of his cock hit deep inside her.
The sounds that filled the room were vile. She faintly looked down between them as the crude sound of her slick walls squelching around his cock rang in her ears, leaving creamy rings of her slick around the base of his cock. A motion almost knocked the wind out of her as she let out a silent moan, lips parted in pleasure as he began a frantic pace.
And then he came undone. The intensity of his orgasm was enough for him to have an out-of-body experience, his vision going white as he filled her, her name drunkenly dripping off his lips. It was also enough for her to feel his warmth spread in her core, enough for her to clench hard around his cock as her own orgasm tugged her without warning, her legs shaking and her vision blurred as she felt the sensation traveling through every nerve of her body.
Her pleasure didn't go unnoticed by him as he frowned, his chest heaving while he tried to calm himself. "I thought I told you to wait."
She looked up at him tiredly. "You made it hard for me to wait."
He gave her a manic smile that sent a shiver down her spine before prompting himself on his arms, his dark curls tickling her skin as he stared down at her. The moment she felt him moving his hips again, she looked up in a panic.
"What are you doing—shit." He thrust his hips into her violently, her body squirming at his movement. "T-Too much."
"You came without my permission, might as well give you another one."
She bucked wildly beneath him, trying desperately to escape the tormenting way he was thrusting into her. She bit her lip from making a sound as he leaned back, pushing her thighs wide to expose her to him. "I-I can't."
"You can," he muttered, eyes never leaving the way he filled her up, his own release coating the slickness of her arousal. It was such a crude, messy sight, yet he was so infatuated by it. His thumb then fell on her swollen clit, moving it frantically in a circular motion. "You've been doing so well."
"Fuck." She stuttered out incoherent words as he thrust in and out of her in quick progressions, impatient and rabid. Pleasure and pain intermingled with each other so much that her brain couldn't process which one was which as they blurred. "Spence."
Then she couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for her to bear as her body erupted in flames, every vein of her being scorched with the fierceness of pleasure running through it, every collision of his hips into her sending sparks down her thighs. The climax swept through her like molten lava, swallowing her whole and threatening to drown her in a sea of pleasure.
"That's it, good girl," he grunted. There was something about how she was letting him witness such a sight, to let him bask in her lust-driven state. His fingers continued their torture on her clit. "So fucking pretty."
He didn't allow her even a moment to reprieve or a second to fully come down from her high, keeping up the same frantic pace until she was freefalling into another orgasm so strong that she briefly forgot how to breathe. It wracked through her like a creature possessed, pulling her muscles taut and rendering her completely speechless. She couldn't have screamed his name even if she tried. Every nerve seemed to vibrate with divine electricity that consumed her entirely. She trembled uncontrollably, her limbs quivering with the sheer magnitude of the sensations coursing through her body.
Her vision became a hazy blur as the world around faded into insignificance. The room, once familiar, now dissolved into a backdrop of abstract shapes and colors. Her eyes, filled with tears of ecstasy, mirrored the tumultuous storm within. They spilled over, tracing a path down her flushed cheeks. She gasped for breath, struggling to anchor herself in the midst of the whirlwind that enveloped her.
Somehow amidst her shaking form, Spencer managed to pull her into his embrace, settling them onto the mattress before pulling the covers over their body. He held her and peppered the side of her face with gentle kisses as his hands soothed down her trembling body.
“Hey, I got you. I'm right here."
The intensity was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a fusion of pleasure and vulnerability that brought her to the edge of her limits. She clung to the precipice, teetering on the brink of overwhelming release, as her body continued to convulse. Her grip tightened on his arm as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.
"Baby, breath with me," he muttered, gently cupping her face. "Breath in... breath out."
She followed him, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took as he helped her through it. And as the tremors subsided, she gradually returned to herself, her senses reawakening to the world around her. Her breathing steadied as she basked in the aftermath of the blissful storm that had swept her away.
"I'm sorry."
She shifted in his arms and glanced at him, noticing the way he was looking at her with worry. "Why?"
He gently swiped away the remnants of the tears still glistening in her eyes, evidence of the overwhelming intensity that had consumed her. "I pushed you too much."
"Spencer," she said, her voice dripping with astonishment. "That was the best sex of my life."
An amused chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "And it would hurt my ego if you don’t say the same thing."
His shoulder shook as he continued to laugh. "Y/n," he urged on, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth, smiling against her lips. "You're the best of everything that has ever happened to me."
As his words washed over her, a surge of warmth and tenderness enveloped her heart. She looked into his eyes, her gaze locked with his, and she could see the sincerity that radiated from his every word. His confession held a weight that transcended mere compliments or flattery and a soft smile played upon her lips as her eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and disbelief.
But their moment was interrupted by the sudden sound of the door rattling without their knowledge.
"Y/n," Garcia walked into the room, her eyes focusing on the tablet in her hand. "Can you—"
Then she looked up, her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she stood still. She blinked, hoping to dispel the illusion, but it remained, solidifying the reality of what she beheld. She finally let out a scream.
"What the hell?!" She groaned in disbelief, quickly turning around. "Seriously?"
Y/n winced and let out a sigh. "...surprise?"
"I'm going to pretend I didn't see that!" Garcia yelled, already out of the room as she shut the door behind her. Then her voice rang in the air, muffled by the walls. "I'm happy for the both of you but very, very traumatized."
Her footsteps disappeared down the hallway and Y/n let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. She quickly swat Spencer's arm and gave him a glare. "You didn't lock the door?!"
He gave her a sheepish smile. "Oops."
"Reid."
"You distracted me with your outfit!"
She groaned, burying her face against his neck. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone to find out about them, everyone would eventually know how infatuated they were with one another. But she never thought they would find out this way.
He slowly kissed her shoulder before mumbling against the skin, "So much for keeping quiet, huh?"
She burst into laughter, shoving an elbow into his side, not knowing whether to find this amusing or wanting to die out of embarrassment. "Shut the fuck up."
All y/n wanted was for her coworker to pay attention to her. Spencer was more than happy to oblige. Based on;
cw: 18+ explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), face sitting
wc: 3,9k (I'm a very descriptive writer you have been warned)
a/n: (reposted because of some error) I’m currently doing an ongoing series but once in a while, I like to write random plots, thus begins another series in which will all be one-shots based on songs i currently enjoy listening to… so yeah, this will be fun.
requests are open if you have a song in mind!
MASTERLIST
“…you better lock your door, and look at me a little more…”
Y/N WASN'T A SENTIMENTAL PERSON, but there was something about the way he looked tonight.
The fluorescent light coming from the hotel room danced across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw. His eyes were in deep concentration as they scanned the document in his hand, his brows furrowed every time he came across something he couldn't comprehend.
Her eyes slowly raked down toward his Adam's apples, moving further across his chest, before they glided along the length of his arm. She couldn't help but notice the mesmerizing way his long fingers trailed along the words underneath his palm.
She always knew Spencer had nice, well-kept hands, but as she continued to observe them, she noticed how enticing they truly were. The size of them always surprised her, as well as the length of his fingers. But it was the veins running through the backs of his hands that really made her dry at the mouth, especially when the sleeves of his button-down shirt were folded above his wrists, showing off firm arms that didn't leave much to her imagination.
How long had she been staring at him? Gawking at him? It was hard to keep her eyes off of him when it was all she had been doing ever since she was introduced to the awkward twenty-four-year-old nerd that he was twelve years ago.
Twelve fucking years.
There should be some kind of reward for pining over your best friend for more than a decade. Y/n should be growing out of this yearning a long time ago yet somehow the more they worked together, the more it became hard for her to act as if every time his fingers innocently touched her skin there wasn’t this immense desire taking over her body, leaving her in a state of being completely swept away by the intensity of it.
Granted, Y/n knew she wasn't the only one attached to this infatuation. Words were never exchanged, although observing and analyzing people's behavior for a job helped her notice the exact same desire reflected in his eyes. She could tell in the way he looked at her, the way his pupils dilated every time he focused on her mouth.
But things between her and Spencer had always been complicated. Her early interest came unnoticed when the person he preferred to ask on a date was another one of their colleagues, and when he grew out of that brief crush and had the courage to finally ask her out, she was already in a relationship.
When that relationship ended begrudgingly and she needed a shoulder to cry on, Spencer's heart was already taken for a mysterious girl he guarded to himself. But that love affair only became a heartbreaking tragedy as it ended before it even began.
It was ever since then that Y/n made a mental note to never indulge her feelings toward one of the closest people in her life. She deemed it inappropriate after everything he'd been through, especially when he made it clear that getting involved with the opposite sex was the very last thing on his mind.
Until something shifted a few days ago.
She wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps it was the traveling into yet another foreign part of the country that made everything seem different, or maybe it was being in close proximity for more than forty-eight hours that had her watching him so earnestly.
But whatever it was, the sudden shift had her looking at the adorable young man he once was into this attractive, irresistible man she viewed as more than a mere friend. A man whose eyes glazed over her mouth this morning yet managed to be oblivious to how she was the one gawking at him now.
Maybe it was time to end their flirtatious dance. Maybe it was time to stop skirting along the what-ifs flowing in her mind. Y/n glanced at the man in front of her, watching the way his back hunched over the table as he buried himself further into deep concentration.
“Spence."
He hummed a soft response, his eyes still trailing the words printed on the document.
"Spencer."
He slightly tilted his head, an indication he was listening but kept himself busy as he continued his reading.
"Dr. Reid."
There was a certain cadence in her voice that sounded oddly pleasing. Spencer reacted to the low timbre of her voice with a glance, his eyes skimming along her leg which rested on top of the other, a glimpse of soft skin teasing his senses as the material of her dress lay softly against her thighs. His eyes snapped back to her face, noticing the lopsided smirk on her lips.
"What is it?"
"Aren't you going to take a break?" Her eyes shot toward the document in his hand. "You've been reading nonstop ever since I got here."
The latter statement was the one that caught his attention. "What's the reason you're here again?"
Y/n wondered whether explaining how she wanted to run her hands through his disheveled hair while he buried his face along her neck would be deemed appropriate. But she had too much pride to admit that. Instead, she uncrossed her legs with a satisfied glint in her eyes as she caught him staring.
She might not want to convey her attraction through words, but carrying out the art of seduction was a very different matter. Temptation had this alluring appeal that drew people in, a certain type of feeling that could often lead a person to do things they usually wouldn't do. And it was what she had in mind as she leaned over the table, the collar of her dress gracefully dropping with her movement, publicly displaying her cleavage.
"I thought you might need company," she simply said. "But I've been sitting here for almost an hour and you haven't engaged me in a conversation."
His eyes flared on the sensual way her breasts were pressed against her clothes before he quickly looked away. "Well, these documents aren't going to read for themselves."
She almost rolled her eyes at his response. "But aren't your eyes tired? Don't you want to take a break?"
He glanced at the stack of papers sitting on his side of the table. "I don't think that would be the wisest thing to do."
"Not even a five-minute break?"
"Especially a five-minute break."
She slumped in her chair as he diverted his attention back to his task, already engrossing himself in another document while ignoring the baffled look on her face. Was she looking at this differently? Was she wrong to think that some untold infatuation lingered between them all these years?
Y/n couldn't help but feel disappointed. Disheartened by the lack of attention, she abruptly stood up and moved along the carpet floor of his room. Her sudden movement caught him by surprise. "Where are you going?"
"Somewhere that might actually appreciate my presence."
She heard him heave out a sigh as he got up from his seat. "You know you're welcome here."
"Am I though?" She taunted, her hand already on the doorknob as she threw him a look over her shoulder. "You barely glanced at me, Spence."
"I was working. You know I need to find any potential evidence from all these files."
A sense of guilt washed over her as she watched him take a tentative step forward. "I know. I just... all I wanted was for you to look at me." Her guilt-ridden concern was replaced by embarrassment when he didn't respond. She quickly shook her head. "You know what? Never mind."
An immense feeling of shame and embarrassment traveled through her body as she turned around. What else was there to do than to flee from his scrutinizing gaze? Her hand gripped the doorknob before she pulled it, ready to fly out the room when a hand suddenly hovered over the edge of the door, softly pushing it back into place.
The sudden silence unnerved her, picking the pace of her heart when she realized she was very much flushed against his body. She could feel herself trembling as her grip slipped off the doorknob. She watched the way his long fingers glided down the hard surface of the door in intense interest.
His rough hand engulfed the lock on the door and she felt his other hand grasp her hair, slightly moving it away for better access to whatever he had in mind. His tone was quiet but undeniably gruff when he mumbled, “It's not that I don't want to look at you, Y/n.”
This was not how she had expected the night would go. Well, maybe it was what she had hoped for, but now that it was actually happening, she completely froze on the spot. She didn't know what to do, the gears in her head were moving to initiate a proper reaction but immediately came to a halt when his other hand banded around her waist as he pressed himself to her back, murmuring into the slope of her shoulders.
"But a five-minute break is not enough for me…”
His breath was hot on her neck.
“…to do..."
Her head lulled back as he pressed a kiss.
"…the things..."
Her skin shivered as he flicked his tongue.
"…I want to do to you."
She watched as he turned the lock back to its place, the sound a distinct echo in the room.
Everything went completely still. The air charged with an electric sense of excitement and nervousness, the type of charge that lead to anticipation. Spencer could feel the erratic pace of his heart as a surge of arousal rippled through his blood. It was definitely not a feeling he was used to, but it was very powerful and overwhelming in its intensity as he swiftly grabbed her arm.
Y/n let out an inaudible gasp when he turned her around, not because of the way her legs were stumbling by the impulsive contact, but by the sudden grip of his hand on her waist, steadying her momentarily in the midst of her trying to register what was happening.
"Spencer," his name a sigh from her lip. A hot spike raced through her body as if she had been struck by some force. Y/n took a shuddering breath, already knowing she would be helpless against the tingling wave he was building within her.
"What happened to your confidence?" He whispered with a coy smile.
She was growing dizzy, overwhelmed with the feeling of him everywhere, with how clear his intentions had become and how much she welcomed them. "I guess you've rendered me speechless."
And then his large hand cupped her whole face, tilting her up. His fingertips felt electric, for wherever they touched her skin tingled in a frenzy of static. She was mesmerized, captured by the spell he had on her.
There was a warm gust of air over her nose as he breathed out, "Are you sure?" His nose gently brushed against hers. "I'll stop if you tell me to."
Her fluttering eyes shot up at him. "Don't you fucking dare."
A satisfied smile curled on his lips as she waited for the moment to come, to explore every inch of his mouth. He finally pressed his parted lips on hers—and true to her imagination, his kiss was divine.
His lips felt soft and her mind went hazy when he started to move them. The push and pull of lips were exhilarating, the lazy mapping of their mouths molding together ascended the desire inside her. She exhaled a moan the moment he nibbled her bottom lip with a gentle brush of his tongue, her body burning with a new sense of need.
He gripped the base of her neck, keeping her locked to his mouth in their exchange of breaths, their tongues grazing, dancing, colliding with one another. And between her breathless moan of pleasure, he was making his own delightful noises, the various groans and growls coming from deep within his chest only made her beg for more.
Spencer slowly pulled away, eyes slamming shut as his forehead met hers, gasping for the much-needed air. "You," he growled under his ragged breath. "Taste better than I imagined."
Her head was spinning. How could he consume her so much? They were practically pressed against each other like hot glue yet she wondered whether there was any possible way to crawl under his skin. It wasn't enough, she craved more. More than his kiss. More than his tongue—she wanted more of him.
Y/n slightly pulled away, her hands skimming along his arms before they grasped onto the bottom hem of her dress, and without warning, she managed to pull the piece of clothing over her head with one swift motion.
Spencer stood there, utterly impressed and furthermore aroused. His eyes raked over her half-naked body with absolute adoration. "I see you've gained your confidence back."
She threw her dress to the floor. "Most of it anyway."
There was nothing more bewitching than her half-naked form, yet he wanted more of her, he needed to have her fully undressed in his arms. Spencer carefully grabbed her hand and guided her further into the room. He slowly dropped himself on the edge of his bed and parted his legs, gently slipping her between them.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his hands gliding along her skin. "Gorgeous, just absolutely gorgeous."
Her hands skimmed along his shoulders before she ran them through his tousled hair as she stood between the firmness of his legs, enjoying the pure admiration in his eyes. There was something mesmerizing in those hazel orbs, tantalizing her self-confidence as her fingers moved over to the front of her bra, unhooking the clasp before it slipped over her shoulders so effortlessly.
When she was finally free from the confinement of her undergarment, Spencer let out a satisfied sigh, because right in front of him were the most perfect breasts he could ever possibly imagine. His hand danced across her skin, feeling her body tremble underneath his palm as he let a thumb graze over her already hard nipple. The moan she let out was unbelievably exotic and there was nothing else he wanted to do than to hear more of it.
So he let his finger trail down her stomach before he grabbed the edges of her underwear and finally, but oh so slowly, pulled them down her smooth legs. Once they were off, he leisurely observed her nudity, his eyes sweeping over her wet flesh, flushed and swollen, the warmth radiating from her core made every part of him swell. He slowly guided a hand up her leg.
"Spencer," she breathed, clutching onto him even tighter. "Please."
His fingers brushed her inner thigh, so close to where she burned but not close enough for her to feel the satisfaction she desired. "Please what?"
She whimpered desperately. "Touch me."
"And where do you want me to touch you?"
"Everywhere."
What was a man to do when he was asked with such urgency? Such fervor? Spencer looked up at her and smiled, placing a gentle kiss between her breast before motioning her toward the bed. "Lay on your back."
She did as she was told and when she was finally on her back with him pressed to her side, Y/n shuddered at the touch of fabric from his clothes. There was something vulnerable about being the only one naked, yet somehow the roughness grazing her skin merely intensified her arousal.
She inhaled a sharp breath as she was met with a pair of hooded eyes looking down at her with undeniable lust. She felt electricity in her body, hormones shutting down her higher brain, and from there on in it was all passion, intense, intoxicating. He leaned forward, a hand unhesitatingly pushing her locks out of the way to expose her slender neck. His rapid breathing sent shivers down her spine, his lips almost brushing her ear as she closed her eyes.
Spencer trailed small kisses along her jawline, down to her throat, and pressed another kiss on the spot below her ear. She let out a satisfied moan as he sucked the spot leisurely, feeling herself shudder at his touch, sending her into another trance of delight.
She writhed at the electrifying touch of his fingertips and the thread of control that seemed to remain in him snapped as he lunged at her, pressing into her mouth. She gasped at the force and like the man he grew to be, he took that opportunity to slip his tongue, tasting every corner of her mouth. Her taste overwhelmed his senses as he devoured her, hands sliding in her hair, tugging at her, twisting and moving her to his liking.
Her scent was filling his nostrils, her delicate fragrance intoxicating his brain, pulling him even deeper into the spell she was casting on him. His smile was wicked against her lips as his hand engulfed her breast, feeling her shiver underneath him, her breath becoming rapid as she felt his thumb stroking her nipple.
Her aroused nub tightened at his touch, screaming, begging for his utmost attention. He gladly obliged her desire, his mouth trailing down her collarbone, letting his tongue brush along the curve of her breast before his lips hovered above her swollen peak, ravishing it into his mouth.
She arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as the sensation shot through her body, a thrill of arousal pooling in the heat of her core. He pulled away for a moment before ravishing her other peak, gently tugging it with his teeth before sinking in her flesh with the heat of his mouth.
"Beautiful," he murmured to no one but himself as his eyes took in the sight of her naked chest. His tongue flickered out teasingly on her hardening nub before he looked straight into her eyes. "You're so beautiful."
Then his finger continued its teasing brush, gliding along her skin as she writhed uncontrollably, waiting for him to touch the place she desired the most. It was torture. Evil, wicked torture as he leisurely took his time into taunting her that she let out a frustrated sigh.
"Spencer..."
He smiled amusedly, feigning innocence. "What?"
Y/n was never one to beg. Her job taught her to stand her ground and to be resilient whenever she had to face any type of obstacle. But right now, as his touch burned her skin in ways she never thought possible, she really didn't care.
"Baby, please..."
The unexpected term of endearment sent a sensational thrill along his body before a satisfied grin stretched across his lips. "Now how can I say no to that?"
This time when his hand slipped lower, she slowly suck in an anticipatory breath through her teeth that she held until his fingers swiped achingly light over her slit. She let out an audible gasp when she felt the pressure of his fingers over her, teasing her ever so slightly as her eyes rolled at the back of her head. He ran his fingers between her folds, making her flinch at the sensitivity and without warning, without mercy, they plunge into her.
A heavy tide of delight hit her, tension snapping inside. Strong waves emanate from her core, ecstasy racing through every inch of her body as his fingers swelled inside her wetness, moving at a rapid yet lazy pace. Her hips bucked against his fingers, following every movement they made as they stretched inside her, building the most sensational feeling throughout her body.
She closed her eyes, ready to simply enjoy the thrilling pleasure he was bringing to her when he suddenly pulled his fingers out and she whimpered at the loss. He dragged his tongue along his lips before lying on his back, pulling her along with me. "Come here."
She followed him, her legs on either of his side when he motioned her to move forward. "No," he hissed. There was a sudden shyness in his demeanor but his eyes reflected an immense amount of determination. "Sit on my face."
She gaped at him.
Never in a million years did she ever imagine those words to come out from his lips. If anyone told her that Spencer Reid, a certified genius with an IQ of 187, would ask her to sit on his face, she would've laughed. Yet here she was, crawling over him as he proved to her how lewd he could actually be.
Y/n felt the heat creeping along her cheeks as she settled on top of him, but his reassuring smile threw away any doubt she had in mind. He softly kissed her inner thigh before she lowered herself. She gripped the bed frame in front of her while his tongue flickered between her slit, and hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her in place as he devoured her hot flesh like a man starved.
Oh, fuck.
She must have said that out loud as she felt the vibration of his laughter on her skin. She faintly looked down at him and found his eyes boring into hers, watching her intently as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hungrily. The view was making her dizzy. The way his eyes bore into her own as his tongue wrapped around her wetness made her grind her hips, seeking more of the fraction.
He gave a long, languorous stroke with the flat of his tongue and sucked her into his mouth, tugging ever so slightly she could feel the pull in her throbbing clit. Then he spread his mouth wide over that sensitive nub and sucked even harder, a sudden stabbing sensation making her cry in pleasure. Her whimpers and moans grew louder as the coil in her stomach tightened, his tongue moving faster while he felt her clenching around his mouth.
Y/n could hear how wet she was as he worked her sex relentlessly. The cadence of his tongue was making her delirious. The warm, delicious tingle radiating from his touch was flooding over her that she knew she was approaching the end. His growl rumbled against her wetness as she spasmed, her face a mess of sweat and tears as he lapped up her folds, his tongue sliding into her and pressing on the walls.
And then she shattered—breathlessly, tiredly, heavenly. Her toes curled as she screamed out his name, releasing her grip on the bed frame before burying them in his tousled hair; pulling, grabbing, then throwing herself back as the intensity of the feeling rushed in her blood. She let out a sob as he eased her through her orgasm, rubbing her thighs while they shook around his head.
Her mind went completely blank a few minutes later. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t speak. She merely notice her body shaking with satisfaction as he carefully helped her down, settling her naked body on top of his. The gentle sound of his breathing filled her ears as she felt soothing hands running over her.
They stayed like that, drenched in her sweat with her head on his chest and her legs draped over him. Then after a moment of relishing each other's presence, his deep voice cut through the silence. "You're amazing."
She finally had the will to lift her head up and laughed. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"
The indicated compliment made him smile. Silence engulfed them and at that moment it seemed as if there were a lot of things to be said, but somehow neither wanted to initiate the conversation. He pulled her closer and she leaned in his embrace—then his phone rang suddenly before she could even relax.
She groaned. "How much do you want to bet that that's Garcia?"
"Or Hotch." Spencer's hand glided down her back. "We should probably see what they want."
"We should."
But they didn't move and his phone suddenly stopped its chime. Their peace was once again interrupted by another call that came from her phone this time. Y/n let out a sigh. "We should really go."
He nodded, but before she peeled herself off, her eyes cautiously narrowed on him. She could practically feel the blood and adrenaline pumping and coursing through her vein as a rush of hesitation enveloped her. "Can we... finish this later?"
But then her heart brimmed with affection at how his smile lit up, a wide, radiant grin that pierced her skin and traveled straight to her soul. And there he was, underneath the mature lines swept across his handsome face was the adorable man her heart had always ached for.
"Oh, absolutely," he spoke, his fingers trailing over her naked flesh. "We'll definitely finish this later."
Warnings: Angst, hopeful ending, mentions Canon character death (Gideon), mentions of new parent stress, single parenthood, etc.
A/N: I'm back! The final chapter is finally here, and I'm so very happy!! Thank you all for waiting patiently while I recovered from my illness. It's monsoon season here right now, so I've been hit with just depressing wave after wave of coughs, colds, fevers, and general rainy season ailments. But now this is finished! Thank you for joining ke on this three month journey. I'll be publishing a much happier, much fluffier epilogue within the week, so please look forward to that~♡ Without further ado, The End.
In the six weeks since his daughter had been born, Spencer Reid had experienced what he could solidly call the most terrifying weeks of his life.
The baby cried, and his heart beat out of his chest. Rain or shine, fully awake or fully knocked out, a single gargle or a full on scream and he was sprinting to her side to coo her back to blissful sleep, or to change her, or just to hold her close.
In the six weeks up to her birth, he'd pointedly avoided parenting books on the whole, doing his best to drown out all the memories from reading similar books when JJ was pregnant. Every memory stung as he clawed his way back to the family that was prematurely ripped from him.
But the baby was here now. The baby was safe, and the baby was crying, which he knew was absolutely healthy and nothing to worry about, and completely and totally fine, except it dropped his heart to his stomach everytime she did it.
It wasn't as if your daughter was a particularly fussy child. She was a newborn, she was a healthy weight and size, and the doctors who had checked her over at the hospital after her birth had reassured him multiple times that she was totally healthy. A miracle, all things considered.
And she was his miracle. For six weeks, she'd been his little wonder.
The team had banded together to fix up his apartment while she'd been observed in the hospital for the first few days of her life.
He'd sat and watched her through the newborn window at the hospital while Penelope had cleaned up his apartment, and Luke had built him a crib.
Emily and JJ had gone hunting for baby clothes and found probably a lifetime supply of 0-3 months, 3-6 months, and 6-9 months babygrows, t-shirts, dresses, and matching little hair bows for everything.
The first time he'd seen the socks, he'd broken down.
Arriving back with his newborn daughter to his apartment, he'd carried her to her new room, desk removed and crib added, though the walls were still shelved with books he really needed to do something with. He'd opened the sock drawer and been faced with a drawer full of single socks. There wasn't a matching pair in sight.
He'd pulled his daughter into his arms and held her close as the tears fell once again.
It had been six weeks since you'd delivered your first baby, and Spencer was sure that if you had the opportunity, you'd be cussing him out continuously.
Because as much as he doted on his daughter, his sweet baby, who he swore was already smiling sweetly up at him each time she grabbed his pinkie with her whole tiny fist, he had still not given her a a name.
“We can't just call her baby,” Emily complained to him after three days, already getting restless with Spencer's lack of decisiveness.
“I won't name her without Y/N,” he'd replied, and Emily had shut her mouth, not willing to open up that can of worms around him just yet. The sudden silence whenever he mentioned you was deafening. Spencer felt the team growing rigid each time he said something even slightly hopeful, then gently tried to lead him back to being ‘realistic.’
It had been six weeks since you'd given birth, and smiled at him sweetly as you brought you'd daughter into the world and six weeks since you'd quietly slipped into a peaceful coma.
The first week, he'd been told to prepare himself for the worst. The second week, he'd been told there was nothing more that they could do.
But in the third week, you'd moved. Just your hand, just a twitch, but a sign of life the doctors had been trying to convince him wasn't there before.
In the fourth week, you'd recovered enough to be taken off the ventilator.
You were clawing your way back to consciousness, readying yourself to meet your precious, sweet baby.
In the sixth week after Spencer Reid became a father, he took his daughter back to the hospital to meet her mother again. With some expert baby-sitting from Penelope, he'd managed to visit you once every two days at least in the last few months, but with the little-one still only small, hospital visits to trauma wards weren't exactly recommended.
When they'd transferred you to a regular ward, he'd packed his bags immediately and gathered the baby up, strapping her into her carrier and waiting desperately for visiting hours to begin.
After thirty minutes, he made a call.
“Emily? Can I… can we get a ride?”
Of course, she'd agreed. While no one else had been letting themselves hope, they had absolutely been at his beck and call. He'd been swamped with guilt calling JJ at 3am asking how to settle you because he'd tried everything, and constantly relying on Penelope to come and help him and Luke and Emily, picking up extra hours to finish his paperwork because his paternity leave still hadn't been approved.
He felt guilty, overwhelmed, and stressed, and he needed you to wake up so goddamn much that he feared if he got any bad news, he would shatter. And he didn't know how to be a father, because really he hadn't had one before he was 20 and Gideon became his, and even he had left when things got hard. So how could he be sure he wouldn't.
So he hadn't given his daughter a name. And, yes, it was because he wanted to do it with you, to pick out a name together, but also it was because he didn't think he could stand knowing it if he was too weak and ran from her.
The pressure built and built for six weeks, as he fell in love with his daughter, who deserved better than his love, and then Emily pulled up in his car, and he started sobbing.
“Spencer!” Emily exclaimed, not expecting the outburst at all, the loneliness of the last five months catching up to him finally.
“Emily… Emily, I'm a terrible father-”
“No! No, sweetie, you're-”
“My daughter doesn't have a name!”
Emily switched the engine off and then grabbed Spencer's shoulder, roughly turning him to face her if he wouldn't meet her in the eyes.
“You have survived this job for nearly two decades. You have survived gunshots, and murderers, and loss that I can not begin to comprehend, and you love that child. You are grieving, and you are stressed, and it is so totally, completely normal to not be okay after everything you've been through,” Emily held her breath, waiting for his reply. Just as he opened his mouth to whisper more doubts, the baby in the back seat began to fuss and cry.
Unable to stop himself, Spencer laughed. Emily laughed with him. They sat giggling in the car together, tears in their eyes as his daughter kicked up a fuss.
“She doesn't like hearing you talk badly about her daddy,” Emily joked and started the engine again.
When Spencer finally made it to your room, his daughter had stopped fussing. A quick bottle in the parking lot had mollified her, and she was gurgling softly now, still pink, her eyes tightly closed. He'd dressed her up nicely, or as nicely as he could muster. A cute pink newborn dress for his tiny baby and a matching pink hair bow.
He gathered the baby carrier in his arms and let the hospital doors open for him.
Finding your new ward wasn't hard. The nurses were helpful enough and honestly, he'd taken a look at the building blueprints weeks before, when he'd been obsessing over every small detail of your care, so he practically knew the route by himself.
Straight, then a left turn, then straight again, and a right turn and keep going until there was a final turn into your ward.
He let out a deep sigh as soon as he reached the nurses station and readied himself to ask for you.
“Hello, I'm here to see my Y/N, I was told she was transferred here this morning?”
The nurses on the station looked up at him in shock and blinked at him a few times before speaking up. If ever there was a time to hear the words “you haven't heard?” uttered from the mouth of a nurse in a hospital where your comatose girlfriend was being treated, then it likely wasn't when he held a newborn in his already weak arms.
The panic set in quickly as he tuned the noise out. An older nurse walked around the side of the desk to comfort him, sticking by his side and grabbing the baby carrier before he could accidentally let it go in his shock.
Another nurse came to his side to take care of the baby, and quickly, they both ushered him down another hall to an adjacent ward. He drowned out every word as they tried to comfort and reassure him, his brain jumping to the worst conclusions.
His teammates were right when they said he shouldn't hope. He needed to be realistic now. If you were gone, he had to call your family and organize the funeral. He had to pack up your stuff. He had to settle the hospital bills and decide how you would be seen off.
He had to name his daughter.
The nurses pushed him towards the room quickly, and he mentally prepared himself to say goodbye, but as the doors swung open, he saw you, and he fell to his knees.
“Spencer?”
In the two hours since you'd woken up, you'd been poked, prodded, hydrated, fed, rubbed down, and spoken over like you were still somewhat asleep.
No one had explained exactly what had happened, and no one explained where your baby was, and you'd kicked and screamed yourself hoarse, as the doctors noted down that you still had use of your vocal chords and all four limbs.
So seeing Spencer crash into your room at full force through your tear filled eyes was the best experience you'd had in months, especially when you spotted the nurse with the baby sized car seat coming in behind him.
“Is that my baby? Is that my baby? Please-” You pushed sheets off your body as a nurse tried to hold you still, not wanting you to pull the IV from your arm or the oxygen tubes from your face.
And suddenly Spencer was there, and he'd regained his strength, and his hope, and his happiness because you were awake, and talking and god you remembered.
It was all he could do not to grab you, bundle you up, and carry you away to safety, but the nurse propping you up was stern-looking, and he had a daughter to tend to.
He pulled your face into his hands and kissed you as softly as he could, holding back his emotion as he held you like you would break, feeling your wet tears on his skin.
“I missed you,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to yours as he gently stepped back and allowed the nurses to help you get comfortable.
Then he turned quickly and grabbed your daughter, and your breath caught in your throat as he held her out to you.
“What do I…? Where should I put my hands- Oh god, I'm so unprepared, I-” your eyes welled again, but it was joy as you saw her serene little sleeping face for the first time and he slowly lowered her into your arms. It turns out, no-one needed to help you out holding her at all, because she was so precious and perfect and yours that she slotted into your arms completely, like it was a spot made completely for her, like you'd been purpose made to hold her and be her mother and love her and cherish her.
You cried and looked up at Spencer and laughed. He rested on the side of the bed and pulled you into his arms, and you felt that completeness a second time, and you knew that you were made for him the way she was made for you.
Your family.
It had almost been taken for you, but it was yours, and it was fate.
With a quiet whisper that only Spencer could hear, you leant down to your baby's ear and said your first words to her.
“I wish that I could be your mother in every lifetime, my sweet Angel.”
Summary: Spencer makes a fool of himself in front of a very pretty nurse. Who turns out to not be a nurse at all, but a stripper.
Warnings: Erotic dance, pole dancing, uniforms, doctor play (?), semi-public sex, fingering, strip tease, nipple play, use of birth control - condoms, penetrative sex (PinV).
A/N: He's protecting, she's serving cunt. That's the pairing dynamic for this fic. I love writing Spencer as dumb because he does canonically lose it around hot people, and we, dear readers, are all hot people. I added the strip tease song below of you want to really get in the mood!
Masterlist || Bingo Board
“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Hotch called out to the masses, the three teams of officers, and his own team who were lined up and ready to receive orders.
“We're going to do a simple canvass. Ask anyone you spot if they've seen our missing person and if they've seen any suspicious activity around the area in the last month. You have further lines of questioning laid out in your briefs. Also, we have no reason to believe the unsub will be hunting right now, so we're going to be canvassing individually.”
The crowd nodded in a wave of understanding, taking the information as it came before getting ready to receive their areas to work in.
Spencer had devised the map himself, so he didn't have to wait in line, instead, walking to his corner of the block and getting himself ready for interactions.
The clock struck 11, and he began, waiting for the usual shaky characters of the night to stroll out onto the streets. After a series of abductions from this area, and the general disrepair of all local CCTV cameras, the BAU knew exactly where their unsub was hunting from, but not the how, the why, or the who.
In a last ditch effort, they'd turned to goodwill from the public.
“Excuse me, sir, do you have a few minutes to answer some ques-”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Okay, have a great evening.”
For the best part of the first hour, all of his interactions were the same repeat of hostility and general apathy. For long stretches of time, nobody walked by at all, and some were even growing frustrated by being accosted by multiple law enforcement officers within the hour.
He'd almost lost hope for a lead when the clock struck twelve, and you'd ran around the corner, nearly bowling him over as you raced to get to work.
“Shit, oh, I'm sorry-” you said, realising you'd landed in a soft place, and not on the tarmac you knew from experience was a pain. He'd accidentally broken your fall and was all the more sorry for it.
“No, it's okay… ah, um, it's not that bad.”
You stood yourself up, removing yourself from the body of the stranger. The body of the man wearing an FBI jacket, who you now recognised as being with one of the dozen or so cops that had stopped you in your dash from your car (parked further downtown so it wouldn't get stolen) to your place of work.
“Oh, god, I'm so sorry, officer. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,” you mumbled again and again as you offered him a hand up. He took it hesitantly, grabbing his papers as he jumped on this opportunity to have a conversation with the first normal looking person he'd come across in an hour.
If he'd been less eager, less tired, and in all honesty, less immediately attracted to you he'd have realised that you had a destination in mind. One that, while being above board mostly, still made you weary of cops.
“It's Agent actually - Doctor, but- anyway, um, could I possibly have a few minutes of your time? We're looking into a recent string of abductions in the area, and we’re asking if you've seen anything out of the ordinary.”
You stood trapped by his surprisingly wide frame, his height dwarfing you by a few inches and the path being just narrow enough that you either had to decline politely, or just push past him to keep going.
Unfortunately, you, too found him slightly too attractive than you were willing to admit, attractive enough that you'd gladly miss out on a half hours worth of tips to answer questions you'd honestly already answered before now. You'd always been weak for a man in uniform.
“I-I guess so. This will only be a few minutes, right?”
“Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work,” he said, gesturing down at your outfit. If it weren't for his totally genuine tone, you'd have thought he was being cruel.
Usually, you didn't show up for work in your performance clothes, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself on the streets at midnight, but you'd been forced to that day.
It was Uniform Day at the strip club, and your boss was entirely too cheap to buy the Uniforms himself, and absolutely cruel enough to penalise anyone who showed up without some kind of costume. Your nurse outfit had been in transit and out for delivery since 10 am. that morning, arriving exactly 10 hours later.
It wasn't exactly a realistic cosplay. Sure there was a cute pen clip, and you were technically wearing scrubs, but they were also skin tight, and you knew for a fact that your nipples were hard and visible through the thin material, because taking a glance down, even you could see them.
“Do you usually work the night shift?” He asked, bringing his clipboard up to take notes of your answers.
He absolutely did not know you were a stripper.
“Yeah. We don't really get many people in during the day. Too embarrassing, not the time for it.”
He nodded and tried to pretend like he was writing something of merit down, but secretly, he was very much enjoying the curves Of your body as the tight material hung off your body.
The “scrubs” were baby blue but he had no doubt that if the heavens opened right, then they'd become as see-through as cling film.
He, too, wanted to cling to you.
“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in the area recently, anything new or out of the ordinary?”
“I mean, I couldn't possibly say. You know how this neighbourhood is, it's… well, it's not exactly the safest.”
He nodded again and acted out sympathy, unaware how the feeling should feel now that he was faced with a woman so perfect that he'd entirely lost the ability to process emotions.
“Right, right…”
You stood for another moment or two, waiting for his follow up question, but his eyes raked over you in a way you were entirely familiar with. Unlike your usual clientele though, he snapped himself out of it, and had the wherewithal to look bashful.
“Ask about victim, no leading questions,” he read quickly, before looking up at you and stammering through a new question.
“S-so. Are there usually a lot of women walking around this area alone at night?”
You did your nest to hold off a smile, to stay serious as he made the best of the script he was given.
“Yeah, a few of the places have staff on hand to protect the girls, but my place is mostly women. We stick together as best as we can, but a client or two gets too attached now and again,” he nodded.
“Patients can often become infatuated with their care staff,” he said, and he was so earnest that you wanted to take everything back and let him go. You wanted to see how long it would take him to realise there was only one body part you and your colleagues cared for.
“I did think the industry was becoming more gender inclusive. Are there no men on staff?”
“Oh, yeah. We have men, too. They're mostly request only, though, so we don't see them every day.”
“Fascinating! You know, believe it or not, anthropologically, humans are predisposed to view women as more caring and are 9 times out of 10 more likely to ask for women to care for them, the gender of the patient doesn't impact the data.”
“Oh, I can believe it.”
You smiled at him, and he looked taken aback for a minute or two. He finished by smiling back, and you definitely found this conversation worth as much as you'd lost in tips in the last half hour. You were half tempted to invite him back to the club with you for the night, to thank him for providing you with motivation for the night ahead.
“Um, so, if you do see anything in the future, you can call the police and here is my number,” he said, scrawling something down quickly on a piece of paper and handing it off to you.
“Oh. Oh, um, right, number. Uh,” you said, rooting around in your purse for your own business card to hand off to him. Partly because you wanted to resolve his misunderstanding, and partly just because you wanted to see what this overly respectful man would do with it.
“Candy Cayne,” he read, obviously looking past the body glitter that covered the cars and everything else you owned.
“Well, my real name is Y/N, but you can't be too safe these days.”
“Right,” he said, smiling again.
If these were the FBI agents put on the case of making your city safer, maybe you'd invest in a good taser and some more pepper spray.
Just in case.
“Spencer, over here!” One of the other agents you'd already spoken to called out from a block down the street, and hastily, Spencer Reid excused himself and let you finally continue on your way to work.
You had to convince yourself you weren't disappointed.
Morgan’s brows were furrowed as Spencer reached him.
“Why were you interviewing the stripper again, I already got her information when she came by me.”
“Stripper? What stripper?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
Morgan looked at the younger man incredulously before turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pointing in your direction.
“That stripper, Spencer.”
He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to your ass as you quickly walled off, hips swaying perfectly, showing off your complete assets in the tight outfit.
“She's a nurse,” he defended, even as the blood drained from his face.
“Uh-huh, and what's her name?”
“...Candy Cayne,” he paused for a second before turning back to Morgan with a stricken expression on his face.
“Oh my god, she's a stripper.”
Five hours into your shift, and about $800 richer, you found yourself swinging around the pole freely again as your regulars slowly trickled out.
You kept on dancing, though, knowing that the morning crowd was about to get in, the night-shifters that had to wait the entire night to get off on your dancing delights.
Truckers you expected, security guards and night watchmen, too. Even the occasional older gentleman who found it hard to sleep in the mornings, so bored by retirement, they dropped in a few times a day.
What you weren't expecting was Spencer.
You heard the door open, the bell ringing out loudly as all the girls stopped to greet their new target.
“Hello, baby,” one called, the others chorusing around her.
“Oh it's free for you, sweetheart.”
“Wanna take a ride?”
“Aren't you just the cutest.”
Spencer spotted you - and your uniform - very quickly.
As predicted, with a little bit of water, your uniform had gone see through with the tiniest drop of water, the sweat from your ongoing workout and the body oil the matrons lathered you up in before showing off everything.
Still, Spencer tried to keep his gaze polite as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the stage and tried to engage you in conversation.
“Hi,” he said, shouting awkwardly over the music.
You shot him a confused look as you ground against the bar, still enjoying the tips of the last few stragglers. You gave him a confused look as you wrapped yourself around the pole, lifting yourself up and gripping the bar between your legs, pushing your chest backwards as you tipped your head upside down.
“Can we talk?” He asked, and you, slowly but surely, let go of the bar, ending on the floor with your legs spread wide as the few men enraptured by you wolf whistled and swore.
Finally, Spencer's bashful gaze dropped from your face as he stared at your scantily clad cunt.
The baby blue underwear - though you could barely call it underwear as you were barely wearing it - was most definitely not leaving enough to the imagination. Combined with the very clear view of your boobs, Spencer wasn't surprised when his IQ abandoned him, rushing to his second head to let it make mistakes.
“I'm sorry, officer,” you said, winking at him as you crawled forward, collecting tips as you went. “If my boss sees me talking to you instead of working, I can get fired. Tell me you've got at least a twenty on you.”
He scrambled for his wallet, pulling out all the cash he had and holding out a few dollars to you as you watched him.
He looked away again, just as you leaned down to take it, and you pouted again.
“Come on, sir,” you said, wiggling your ass a little to keep the other men entertained while you wore down at his morals. “You have to stick it down my shirt or something. Make it believable.”
His eyes snapped back to yours, and then immediately to your chest as you sat back on your knees and began playing with yourself, grabbing your tits and bouncing up and down as you showed off your special ‘skills.’
Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, and, hating how slow he was going, you met him halfway, pushing your chest into his open hand.
Though he was apprehensive, his body seemed able to take advantage quickly, and upon depositing the cash, he let his hand trace down the curve of your breast, squeezing it a little.
“I came to apologise-” he started, trying to remind himself to stick to the script he created for himself.
You didn't want to stick to any script.
“Boss, I've got a private dance!” you shouted out to the bar staff, getting a thumbs up from the manager there and a call back of a room number.
You grabbed the rest of the cash from his hands and lifted a hand so he could help you down the stage stairs, leading him quickly to a private room and closing the door.
“T-There’s been a mistake, I just came to apologise for my unnecessary comments earlier, and-” he paused, hands lifting up in surrender as you straddled him.
“What are you doing?”
“You can talk, but you paid for a dance. I thought this would be better for you, more private.”
“Oh, yes, thank you, that's very considerate.”
You nodded and began raking your nails down the front of his shirt, loosening his tie a little as you rose on your knees and gyrated your hips.
His gaze locked eyes with your chest, and for a moment, you worried he wasn't breathing anymore, his entire body having stilled. Then you rocked your hips down into his lap, and you realised he wasn't still but stiff.
He was rock fucking hard.
You grinned, and tried to pick the conversation back up with a casual tone.
“So how is canvassing going?”
“Hmm?” He said, unlearning. “Oh, uh. Good. We have a few leads we're going to investigate in the morning.”
“It is the morning, officer.”
He nodded and gulped, but his gaze had rested gently against your bare skin again.
You decided to treat him.
Standing back up, you grabbed the room control and queued up your favorite track to dance with. The private sances were usually boring, a constant reminding of ‘don't touch the dancers’ dropping from your lips as you half-heartedly rocked back and forth.
Unsurprisingly, though, you actually wanted this man to touch you.
Spencer willed his brain to quiet, though as it had taken up residence in his pants, he doubted it could hear any of his requests.
The opening lines of "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox played on the quiet room speakers, and you watched his hands clench into his pants.
You took a step forward, pushing your arms up as you swung your hips left and right.
“You said something about an apology earlier, right?”
I put a spell on you. Because you're mine.
“Yes,” he said, restrained to monosyllabic answers as your hands trailed down to your legs, catching the hem of your dress and pulling it up.
You revelled in the way his eyes widened, the way the veins in his hands popped as he grasped himself harder, the hitch in his breathing.
You pulled the offending garment up and danced it off your body until you were stood in just panties and stilettos.
Without flashing him even a hint of your breasts, though, you turned and sat yourself on his lap.
“W-We could've just talked here, right? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”
“I know,” you said, grabbing his hands and covering your chest with them.
“But you were so earnest earlier, I felt a bit bad too. Let's call this even.”
You didn't get an answer from him, but his hands did start touching you, and you couldn't help but feel as though you'd won anyway.
You better stop the things that you do.
Taking your nipples between his fingers, he squeezed, and your ass pushed down into his cock, back arching as you began rubbing against his legs. You repositioned, letting your knees fall either some of his leg, leaning forward to balance yourself against his knee as you rocked your core into his leg.
“So, what's your name, officer.”
“Spencer-” he sighed, voice warm in your ear as he leaned closer, trying to hook his head over your shoulder to watch the rest of your body writhe.
“Doctor Spencer Reid.”
“Oh, how fancy, a Doctor. I've never had a doctor before,” you said, straightening and grabbing his hands again.
“And what a naughty little nurse I've been,” you giggled.
I tell you, I ain't lyin’.
“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he said, as your hands guided his to your cunt, giving him permission to enter your underwear.
“And as we've established, I'm not that kind of nurse. But I don't mind.”
He muttered to himself for a second before beginning to pay sweet attention to your clit. As bashful, and shy, and overall clumsy he had seemed outside, he absolutely had the theory of pleasure down to a T.
The pads of his fingers were rough against your clit, pushing your pleasure buttons roughly as you soaked his pants.
“That's it, Doctor, that's where the ache was.”
He caught on quickly and kept up his ministrations as you moaned in his lap.
“Ah, fuck. M-Maybe some medicine would help.me Doctor. A nice big injection.”
You stood and almost threw a tantrum at the loss of contact, but you returned yourself to his lap quickly.
He unbuttoned his pants as he stood, and his cock was released and waiting for you when you returned again.
Before you could get to it, though, his face buried itself in your chest.
You moaned at the contact, his tongue swirling around your already painfully sensitive nipples. You humped his leg wantonly, giving up the act and becoming the whore he likely thought you were. It was all too much for you, his hot stare, his surprisingly deft fingers. And then he gently bit your nipple, and your cunt clenched around nothing as you twitched and you came.
“Fuck, cock. Now!” You demanded, as the after waves of your orgasm still rolled through you. You grabbed a condom from the complementary basket nearby and rolled it onto his tip expertly before sinking yourself down on him.
“D-D you feel better now?” He asked, hands gripping the fat of your thighs as tightly as he'd gripped his pants earlier.
“Yes, Doctor Reid!” you said, your bounces sloppy as you stretched yourself around his dick.
He wasn't overly long or ridiculously thick. It was like you'd stumbled into the Goldilock fairy tale, because you'd found the cock that fit you just right.
Your brain short-circuited after your all too fast orgasm, and you moaned pathetically, almost grumpily as you failed to keep up the stamina.
You know better, Daddy. I can't stand it ‘cause you put me down.
As if noticing your distress, Spencer stood slightly, using a nearby table to balance out your additional weight, and finally lowered you onto it. You'd taken no notice of it in the past, but you now thanked the heaven that the table was sturdy and roughly cock height, as he began thrusting into you with just the right speed.
The clock struck six as he licked his fingers again and played with your clit once again, and with a sharp jerk of your hips, your cunt tightened around him and began milking his cock.
He came with a groan, though admittedly one quieter than your own.
I put a spell on you.
With a wet pop, his cock exited you, and he quickly went to work discarding the used condom. You tried to sit up quickly, and were surprised you could manage even that much, as you shimmied back into your wet dress.
“Apology accepted,” you said, as he turned back to you, put together once again.
You turned to leave, but he caught your waist and spun you back around to him. His lips were on yours in a second.
His tongue was hot and thick as it opened your mouth, exploring every inch as he forced you to submit once more. When you pulled back, his hand lightly grazed up the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Yeah. You too. Your apology.”
You couldn't help but let out a giggle as he walked you back toward the door, almost pinning you there for a round two.
“You really thought I was a nurse?”
“It was dark.”
You gave him another peck on the cheek and pulled away, gaining the respectable distance from your customer aa you re-emerged from the private room.
“I get off at 7,” you whispered yo him finally, before making your way back to the bar.
Your doctor sat himself down and waited for the clock to strike 7.
Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.
A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.
Masterlist || Bingo Board
You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong.
Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot.
He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him.
“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.”
His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there.
“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-”
“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”
“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.”
Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him.
“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.”
The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight.
“Shall we get started?”
To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell.
Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation.
Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at.
He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.
Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0.
Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type.
You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2.
Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged.
You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground.
“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.
“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group.
While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you.
“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?”
“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.”
The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions.
“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended.
“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you.
Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship.
You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him.
You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well.
“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours.
A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind.
“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.”
“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.”
Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who.
You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit.
You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning.
You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was.
On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance.
You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything.
All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table.
You had a murderer to catch.
Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up.
Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.
“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.”
He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table.
“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”
“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”
“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."
“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’
With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight.
You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up.
“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in.
Probably to remove you from the room.
“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around.
“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.”
You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you.
Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you.
He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher.
“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room.
“What? How is this my fault?”
“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.”
You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.
“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”
His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it.
“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?”
His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward.
But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops.
You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you.
“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet.
“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced.
“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.”
With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath.
“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear.
“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth.
“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting.
“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.”
“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds.
“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”
With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go.
His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more.
“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered.
“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further.
You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you.
You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again.
“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other.
You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan.
“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened.
“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you.
“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave.
You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you.
“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office.
“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands.
“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him.
“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you.
You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood.
You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on.
Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.
You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other.
You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise.
In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad.
You'd given him the cold shoulder but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't.
Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation.
You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space.
The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry.
You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you.
“That's my seat.”
You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder.
“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.”
“But that is my seat-”
“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument. Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been.
“Spencer!”
“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly.
Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs.
“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight.
You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face.
“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep.
His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything.
You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement.
“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.
“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner.
You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.
Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.
“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.
The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed.
He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane.
“You're being slow today.”
“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone.
“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass.
“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.”
With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him.
Two could play at that game.
In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you.
“Y/N, cut it out.”
“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder.
He didn't wither.
Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass.
“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.”
“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition.
“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace.
“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there.
“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye.
“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”
“Long?” He smirked.
“And hard in your pants.”
He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear.
“That was my gun.”
“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid.
It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself.
And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie.
There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples.
But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him.
He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong?
Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk.
When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you.
It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer.
You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer.
There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case.
Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in.
The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels..
Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang.
It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves.
You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait.
The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore.
You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide.
“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss.
You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.
You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”
“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question.
“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again.
This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall.
“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”
“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.
“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.”
“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.”
“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees.
“What? Sp-”
In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat.
As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly.
Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat.
“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”
You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.
With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth.
You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him.
Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you.
He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave.
“Open,” he demanded.
You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.
He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom.
Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you.
“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.”
Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you.
Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard.
“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?”
“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock.
Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him.
And then he flipped you over so he was back in control.
“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in.
“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”
You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.
You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts.
Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.
You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex.
You screamed your pleasure.
Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours.
He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you.
He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder.
You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.
You didn't even know your body bent that way.
Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy.
He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore.
He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another.
“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still.
“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.”
You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you.
Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion.
“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.
“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough.
“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.
Anymore, at least.
“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling.
“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.
“You haven't left yet.”
“I haven't.”
“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”
“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body.
“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?”
“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”
“Exactly,” you said.
“Exactly,” he parrotted.
Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to.
Summary: After taking a bullet on a case, Spencer orders you to desk duty. After two months of pushing papers and his pushing you away for fear of hurting you, you've had enough.
Warnings: Established BDSM scenario, public sex, masturbation (female and male), mentions of sex toys, breaking and entering, multiple orgasms, squirting, shoe riding, slapping (ass, face, pussy), wet/dirty/messy sex, deep-throaring, face fucking, exhibitionism, risky sex, creampie, sloppy sex, pet play (puppy), Hard Dom Spencer, bratty sub reader, degradation (slut, whore, bitch used). Confessions of love at the end because I'm not a monster.
A/N: Hello, it's me, painfully single, back with another in a series of fics that I think will haunt my (wet) dreams for eternity. Thank you to @lightvixxen for requesting shoe riding all those moons ago, I am so glad we share in the same brand of brain rot. Enjoy~♡
Masterlist || Bingo Board
The first time you were shot, you were surprised it hurt so much. Of course, you knew it was going to hurt. You knew you'd eventually be shot.
But the graze to your arm stung like a bitch, and had you whimpering on the floor of a warehouse like a small child who'd fallen off their bike for the first time.
You'd picked yourself back up, and, luckily, the shot had avoided doing any serious damage, but you were relegated to desk duty for two months after. Just until you could prove you weren't traumatised, and there wasn't any permanent damage to your arm.
Two months of staying home while your boss gallivanted around the country, happily diving in front of bullets and jumping on bombs. Two months of staying home waiting for him to come back and rail you.
You'd been sleeping with Spencer Reid practically since he'd become the Unit Chief, and with the announcement that there were only a few more weeks left until Emily Prentiss came back from her special task force, you were really losing time alone in the office you'd been enjoying the pleasures of one another in.
Of course, there would still be motel rooms for you later, but soon he wouldn't have the keys to your room, making your secret trysts slightly riskier. You weren't sure you wanted everyone in the office to know just what it was the two of you were getting up to in your spare time.
So, with your last two months of freedom relegated to desk duty, you sulked.
Spencer was clear that he was leaving you behind so you could recuperate, but you didn't exactly expect him to go cold turkey.
You'd been apart before, having been sent on separate inmate interviews, and you'd made do with a poorly connected video call, a dildo and your hands, getting all the inspiration you needed watching him pump his cock in his fist.
But somehow, your injury had made him borderline chaste, and he refused to even touch you while you were still in - his words, not yours - recovery.
It had been a month since he'd fucked you. Hell, it had been a month since you'd even seen his cock. A month since you'd had any kind of orgasm, first because your dominant hand had been out of action, and then because you'd felt so frustrated without him, you couldn't bring yourself to do it alone.
He messaged you daily, called practically once every eight hours, and made sure you were eating and sleeping even from halfway across the country.
But he didn't make any mention of your growing frustration, even as you tried your best to tempt him into sin.
A month into purgatory, you'd started hinting at your own needs. Your teammates had taken a case in Atlanta, and you'd stuck behind a days drive away and heard absolutely nothing.
You'd called, and Luke had picked up, making his presence known before you could royally screw up and beg for something to fuck.
“H-Hi, Luke. I was just wondering how the case was going. Is there anything I can help with from the office?” You asked, stammering on the phone as you pulled your hand out from between your thighs.
“You want to help? At 11pm at night?”
“Sure do! You know me… go-getter?” You stuttered the words, not even believing them yourself, biting your lip in anxiety and hoping that Luke would just think you were going stir crazy.
“I'll hand you to Reid, he's been talking about some case files you might be able to help with.”
“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
You heard the phone switch hands, and then you heard movement until the line went quieter, and Spencer's voice popped into your ear.
“Y/N?”
“I miss you,” you sighed before you could say anything else, fingers sliding between your thighs before you could think to stop yourself.
“I miss you, too,” he whispered hesitantly, but you heard the smile in his voice as he answered.
“You're working so late tonight, I'd hoped…” you trailed off, feeling your skin heat as your free hands lipped into your underwear and you touched yourself for real this time.
“We think he's working under the same MO as the Night Stalker, like a copycat, so we're keeping to late hours. What's that sound?”
“Nothing,” you said, giving your lie away almost immediately with a moan.
“Are you… Y/N, are you touching yourself?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
“I told you I missed you. It's been a month since you've touched me, someone has to do it-”
“Stop it.”
His words were blunt, and there was no hint of excitement in them, no telling if he was saying this so he could play a part in your unravelling.
“What?”
“Stop touching yourself. Y/N, you are not allowed to touch yourself.”
“Not-? Spencer, what the fuck!” You exploded, sitting up from your comfortable position on the bed, set alight in indignance.
“I'm the only one that gets to touch you like that, you're not allowed to cum unless I'm there,” he ground out, and just as you heard the smile in his voice earlier, you heard the frustration and arousal now.
“Well, Spencer, if you'd have brought me along on this case instead of leaving me here, maybe you'd get a say in who gets to make me cum.”
“Y/N, you're injured, and you haven't been cleared to fly. A doctor needs to-”
“You're a doctor. Technically. You could sign off on me. You could've had me right there in your bed tonight, but no.”
He scoffed down the line, and you saw his face flash so vividly in your head that it pissed you off. He was hotter when he was angry.
“Nice try. I tried that myself once, but it doesn't work. Now go to sleep and get some rest.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he hung up. His words lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, and you threw the phone down in frustration.
He wasn't listening again, and you were sick of it, and you we're sick of pushing paper at a cubical when you should've been out in the field doing your actual job. You were sick of being celibate and at home alone, when you should've been in a dark corner somewhere letting your boss use your body, letting him pin you to the wall and work out his frustrations.
You should've had your lips wrapped around his cock, you should've had his hands buried in your cunt, slapping your ass, his teeth teasing your nipples, something.
Instead, you had your phone camera and a bed, and a personal vendetta against the word 'no' coming from Spencer Reid's mouth. If he wanted you to stop touching yourself, he'd better get his ass home and make you.
Shedding your clothes, you set up your camera and began your week long crusade.
The first video received a response in the form of a call you let go straight to voice mail as you recorded the second one.
He didn't call again after that, but you knew he watched each and every video you sent.
You knew he watched the video of you fucking yourself on a wall mounted dildo in the shower. You wondered if he let him imagine it was him, taking his cock in hand in the morning as he washed and prepared himself for the day.
You knew he watched the video of you playing with your boobs alone in the elevator at work after hours. You wondered if he was still working late when he saw that one, or if, like last time, maybe Luke had grabbed his phone first and seen it before him. .
You knew he watched the video you shot in his apartment. It wasn't that hard to get into, knowing exactly where the spare key was hidden and letting yourself in comfortably. You let yourself dress in one of his shirts and set the camera up, pushing a bullet vibe inside yourself, and turning on the camera, playing with the hem of the shirt and the sheets below until you finally flashed the camera and him the sight of your wet cunt.
You filmed a few videos there, fingering yourself, spreading yourself so he could see just how far you'd opened yourself up for him, sinking down on to progressively bigger silicone cocks and mumbling his name over and over again.
You knew he watched every video, even though you'd sent ten over the space of an evening. You knew he was likely somewhere stroking his large, hot cock, wishing he was buried deep in you, but too stubborn to let you know that now.
The day after the case ended, you knew that his return meant punishment, but you couldn't stop yourself.
An hour before the teams expected arrival time, you excused yourself to Spencer's office. The first time he'd fucked you had been in there. He'd pushed you over his lap and slapped some sense into you, spanking you until you were a drippy mess waiting for his cock to enter you sharp and fast.
You'd since sucked his cock under the desk more times than you could count, and the view from the window was more than familiar to you as you enjoyed being pushed up against it as he took you from behind, the both of you revelling in the fact that anyone could see you defiling the building together.
With half an hour to spare before he returned and ended your fun and games, you mounted the arm of his couch and began rubbing yourself against it. You rocked your hips slowly back and forth against it - as horny as you were, it was still embarrassing to be so horny you'd resulted to humping pieces of furniture to meet your needs.
You'd thought about getting drunk and finding a random dick to take home with you, but it didn't interest you half so much as fucking with Spencer Reid did. You'd never had the talk about exclusivity, but you knew just as well as he did that you were locked in. He was your boyfriend, whether he realised it or not.
And now, you simply needed his cock so badly, nothing else would do. The closest you could get was a piece of furniture he'd fucked you on before.
You slipped your panties off quickly as your timer sounded a ten minute warning, knowing his plane would be landing any second now. You'd factored in the walk from the jet to the office, praying to the gods above that he took the initiative to get ahead on paperwork instead of going straight home.
You rocked back and forth on the arm of the couch until his door opened narrowly and he let himself in, just as your clit rubbed the corner of the couch and you moaned out gloriously.
“Y/N,” he hissed as he slammed the door shut. You didn't stop even as he crossed the room and grabbed your hips, instead lunging for his lips and meeting them with your own.
Your tongue clashed with him for the first time in a lifetime, and you whimpered at how good he still felt pressed up against you. His chest was a solid shield, and your puffy nipples pushed up against it, rubbing deliciously with each grind. His hands were large, his fingers long as they clawed themselves around your hips and drew you up.
“You just can't follow orders, can you?” He asked between kisses, between breaths where you weren't sure if he'd slap you or shove his fingers down your throat. “I should fire you,” he whispered as he reluctantly pulled away.
“But Spencer,” you said, gasping jokingly as you pawed at the front of his pants. “Who would you fuck on cases then? Who would be your controversially young fuck doll?”
You meant it to be a joke, but the slap he delivered to your ass made you think twice as you clapped a hand over your mouth.
His hands roughly pulled you into him again, and you were unable to rise up enough again before he hit you again. You jilted forwards with a little moan and just gave in to the sensation, pressing your face into the pillows as your hips rose.
“You're acting like such a desperate little slut, I don't think you deserve to even lick my cock. Fuck, I don't even think you deserve to lick my shoe,” his words cut deep as you realised how angry he was, his fingers tangling in your hair he yanked you upwards.
“Wait, please - Spencer, please, I need-”
“Need what? You need to suck cock? You need to put yourself on display in a public place? Need everyone around you to know just what it is we do when we're alone?” With each question, he worked on bruising your ass cheeks harder, until he finally pushed you to the floor, and you sank down, automatically spreading your legs for him.
“Pathetic. You don't deserve this cock, baby.”
“No!” You cried out, not willing to accept that outcome at all as you panicked. “I'll do anything, please, Spencer, I'll do anything!”
You whimpered and cried out in real frustration and fear, knowing that he absolutely would kick you out if you didn't act fast. Spencer may have been fine with you taking control some days, but this obviously wasn't one of them. You sat yourself on your knees and clasped your hands together, attempting to seem half the serious devotee and half the irresistible vixen whose chest was accentuated by the movement.
“Okay. Show me just how much of a desperate slut you are,” he said, lifting his foot from the ground and nudging it between your thighs.
Reluctantly, you widened your stance, spreading apart just enough for him to notch his shoe against your clothed pussy.
“Ride my shoe, Y/N. You're such a good little boot-licker. It shouldn't be a problem, right?” As if to answer your own question for you, he bobbed his knee gently, and your clit ground into the edge of his shoelaces, causing a sharp, fast burst of pleasure to spark through you.
You still were too shocked to answer, but he smoothed your hair from your eyes as he continued to bounce his foot, and you left all of your concerns behind, slowly grinding down.
“What a dirty little slut, I didn't think you'd actually do it.”
Wrapping your arms around his leg, you pressed your hips up and down hesitantly, looking into his eyes as your mouth dropped open in a silent moan.
“That's it, good girl,” he said, letting his leg go still as you did all the work, shaking your hips back and forth on his shoe as you gave him pleading looks, unable to form words for the overwhelming shame and embarrassment.
“You look like a puppy,” he blurted out, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling it back, hard, exposing your throat to him as he watched you with curious eyes. “Like one of those puppies who gets so excited to see you, she starts humping you. So fucking horny and desperate. You wouldn't even care who was in the room with us, right now, would you? You'd just keep going until yiu came.”
You gasped as he slapped your face, tongue falling out of your mouth as he inspected his little play puppy. He smiled, as if happy with your reactions, and leant back on the sofa, releasing your hair from his grip as you continued to struggle in vain toward your orgasm.
It was another two or three seconds before you realised he was pulling his hard cock from his pants, and another moment or two before he slid his hands back into your hair and guided your dumb, stupid, wet mouth over the top of his cock quickly.
You let him move your head just how he liked, let him push you down almost farther than you thought you could go. You ground your bare clit down into his shoe as you deepened your breaths, relaxing your body as you took inch after inch of his cock down your throat.
His hands were wound so tight in your hair that there wasn't space to move. You gagged, once and twice, but he held you in place still, enjoying the spit that spluttered around the base of his cock, the spasms of your contracting throat against the tip and length of his cock. You breathed deeply, ignoring the feeling of his pubic hair tickling your nose, scratching your cheek as you flattened out your tongue under his cock. You wished he would move, wished he would give you the space you needed to cum faster.
The desperation of the last few months built up and built up, and you knew that you were close to cumming, your hips rocking out of tempo now, crashing into his foot wildly, ass shaking as you felt his shoelaces rubbing uncomfortably against your thighs.
“God, what a pathetic little bitch, are you going to cum? Cum on my shoe, whore, show me how fucking desperate you are.”
You felt the exact moment your body convulsed against him, you knew the exact movement that made you cum, because you felt the flood of moisture pool underneath you as you squirted all over his floor. You made a note of reminding him to replace the rug before Emily returned.
Your whole body shook as you sat in the pool of your own cum, but he refused to let you pull away.
“Has my little puppy made a mess? What a shame. You can't stop yet, though.”
His grip on your face somehow became stronger, though not unpleasant, as he pulled your head up the length of his cock. You spluttered slightly, feeling the tension slip out of you as he emptied your throat. You didn't have more than a second to react before he quickly snapped your head back down over his cock, down to the base of his dick.
“Keep up, Y/N, this is what you wanted, remember.”
You choked on his cock, and he smiled down at you, taking your gags for nods as he proceeded to fuck your throat, deep and hard.
“So wet and warm for me, like a perfect little pet,” he said, hips already lifting off the couch as he tried to sink deeper into you.
You knew from experience that he'd soon grow tired of the limits of your mouth. He liked to hear you. He liked to see you drooling rather than feel it on his skin. As much as he could force his cock down your throat - and you deeply enjoyed when he did - he could get deeper if he sank into your pussy and you both knew it.
This part was just to lube his cock up, nice and wet, until he could take you nice and quick without having to touch your pussy. He needed you nice and wet and ready for him, especially on days like today where you'd been nothing but a cock tease in need of a harsh fucking. You deserved nothing more.
As predicted, he pulled your head off his cock after a few seconds and hauled you to your feet. You tried to climb onto him, to grip his cock in your hand and just sink down where you belonged, but he stood, too, lifting you up with him.
“Window,” he said, and you knew he must be close if he was ordering you around one word at a time. You nodded, but he kept his hands on you, moving you to the window quickly.
You knew he'd bend you over, take you against the outdoor window, whispering in your ear that anyone outside could see you if they just looked up. Instead, this time, he moved you to the opposite side of the office. The window he pressed you against was the one overlooking your desks, the one where, should he happen to open the blinds, every member of your team would be able to look up and watch you take his dick.
“Everyone left,” he whispered quickly as he shifted the blinds up an inch so you could see.
You breathed a sigh of relief noting that it was as empty as he claimed, but it didn't last long as he gently pressed his cock into your cunt, finally filling you how you'd needed to be filled for the last 60 days.
“Fuck, t-thank you, sir!”
All thoughts about the office below faded as he lifted your leg in his hand and let it rest on the edge of the window, pushing your face against the cold glass. Your office may have been empty, but that wasn't to say that there wasn't someone working late in the other departments, a janitor happening to pass through.
You knew, but you didn't care as you begged him to fill you up more and more.
“Just like that, just like that, yes!!! Fuck yes, Spencer I missed this, I missed you. Missed you so much,” you moaned as your hands slipped down the glass, already fogged with condensation, your hot breath hitting the cold glass.
“Needed this? You've been fucking yourself nightly for the last week. You didn't need this like I needed this,” he moaned, biting into your neck with a sharp kiss as you moaned loudly for him.
“Two m-months. You haven't fucked me for two months, what else was I supposed to do?”
He groaned in your ear again, reaching a hand around you and slapping your clit as he formulated an answer.
“Rest, you were supposed to rest,” he said, thrusts speeding up as your cunt gripped him tighter and tighter the closer you got to your second orgasm.
He groaned and pressed your face into the glass, holding you there and screwing his eyes shut as you both chased release.
“I didn't want to rest, I w-wanted to be by your side.”
His head rested against your shoulder as he felt the last waves of pleasure race towards him. His hand pushed down to your clit and rubbed you, sending you right over the edge with him as he filled you with his cum.
Neither of you could stay upright, collapsing down to the floor in a heap. Usually when he came inside you, he waited a few moments to pull out so he didn't make so much mess when he did. But in his exhaustion, in your shared bliss of finally reaching that precipice after so long, he slipped out early, as cum was still shooting from him.
You heaped together on the floor, chests heaving as you lay on top of him, your peace only broken by a single thought.
“We..-’ you gasped, breathing unsteady. “We need to deep clean this office before Emily comes back.”
He looked down at you, a look so serious and shocked you wondered if he was angry. And then he laughed. Short and soft, he giggled, and you couldn't help but join in, wrapping your arms around your stomach as it began to hurt, chest heaving from the pain of all your joy.
He sat up and gave you a hand up as well as you surveyed the damage.
“The rug has to go,” you said, feeling hot and embarrassed as you noticed the new wet stain on the near offensive fluffy thing.
“We should probably get some new throw pillows, too,” he remarked, and you nodded with a grimace. You made to stand up, but your legs felt weak, and you wobbled, but he was there to catch you, as he stood.
"Maybe just a new couch," you muttered, flushed with heat as you remembered how you'd humped the arm rest not even twenty minutes ago.
He closed the blinds before moving back to the couch and sitting you down on his lap once again, such a familiar place for you to be these days.
“You….” He started, worrying g his bottom lip with his teeth. “You really missed me?”
You startled, taken aback by the question. You thought the videos had made it clear, let alone the last half hour of intimacy.
“I… Yes, Spencer. I missed you a lot. I always miss you.”
“You… you do?”
You nodded again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.
“Y/N, when I am no longer your boss, in approximately a weeks time, would you possibly consider being my girlfriend?”
For the second time in the last two minutes, the man had you floored. And perhaps a little bit angry.
“I'm not… I'm not your girlfriend now?”
“Hmm? Oh, I-”
“Because I already told my friends about you, and I was definitely saying the word boyfriend, but if that's not what this is, I can correc-”
You saw the panicked look in his eye as he pulled you in for one last kiss.
“That's what this is!” he said frantically, cutting you off when you opened your mouth with another kiss. “I thought you wouldn't think that this was- no!” He kissed you again as you tried again to speak.
“Listen to me! I'm o-older than you, I thought I had to ask still. Do people not ask anymore?” He kissed you before you could answer.
“Rhetorical question.”
“I love yo-” you attempted to confess, but his lips covered yours swiftly, even as his eyes opened wide when he pulled away.
“Wait, no, say that again,” he begged, eyes weak and shiny and absolutely endearingly pathetic.
You shook your head and sealed your lips, miming, zipping them shut and throwing away the key.
“Y/N! Tell me again, tell me you love me again,” he said, kissing each of your cheeks. You poked his chest hard, and he kissed you once more.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, and kissed you again, trying to draw from your lips the words he had cut off earlier, losing himself in the pleasure of the moment as you sat together in the dark office, totally enamoured with one another.
Summary: Spencer comes to terms with your abduction.
Warnings: ANGST, Suicidal ideation, kidnapping, mentions of fetal abduction and murder of pregnant women, descriptions of abuse, descriptions of prenatal care, typical case details. Spencer is depressed.
A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is a day late, I literally saw God this weekend (I saw Taemin perform live), and really, all that's been on my mind is how God is Good (Taemin is hot), and so I haven't been able to write anything as depressing as this chapter. I hope you enjoy (?) it anyway~♡
Masterlist || tags are currently broken, I'm sorry ♡
Eight days. It had been eight days since Spencer had last seen you. Eight days since he'd screwed up his one job so massively that he'd lost you.
He'd lost people before. He'd lost people on cases. Victims, unsubs, bystanders, and family members who didn't stand a chance at recovering from their own loss. He'd lost Maeve, which was a little too similar to his current circumstances to think about too hard. He'd been losing his mother since he was born, and he'd really lost her again a few months ago. He'd lost Gideon. He'd lost Elle, too, before that. He'd lost Emily, and though she'd come back too, it wasn't the same. He'd lost Morgan, and then Hotch. He'd lost Alex Blake.
He'd lost nearly everyone in his life. Some of them had come back, most of them hadn't.
He'd thought himself immune to the pain of losing someone at last.
He'd certainly lost enough of himself in prison.
It may have only been 84 days, but whatever was left in him of hope before was gone. He'd emerged completely empty.
He supposed that's why he'd accepted the role at the university. There was nothing left for him to give to the BAU, but he couldn't be the one to leave.
As it was, he'd already been unsettled enough by leaving you behind when he'd finished up his time there.
It felt weird to him, saying goodbye. Not that he'd actually said goodbye. He'd kissed your forehead as he slipped out of your bed, sure, but you'd been neither conscious, nor fond of him in anyway. It was a parting gesture just for him and he hadn't been quite sure why he'd done it.
It was just a gesture and one he'd repeated multiple times after getting you back. You didn't know, of course. How could you?
He'd either woken up before you and kissed your forehead, or climbed into bed beside you late at night and greeted you then.
You'd lain side by side, drifting to sleep slowly, when he realized it had become a daily habit.
He hadn't any idea of what he'd do when you left.
And now you had. And it was his fault.
In the eight days since you'd been kidnapped, Spencer had come to terms with a few facts.
He knew 64,956 women were currently declared missing in the United States. He knew that 77% of adults reported missing were found in 24 hours. You weren't. He knew 4% were found in 48 hours. You weren't. Only 3% were usually missing still after a week.
You were somehow in that small minority, even though there was an entire team of FBI agents working around the clock to find you.
He'd had faith in his coworkers before. Before, he'd begged for their help, and they'd succeeded in 24 hours, even if the outcome wasn't preferable.
This time, he didn't beg. He had no faith. He just hoped to be present with a gun, loaded with two bullets, if this time went the way of the last.
On the eighth day after your abduction, Spencer finally returned home.
The damage from your abduction was still apparent.
Not that your captor had left many clues. In fact, they'd left none. Not even a fingerprint or a good angle on the CCTV. But he hadn't taken returning to an empty apartment well.
He slashed through the crime scene tape quickly, letting in hang in the doorway as he entered. The bookshelves he'd attacked were limping, leaning on each other for support after he'd ripped books off so violently he'd set them askew.
He'd kicked and ripped and punched the wall so hard he'd needed stitches that he'd absolutely refused to get.
He'd cried and sobbed into his bloodied and bruised hands until Emily had arrived, and then he'd cried some more, leaning on his friend, his sister, for her support.
Returning now, there wasn't a single tear left.
In the hospital, they'd addressed his flesh wounds, but the emotional ones would never hear.
You were gone. And now there was only a 3% chance he'd ever see you again.
Emily hadn't allowed him to stick around to make their jobs harder. She's placed him on house arrest - funnily enough, her house, where you should've been if he wasn't such a selfish ass - and assigned a watch.
She’d said it was for protection, but what she'd meant was it was to protect him from himself.
The rest of the team had avoided the topic entirely. They didn't know how to deal with whatever stage of grief he was going through. Many of them had comforted him the first time. They didn't know how to do it a second. They didn't know if they could.
After eight days, Spencer had left Emily’s apartment. He'd dodged the Agent she'd stationed alongside him, got into a taxi, and gone home.
Surveying the damage, he was surprised how deep the hurt had already cut to not feel much anymore.
He looked at the books splayed on the floor. It was a title that you'd been reading that week. One he remembered you using at the office, one that had been on both of your courses reading lists. He picked each of them up and put them back on the shelf. He righted each shelf and organised them neatly, how he thought you'd like them.
He picked pillows up and rearranged them. He vacuumed the debris from the floor, the thin layer of dust that had gathered since he'd left, the splinters pf bookcase that had crumbled off, the shards of wall that were speckled with his blood.
He wept the entire time, though silent, until there were no tears left to cry.
Then he'd come across a tiny package underneath his coffee table, a single corner of plastic peaking out, begging for attention.
He'd picked it up and wept again as he found depths of sadness to reach further down than what he'd assumed to be rock bottom.
Aa he lay in a pool of his own despair, a new, haunting fact crashed from his brain to his heart. Since 1987, there had been 21 foetal abductions in the USA. 19 of them had ended in homicide, with the mother dying.
You made 22.
In the two months since you'd been abducted, you'd learned three things.
The first was that you absolutely loved Spencer Reid. You'd spent enough time sitting introspectively about everything in your life to realize you had to stop being so stubborn and admit just that. You'd been about there before all of this, but now you knew for sure.
You should be cursing the man that inspired your horror show of a life, after all. But instead, you thought about him and held back tears.
She gave you updates these days, testing your reactions to his name, waiting to see you crack, to see you cry, and sob and break down completely.
Today, Spencer had been to see his mother, she said. He'd broken down in her arms and caused her to have an episode. She'd hit him so hard, his face had already been bruised by the time she saw him.
The second thing you knew was that your baby was going to be born healthy. You had no plans of having a home birth, but now, at seven months pregnant, and large enough that you almost thought about doing your conception math again, you knew you were on track for giving birth in the room you'd been in for the last 58 days.
You hadn't counted.
She’d been good enough to tell you the date, the day, and her plans every morning when she visited you. She checked your vitals, your blood pressure, the position of the baby, your temperature, your heart rate, and recorded everything in her chart. She asked you how the pregnancy was going, almost as if she was the nurse she'd been training to be.
Her bedside manner was so good some days. You forgot entirely that you were tied down to the bed, ankle clamped down.
She let you walk for an hour a day, but recommended bedrest after that for health reasons. You didn't complain or talk back because she didn't like that.
She let you read, and she was even curious about your reading, asking you questions and taking notes as if this were just part of her regular college schedule, an office hour that had taken over her life.
You shuddered sometimes as she stared up at you with those big eyes, so wide, and young, and naive, and full of hatred, and evil, and you wanted to claw them out and scream for help, and stab her with the pencil she wrote notes with, and stab, and stab, and stab, and-
The third thing you knew was that you'd never hold your baby in your arms because you'd be dead moments after they breathed their first breath.
You knew, because she had told you as much everyday since you'd woken up.
In two months, Spencer had become more manic and self-destructive than he'd ever been in his entire life.
His world centred around you, and finding you, even as his 3% slipped to 1%, slipped to 0.1%, and he knew deep inside that he'd never see you again.
He hadn't returned to the BAU but had instead turned his home into an investigation room, emptying the walls so he could pin up information, evidence, pictures of you, everything he could find. It wasn't that he'd regained hope, but he'd grown so desperate that he suddenly gripped hard onto the only slither of it that he had left and refused to drop it. He was a dog that didn't know the game of fetch only conti he'd if he dropped the ball. His life would not go on without you.
So he searched. He knew how far along you were. He knew how far along a woman had to be for a c section, professionally performed or not.
He barricaded himself into his house and paced for days as his friends pounded down his door. He let none in. He didn't go out. He wasn't sure what he ate, or drank, or if he slept, but he knew he paced, and he thought, and he came up with theories.
After two months, Emily was tired of knocking.
“Spencer Reid, I am coming in,” she shouted from behind the door.
He usually ignored her. She couldn't pass the bookshelves he'd moved in front of the door anyway, even if his superintendent had given her a key.
This time though, he heard a banging, a creak and a crash as the bookshelves went down and Emily, who had left him and returned, made her way inside his apartment.
“You barricaded the door?” she said, looking at him.
He took a shaky breath and tried to answer as she surveyed his apartment, the mess of papers, books, string on the wall. He saw her stare down at the pile of sheets on the floor where he'd been sleeping, the bag of your things he had dragged to be closer to him.
He saw her look at the baby shoes, and baby grows he'd laid out neatly on the floor, and he saw the pitying look she turned on him.
“She's pregnant,” he finally said out loud, though you must've been 7 months along by then. “I'm going to be a father.”
“Spencer,” Emily said, grasping his hand, voice cracking from the strain of emotion that coated her tongue, making her voice thick. “You would've been an amazing father.”
“No. No-” he said, breaking away and moving back to his wall. “No past tense, I won't let you… I won't let you give up on them.”
“It's been two months.”
“So she's only seven months pregnant. I have two more months to find her, Emily. Two more. At least allow me that.”
The tears in his eyes streamed freely now as she nodded.
“We will…. you know we'll help you. We'll do everything we can, so come to the office.”
He didn't want to give up his space. His reminders of you, the baby grows, the information he'd gathered.
Equally, he didn't like Emily being in this space. She thought you were already dead, and he couldn't even look her in the eye.
Reluctantly, he nodded, lifting himself up on legs weakened by insurmountable grief, and he followed her to Quantico.
By the end of your third trimester, you wondered how you could ever have gotten so big. When you gave birth, the child inside of you would only be the size of a small pumpkin. You felt like you'd swallowed five regular size pumpkins whole, and you felt you were still expanding.
The point worried her. She'd broken two glasses in tantrums this last week alone, measuring you every day.
The closer you got to birth, the more agitated she grew.
“This demon inside of you is going to kill you. I won't even have to do it myself,” she'd whispered to herself, or to you, as she took your vitals that morning.
“Please don't say that.”
“Why not? You're a whore, and you're going to give birth to a devil. You have seduced my soul mate, because you are a jezebel and the Lord is punishing you.”
You'd needed all the strength you could get for these conversations. Even one tear, and she'd erupt and put a knife at your neck. With only a few weeks left, there was no saying whether she'd speed her plan along.
“I did not seduce your soul mate,” you said as calmly as you could muster, taking deep breaths, hoping that she would mirror them and calm down.
“Do we have to watch the fucking video again?” she spat at you, stomping around to the side of your bed and pulling out her phone. She queued up the video quickly and you averted your eyes.
She turned them back quickly, holding your head in place as she forced you to watch your own office space. She showed you the videos of you and Spencer talking, teasing each other. She showed you the video of you insisting you were not attractive to him. She showed you the video of Spencer fucking you on the sofa, though she screamed and cut her fingernails into her skin the entire way through.
She even showed you the video of her attempting to seduce Spencer during their office hour. It was the first video in her collection, the first time she'd set up the camera. She used your entrance as proof that you were breaking her apart from her soul mate. From Spencer.
You were a whore who had thrown herself at him in anyway you could, and you had trapped him with a baby.
She was going to free him from all responsibility so he could be with her.
“My baby will be your devil,” she said as the video ended, and you forced your heart to settle.
“It is not your baby.”
“Spencer won't know that. He doesn't know it's your baby either, and who are the authorities going to believe when I show up with his child. One paternity test later, and I'll have him, and we can be a happy family together, and we can live happily. I'll take in your devil and raise it as my own, and we'll forget about the whore who almost ruined it all.”
The psychosis was so clearly written on her face, you were surprised no one had caught onto her state yet. She was devolving. She'd been calm, and contemplative the first week. She'd laid out her plans still, her insane plans, and seemed somewhat coherent.
Then she'd began rambling about the devil and soul mates, and you'd pitied her, even in your fear.
Now you were just glad she counted your office tryst as your conception date, and you'd never corrected her.
She still believed there was a month left until your death. You knew it was days.
You just prayed your baby could buy you some time.
“Professor?” she said as she carried away the tray of items she'd checked your vitals with
“Yes.”
“You are not in love with Spencer Reid,” she said, as if trying to convince you.
“No,” you said, trying to convince yourself though it was hopeless. “I am not in love with Spencer Reid.”
The first lead in the case came on your due date. Patient confidentiality was, happily, overlooked by a few doctors when he pressed the issue, needing to know until when he was counting down.
He'd done the rough math himself, but he needed a professional opinion.
The lead came in the form of an email. The university was cleaning out your office to make way for a new professor, despite his insistence that you'd return, and they needed him to collect things.
And though he knew you'd be giving birth that day, and he had run out of time, something compelled him to go and do this menial task on today of all days.
Luke had joined him, and then so had JJ and Emily, and Penelope and Tara. Rossi had even arrived to watch you pile books into boxes that were supposed to have lived on these shelves for a long career. Everyone in the room was so busy watching him, waiting for him to crack, that it had to be him to find it.
At first, he thought it was a hole in the couch. It was so dark and black, its curved corners giving the illusion of introversion. Then he'd touched it and felt the rough bump.
“Penelope, here, now,” he breathed out, gasping for air as he finally pulled the tiny spy camera free and thrust it into his friends hands.
He had a lead. He had you now.
The first hour of labour was inconvenient only because you weren't alone. She'd been tending to you all morning, fussing over your food, trying to maintain the right amount of prenatal vitamins as she usually did, but she'd ran out of two bottles, and the pharmacy wasn't open.
You sat still and uncomfortable, trying to not even flinch as your water broke, too afraid of death to be thinking about the life you were bringing into this world.
The second hour ticked by much the same until she left.
The third came, and you ceased your screams of pain, even as your hands bore holes into your sheets. She returned, and you knew there wasn't much longer until she knew.
By hour four, she had your legs spread and was watching you deliver your baby, and you knew the same blade that would sever your umbilical cord would also end your life.
By hour five, you were so delirious with pain that you thought you saw Spencer. You heard his voice cooing to you as you pushed. You felt his hands wipe away your sweat, smooth the hair from your eyes. You heard his voice announce your daughters birth, and you felt his lips against your skin as you finally gave up fighting and drifted into oblivion.
I was playing around with ElevenLabs and got caught up in this little mini-project which ended up being really fun! It's a dramatization of the moment R and Eddie first meet in chapter one, complete with different voices and background sound effects. I may do this again for later chapters if it's something y'all like!
I'm including the excerpt below the cut in case you wanna read along. No warnings for this section, but please make sure to check the series and chapter warnings thoroughly if you are a new potential reader. Thanks! 💙
chapter one | masterlist | chapter two coming soon!
By the end of your first week, you’ve also grown accustomed to the back of the house. Even the sight of Harry, the line cook, begins to comfort you. He is large, broad-shouldered and thick, but his movements are measured and gentle, set with a pace that speaks assurance that things will get done when they get done. In fact, his movements are so predictable that every time you shuffle through the swinging doors into the kitchen at the start of your shift, you anticipate the repetitive sound of his thick bull hands scraping the spatula slow and even as he works the cooktop.
So the sight that greets you now as you catch the door from Sherry is quite jarring.
Before the cooktop stands a man who is both shorter and thinner than Harry but somehow far more imposing. He’s angular and jagged, frenetic in his movements: booted foot tapping tile, elbow jutting sharp as he jerks the spatula, a wild mess of curls shaking as his head bobs exaggeratedly. And the sound of the kitchen isn’t at all soothing in his presence. There’s some kind of tinny howling coming from him, some unholy noise that nearly makes you halt at the threshold of the swinging doors before you realize it’s coming from underneath his hair and not from him, exactly. You quickly spot the thin cord running down to the tape player clipped to his tight dark pants, though the handkerchief swaying at his hip— old and spilling loose threads, black and white and emblemed with eerie skulls— has your nerves kicking up again just as quickly.
Sherry’s voice is hoarse from smoke and age but, to your surprise, not filled with even a hint of the same nerves as she greets the man. “Afternoon, Ed,” she says, sounding almost fond as she shouts to be heard above the music.
Almost instantly, the headphones are jerked down to hang around his neck, and when the man spins abruptly from the cooktop to face you both, your chest clenches again. His voice is brash and warm, mouth split wide to flash his eyeteeth as his gaze finds your coworker quickly. “Afternoon, Sher,” he says, mimicking her fond inflection, a teasing grin dimpling the corner of his plush pink lips. “How’s my best girl?”
Your eyes quickly dart from him to Sherry and then back, face frozen so as not to reveal your reaction: a mixture of wariness and confusion since he looks almost thirty years younger than her. Sherry just rolls her eyes and purses her lips, which are crackled with deep pink lipstick. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all your best girl, aren’t we, Eddie?” It’s said with long-suffering sarcasm like this exchange is akin to slipping on an old pair of shoes— worn in and comfortably molded to one’s foot.
The man, Eddie, doesn’t reply, though his smile does widen. Sherry nods your way but addresses him. “This is the new girl. Be nice,” she warns, wagging a gnarled finger.
“Whaddya mean, Sher? I’m always nice.” Eddie huffs through his nose, showily stretching his arms above his head and holding his clothed elbows as his eyes slide to you. Yours dip to the dark stains beneath his pits, the evidence of his toil and sweat that begs the question of why he’d be wearing long sleeves if he’s that hot. “Hello, new girl,” he says lightly, and his voice hums like there’s a secret joke he’s holding back from laughing at.
The cock of his hip, the sharpness of his limbs, the narrowness of his waist where the apron is tied hastily, the stretch of his ribcage against the dirty long-sleeved shirt, the tilt of his lips— it hits you suddenly what he is, just as suddenly as you’d realized that Sherry and the girls are bleating goats and Harry is a gentle bull.
This man is a coyote.
Suddenly, that feeling of safety is threatened. What else could explain that rush of tingling awareness pricking up your neck when he acknowledges your presence, if not the fear that a predator is near?
Instinct drives a prey animal when confronted in such a way. You’ve seen it yourself back at home: hens clucking and skittering in the dirt when they sense a fox, horses swaying uneasily in their stalls when a wolf prowls the woods beyond the paddock. And like a prey animal, your body can either freeze or flee. It chooses the latter.
You squeak out some semblance of a greeting— even fear can’t entirely overwhelm the graces you’ve been taught— and hurry around Sherry to duck into Willy’s office. You want to close the door, to wedge a physical barrier between yourself and those dark eyes and flashing white teeth, but you resist the urge knowing Sherry will be coming in right behind you, and the gesture is not only futile but potentially rude.
You’re tying your apron when she enters, and she catches your eyes immediately when you look up. Sherry purses her lips at the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes; she chuckles, but there’s an edge of sympathy. “Oh, come on now, dear," she consoles you. “Eddie might look some type of way, but he doesn’t bite.” Her wrinkled eyes soften as she regards you, the tease in her voice gentling as she adds, “He’s a good boy.”
You force a smile, but her assurances can’t dispel the goosebumps prickling along your flesh. They don’t calm your trembling fingers as they slip your notepad into your white apron, smoothing along scratchy cotton afterward as if attempting to press out the bulge it makes against the front of your body. Your body whispers danger and your mind does, too. And if the spirit guides the flesh, then you know you feel this way for a reason.
Sherry’s platitudes are no match for instinct and belief.
Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.
Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.
A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...
Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list
You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.
You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too.
Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it.
“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with.
You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway.
You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.
“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in.
“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her.
You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her.
“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé.
“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you.
“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.”
“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.”
You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain.
You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again.
“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before.
“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-”
“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her.
How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it?
You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been.
“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.”
“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.
The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid.
“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter.
“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.”
Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity.
She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate.
“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.”
“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”
Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact.
Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too.
After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again.
“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.”
You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten.
You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you.
Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids.
JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly.
“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-”
A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused.
“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…”
“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world.
“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right?
“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.”
You nodded at the answer.
“And Spencer?”
“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised.
“If I told him, you'd know.”
“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb.
“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?”
“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.”
You waved him off, and sat down with the kids.
JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art.
In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again.
“So, you're not dating?”
“Nope.”
“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?”
“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other.
You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him.
“Okay. What's your next move?”
You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her.
“I… what?”
“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”
“Oh god…”
“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?”
It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about.
“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words.
“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.”
Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip.
“We don't do anything but argue.”
“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you.
“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.”
“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”
“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.”
“Don't need to-”
“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-”
“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.
“You like him,” she said.
You sighed and finally gave in.
“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.”
“Great. What next?”
“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.”
She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table.
“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”
You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear.
The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it.
JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly.
“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”
“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”
She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts.
You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was.
You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer.
Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…?
You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities.
You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in.
“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile.
“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed.
“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.”
That one was mostly a joke. Mostly.
“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby.
You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again.
The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him.
Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open.
Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were.
Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you.
summary: spencer is far too oblivious to your pining, until he catches you with elle. she clears some things up for him, taking the wingwoman role into her own interpretation.
A/N: MINORS DNI. yes i titled this after a lyric from pitbull’s 2009 smash hit, hotel room service. im not super pleased with this, but it’s my first threeway fic so. learning curve i guess. this was requested from my sideblog @subspencer thanks to those who sent ideas in!
category: fem!reader x reidaway, SMUT, fluff if you squint
warnings: three-way, softdom!elle, sub!spencer, switch!reader. mild alcohol consumption (within boundaries of consent), fingering + oral/face riding (fem receiving), choking (f to f), face slapping (f to f), penetration (m to f), unprotected sex (not recommended irl). reader implied as bisexual
word count: 7.3k
The team was scattered throughout the dive bar, each of them finding their own way to fill their brief time off. Where everyone else was located was of no concern to you, though, because you were standing at the pool table. Next to Spencer. And from there, you got to watch him very closely.
There are few situations in which Spencer finds himself feeling confident. Apparently, playing pool was one of them, and you had a front row seat to that show.
He had this precision about the way he moved. A steadiness in his hands as he drew the pool stick back with his dominant hand, gliding it against the knuckles of his other as it snapped forward. He never waited to see how his shot turned out, because the cue ball always knocked his target into the pockets. Every time.
Requested: Can I request Spencer x female!reader who are in an established relationship and she sees him kiss cat that one time. And once the case is over she’s not actually mad cause she understands he had to but she kinda plays it up a bit like ‘I don’t think you’ve ever kissed me like that’
Warnings: BDSM themes, dom! Spencer Reid, mentions of cheating, voyeurism, cuckolding, exhibitionism, bondage, handcuffs, penetrative sex (P in V), consensual degradation (use of whore and slut), anal play, cum play, implied unprotected sex, unconventional sex location (non-public), rough sex, clit stimulation, etc.
A/N: Additional warning - you may not see God's blessing if you read on. To say I got carried away would be an understatement. If you're reading this and you know me, do not ask questions. Simply separate the art from the artist. It's what I want (I'm being dramatic).
Masterlist || Bingo Board
You'd promised Spencer that you wouldn't let Cat Adams or anything she said or did get to you. You'd waven him off on his “date,” kissed him goodbye, and then sat on his couch for hours worrying.
And you'd kept worrying as the hours passed, until you'd heard voices in the hallway and then movement, and the door was opening and you saw it.
Your boyfriend savagely pushing another woman up against a wall, fighting for control, his large hands spread wide and tensed against skin, his lips sucking and kissing and preening, and showing his control.
You watched for entirely too long before you accidentally made your presence known.
It was a game to Cat, and you knew enough about her to know that you couldn't show any reaction. You didn't know if she'd only get more dangerous if she knew just how much you'd enjoyed watching that.
You held the conversation still, letting Spencer push at whatever game it was he was playing with Cat, but you weren't wholly there. Instead, your mind was playing the comparison game.
You loved Spencer. Spencer loved you. When you had sex with Spencer, it was clear that Spencer loved you.
And maybe love was all there was to it because based on what you'd now seen, there wasn't exactly that much heat when you did it.
If he could be so rough - and you wanted him to be rough - then why wasn't he being rough with you?
He may have been playing games with Cat, but you'd fucked him enough to know the subtle postures of his arousal. You caught it in the way he held himself, the way his breathing hitched, the way he was looking.
Not just at her, but at you, too. As if he were caught between the two of you, unsure who to force to their knees first.
So you let him do the talking and tried to distract yourself from a moment of arousal that you feared would never be satisfied.
To your credit, you lasted two weeks. You hadn't made love to him that night because it was too soon, and he was desperately grovelling in apology for something you weren't angry about in the slightest.
Sure, you should've been angry. If not because he'd made out with another woman than he'd made out with a sociopathic serial killer specifically, one who'd made his life a misery. But you couldn't bring yourself to be upset when your hands worked their way between your legs every time you thought about it.
A week after, he caught you pleasuring yourself, and he'd taken over, kissing you gently and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
His touch was pathetically gentle, and after you came, he rolled off the bed and took himself to the bathroom, leaving you alone.
A week after that, he initiated sex again, but it was soft, sweet, and so warm that you felt almost ashamed for wanting him to choke you out even just a little bit.
Spencer wasn't exactly unaware of your preoccupation.
You hadn't kissed him without frowning in two weeks, and you hadn't initiated anything sexual yourself. There was still the casual intimacy, the friendship, the I Love You’s, but you seemed distant and he knew he fucked up.
You drew a line in the sand when he started coming home with flowers.
“Spencer-? What is this?” You said as he pushed the bouquet into your hands, kissing you hello as he walked through the door.
“Flowers. Lilies, to be specific, you like lilies, right? I didn't ask, I should've asked-”
“Why did you buy me flowers?” You said, still just staring at him and the guilt on his face.
“I thought - You like flowers.”
“I do. But I also like to know the reason behind the flowers, so spill.”
He hesitated for a moment and let out a sigh, running his hands through his hair as he looked between you and the flowers.
“Lilies are apology flowers.”
“Spencer,” you said, almost exasperated, throwing your hand sin the air and walking back to the kitchen.
“You're upset. You're obviously upset. I kissed Cat, and-”
“You did a little more than kiss her.”
“Y/N,” his voice getting slightly deeper, his voice warning you to tread lightly. “You're jealous.”
“I already told you I'm not,” you said, even though that was half a lie. “It's just-”
“Just what? Jealousy? Speak to me, Y/N, you've been ignoring me all week.”
His brow was furrowed, his stress evident in the hard lines of his body, his stiff shoulders, the line of his mouth. You wanted to keep pressing his buttons until that anger, that stress, boiled over, and you got to experience what Cat had.
“Sorry,” you said, dropping the lilies on the counter in your kitchen and turning around to face him once again. “I haven't been ignoring you, though. Ignoring someone is when you make out with another woman in a doorway, not knowing your girlfriend is sitting on a couch watching the entire thing.”
“Y/N!”
“What? I'm not allowed to tell the truth now? Are you afraid you'll feel too guilty?”
“I am so sorry, Y/N, it was-”
“I'm not.” You said quickly as he stepped forward. You knew that if you let him get further in his apology, he'd bundle you up in his arms, and gently carry you away to kiss and hug and cuddle and have sex in the most dignified, loving way imaginable. You didn't want that.
“What?”
“I'm not sorry. I lied earlier. I'm not sorry, I'm fucking envious.”
You slid your hands down his chest as he stilled again, watching g your hand descend to the front of his pants. You grabbed his belt and pulled him closer.
“Spencer, why have you never fucked me like that?”
His eyes widened in shock, but they quickly flicked back to your hands as you slowly unbuckled his belt.
“I… I didn't fuck her, let's get that straight.”
“I know,” you said, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I was watching.”
His hands gripped the counter as he stared at you straight-faced, finally locking eyes with you as you pulled his belt free and dropped it to the floor.
“I don't want to treat you the way I treated her,” he said, voice quieter but still full of tension, as if ready to shout at any second.
“You don't want to fuck me?” You asked, even as you grabbed his cock through his pants, taunting him with the fact that he did. You knew he did, because you held the evidence in your hand.
“No…! Yes, I do, but not... like that.”
“Not like what?” You said, pushing his shirt up and out of his pants so your hands had more room to explore, fewer layers of clothing to obstruct.
“Like… like a… fuck, stop distracting me.”
“I'm not distracting you, I'm trying to prove to you that this is meaningless and that you should bend me over and fuck me like a cheap whore.”
“Y/N!” he said, either exasperated, or desperately horny from your grip on his hard cock.
He grabbed your hand and pulled it away from him, pinning it against the counter with his own.
“Stop.”
“No,” you spat back at him, pressing closer to him and wiggling your hand free so it could stroke his dick again. “Not until you make me.”
His lips dropped to yours in a kiss, but this time, you could tell you'd made progress. An annoyed harrumph echoed through the kiss, and you fought his tongue back as he tried to take control of your mouth, attempting to gently lead as he always did.
“Y/N,” he moaned, as your hands fought off his to fondle his cock, unbuttoning his pants and pulling it free as you stroked it gently, teasingly.
You had to show him a taste of his own medicine.
“Y/N, we need to talk, keep your hands to yourself.”
“No,” you said, stroking harder, spotting into your hand while keeping eye contact with him. “Unless you want to try and stop me?”
He watched your hand fall back to his cock, watched you tease the tip with one small stroke, then another, and then another.
And then he finally broke.
He pushed your hands off quickly, twisting one arm up and around your back, pinning it there as he grabbed his handcuffs and attached your hands together behind your back.
“Spencer!” you gasped.
“Cheap whore? That's what you wanted?” He said, pulling your hips back so his cock could nestle in the fabric of your skirt.
You nodded, rolling your shoulders to test the limits of your new restraints. Restraints you knew had been on Cat two weeks ago. You wondered if he was thinking about her now as his cock got harder and harder. You wondered why that turned you on so much.
“Okay. I'll give you what you want, but don't complain after.”
“Please, like you could actually hurt me that much.”
His hand immediately crept up to your neck and wrapped around it delicately. He didn't press down, but the threat was there as he leant down to whisper in your ear.
“Y/N?” You nodded in response, not chancing talking back. “Shut the fuck up.”
His hands pulled your skirt up first, and you found yourself without underwear just as fast, though you felt it suspended between your knees. He ran a finger through your folds, pushing your legs wider with one hand as the other grabbed a fistful of hair and slowly forced your head onto the counter.
This was new. All of this was new. The position, the location, the emotion. The handcuffs. You struggled against them again but didn't say a word, as his hand gently came down on your bare ass.
“Ah,” you cried out in surprise, jumping slightly as you felt the impact.
“I said be quiet,” he said from behind you, inspecting your pretty pink pussy as you displayed yourself for him.
One finger slowly slid into you, and you bit your lip to hold back a moan. It was joined by a second finger, and then he started moving them.
He'd touched you before, buried himself deep inside even, but this new angle felt different, and your eyes rolled shut as he pumped in and out. With two weeks of frustration, you were perfectly wet for him already, and you were almost embarrassed about the wet sounds his ministrations were causing already.
“S-Spencer,” you moaned, pushing your hips back into him, in time with his fingers.
He pulled out his hands and slapped your ass again, hard, as you cried out.
“You want to be treated like a cheap whore, but even they follow instructions, Y/N.”
You heard him spit on his hands again, and then his digits returned.
Except they didn't return to your pussy, but a spot higher up.
His fingers lubed up your ass with his spit and your arousal as he gently slid a finger into your ass, and you cried out in shock, or pain, or arousal, or whatever it was that had your head sagging to the counter, your legs lifting onto your tiptoes to allow him better access to your holes.
“You're even tighter here than there…” he said, almost curiously, as of transfixed by watching his fingers enter and exit you.
You were so distracted by his fingers, you barely noticed his cock probing at your pussy before it slid into you entirely.
You really couldn't help the mess you made of the kitchen counter. When he pushed into you, he used his free hand to lift your leg slightly, and inadvertently pushed your clit into the edge of the kitchen counter. With every thrust of fingers and hips, you ground into the edge, pussy flooding with juices as you were stimulated on all fronts.
You almost begged him to play with your nipples as well, just to see what the experience would feel like, how hard you could cum when every area of your body was being bombarded with pleasure.
As it was, the cock and handcuffs probably would've been enough. But you felt the shame of your arousal dripping down your leg, piddling at your feet. You heard him questioning which part of the experience it was that had led to you being such a desperate slut.
Was it his cock? Was it the fingers in his ass? Was it the handcuffs? Was it the fact that you were still imagining him doing exactly this to another woman while you watched on?
You didn't know, and he didn't degrade you further by asking.
His hand gripped your hair again, pulling you back harshly so your back arched, and your clit painfully pushed down into the edge of the counter.
With a scream - a loud, sudden, uncontrollable thing - you came, letting loose a torrent of cum down your leg.
Still, he kept thrusting, but he let go of his previous vow of silence.
“You are such a cheap whore, aren't you?” He said, removing his finger from your ass, hands gently gripping your hips as he pulled your ass cheeks, inspecting how far he'd stretched you, how much your hole gaped open.
“You've been so jealous that I wasn't tossing you around all this time. My cock could've been buried inside someone else, and you'd have enjoyed that. Wouldn't you?”
You could only moan in response, too scared to confirm or deny. You wanted more.
“You know, Y/N,” he started, leaning down to your ear again, squishing you painfully against the hard counter. “Cheap whores don't deserve cream pies.”
Just as you approached another climax, he pulled out of you, letting you crumple to the floor without his weight counterbalancing your own.
Then he hooked a finger under your jaw and lifted your head up. He barely managed to grunt out “close your eyes” before his cum was shooting out over your face.
“Fuck, I'm sorry, I love you… I love you, I love you, I love you, I love-”
Your lips parted in shock as a spurt hit your chin, your eyes. It was even in your hair. He aimed after that and managed to get a good amount of it on your tongue as you grimaced away from his hold.
But his hands held you still, and you swallowed it, even wiping the spurts from your cheek and eyes and licking off your hands as you cleaned up.
When he was finished, Spencer let you go and leaned back against the kitchen counter. When you could open your eyes again, you stared up at him in shock before collapsing down and laying on the cold floor of your kitchen, chest heaving.
“I knew…. I knew it would be more…” you said, unable to find the words to describe the deeds you'd just done.
“But I wasn't expecting… most of that.”
“I'm so-”
“Do not fucking apologise,” you demanded, pointing a stern finger at him as he pulled himself together.
“Next time you bring flowers home, I'm going to be expecting that as a follow up,” you laughed, letting him help you off the floor and release you from your constraints.
“So,” he said, playing with the cuffs as he gave you an awkward, straight smile. “Bondage, huh?”
You burst into laughter as you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him all the way to the bathroom.
“By the way,” you said, beginning to strip yourself off, distracted only by your attempts to strip him off as well. “You're cleaning the kitchen after we're done.”
Summary: When your employer suddenly needs to find a date to accompany him to a work event, your evening plans take an unexpected turn away from babysitting his son. And then another turn, right into Mr. Hotchner's bed
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 9.5k
Warnings: babysitter!reader, Jack and Jessica are there briefly, age gap (unspecified, but reader is a grad student), alcohol but not a lot, Hotch is an implied slut, tension, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, dirty talk bc who would I be if there was none, some spit kink I guess?, some light degradation, praise kink, Hotch is a confirmed slut and a filthy one at that, mutual orgasms for romantic purposes, creampie
A/N: This was originally a request for the lovely @canuck-eh, who graciously gave me permission to write it instead bc this concept immediately grabbed my brain by the balls and refused to let go! And a massive shoutout to @greg-montgomery for giving me the confidence to post this :) I love and appreciate you, my friends <333 Find it on ao3 here, or under the cut!
Happy reading <3
I bet I look good on your arm
I bet you look good with your black tux on
Even better after jack and soda
Even more handsome as you grow older
“You can’t be serious.”
Mr. Hotchner’s voice floats over from the doorway, where he’s talking to Jack’s aunt Jessica. You’re playing with Jack in the living room, and when you look over the boy’s shoulder you can see his aunt standing in the doorway, shaking her head. That’s intriguing, and it makes you strain to hear them over Jack’s cheering at his video game.
Usually, you aren’t much of a gossip hound. But you were called in to babysit for Jack at the last minute tonight, and when Mr. Hotchner let you into the apartment, you couldn't help noticing his dress pants, crisp white shirt, and the untied bowtie hanging around his neck.
Something is going on, and as Jack’s babysitter of over a year… Well, it’s your business, a little bit, to know what’s happening in the Hotchner household. Right?
“She can’t help that she’s sick, Aaron. Are you sure you need to bring someone? I mean, it can’t hurt for you to just go alone this year, right?” Jessica is speaking in a calming tone; you can’t see Mr. Hotchner’s face, but you can picture the stressed-out pinch of his eyebrows all the same.
“If I could go alone, I would, but it’s about the optics. It was made very clear to me that if I want to get through the door, I need to have a… a date.” He spits the word out as though it’s offended him, and your eyes widen.
Mr. Hotchner never has a date. It must be by choice, though, because he’s so handsome that it hurts to look right at him sometimes. There’s no shortage of women who would be attracted to him, but he’s never shown interest in anyone at all in the year that you’ve known him.
God only knows why you suddenly move. Even as you do it, touching Jack’s shoulder with a murmured, ‘Be right back, buddy’ while you get to your feet, you’ve got no clue what you’re doing. Why are you walking towards the doorway? Why are you looking at Jessica and Mr. Hotchner, and… why are you speaking?
“What’s going on? Do you… Can I help with anything?” you offer, and Jessica’s eyes go so wide that it’s almost comical.
At the same time that Mr. Hotchner gives you a little smile and a soft, ‘Thank you, but no’, Jessica claps her hands together and exclaims, “Yes! You’re perfect! This is perfect.”
Mr. Hotchner looks at her, his expression of surprise morphing into something more like a brotherly annoyance. “You can’t be serious.”
“Of course, I’m serious.” When she sees your puzzled expression, Jessica just gives you a smile and pulls you down the hall toward the spare bedroom you’ve stayed in before while Mr. Hotchner joins Jack and his video games. In the bedroom, your suitcase is resting against the wall; you’ve taken to keeping extra clothes here in case you need to stay for a few nights at a time, due to your employer’s unpredictable work schedule. “Do you have anything to wear out? You know, to an event?”
‘Pack for every occasion’ has always been a personal rule for you, no matter how silly it sounds. “Actually, I… I might have a dress, I can see if I’ve got it here. What’s going on?”
You rifle through your suitcase and come out with your prize, and that’s when Jessica finally fills you in. There’s an FBI event (“A gala or banquet, one of those. Something stuffy, you know.”) and Mr. Hotchner’s date fell through at the last minute (“-And I told her to wear a jacket if she insisted on jogging in the rain, but no. So now she’s out of commission.”).
Jessica gives you the full story while you change into the dress, and she helps you fix up your hair and put on some makeup while she talks. The long and short of it is that Mr. Hotchner needs a date, and when you ask why Jessica can’t accompany him, she just laughs and points out how many eyebrows that would raise. Considering that her deceased sister is Mr. Hotchner’s ex-wife, you concede that she’s got a point.
So, it’s settled. Jessica will watch Jack, and you’ll be Mr. Hotchner’s date to the gala-slash-banquet-slash-stuffy-event. No pressure.
Somewhere between mascara and lipstick, you realize the obvious of what you already knew. You’re going to be Mr. Hotchner’s date. You’re going to be the date of your attractive boss, in a room full of government officials who earn more in a month than you do in a year. Talk about ‘no pressure’. Then, another thought occurs to you.
“Did Mr. Hotchner actually agree to this? I mean… to taking me as his date?” As you speak you look at yourself in the mirror, gingerly running a finger over your eyebrow to smooth it into shape. You look good, and you might be preening a little, but her reply crashes you back into reality.
“He doesn’t have a choice, does he?” Right. Right, of course, because he just needs a woman on his arm. It doesn’t matter who. Jessica gives you something close to a conspiratorial smile and lowers her voice a little. “But between you and me… I don’t think he’s going to put up any kind of a fight once he sees you. You’ll be the hottest person there.”
‘Not as hot as your brother-in-law’ is hardly an appropriate reply, so you just smile at her. “Thank you. Thanks for helping me get ready, too.” You adjust your dress as you speak. It’s black and the fabric sits just above your knees. The dress is fitted, adorned with cutouts along the side of your right thigh, as well as a larger teardrop-shaped one in the center of the chest just below your neck that’s designed to show off some cleavage.
It’s definitely more of a dress to go clubbing in, but you’re working with what you’ve got. Jessica promises you that it’s no trouble, and before you know it she’s taking you by the hand and dragging you back out into the living room.
Your employer is standing by the doorway, fiddling with his keys when he glances up to meet your eyes. He looks even more handsome than usual in his black tuxedo, and the cologne he’s wearing smells like summer wind, like something familiar; you recognize it as the cologne you bought him on his birthday.
Jessica assured you that Mr. Hotchner wouldn’t put up a fight about taking you as his date. You aren’t quite sure what the opposite of a fight is, but it’s probably not what you get; his eyes flicking over you from head to toe, his tongue darting out to wet his lips for a split second, and then… “People are going to think I hired her.”
There’s a reply on the tip of your tongue about how he actually did hire you, but then the full implications of his words hit you, and you can’t bring yourself to speak.
“Aaron, don’t be rude,” Jessica scolds, and you can see the instant mortification on Mr. Hotchner’s face when he realizes what he said. “She looks beautiful.”
“She does, I… you do,” Mr. Hotchner promises, now directing his attention towards you. His gaze is burning into you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the quick glance toward the cutout of the dress that shows off your chest. “You look beautiful. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything else by that. I just meant… well, I don’t think anyone would believe you’re with me.”
Jessica chuckles a little at that, says that she ‘hopes you kids have fun’, and then she’s off to check on Jack. That leaves you alone with Mr. Hotchner, still reeling from his words. When you try to speak, he beats you to it. If you didn’t know better, you would think that he looks nervous right now.
“I don’t mean that no one would believe you’re with me. I meant that… I don’t think anyone is going to believe that someone who looks like… this… would actually willingly accompany me to anything.” Mr. Hotchner pauses, grimacing a little; you can tell that his words are meant to be much more complimentary than they sound. Finally, he gives you a little smile that just speaks to how awkward he feels. “People are going to think I hired you. I mean that… with the greatest of compliments. Or they won’t think you’re with me at all.”
When you laugh, his smile grows a little bit. He reaches for his wallet, and you get another whiff of his cologne, and you can’t stop yourself from saying, “So, can I get a bit of your cologne?”
“What?” Mr. Hotchner’s hand freezes halfway into his pocket, and his eyes dart back up to meet yours.
Your cheeks feel a little warm, but you’ve been bold enough to say it already and you can’t exactly take it back now. “Your cologne. I mean, I smell like hairspray and powder, and I don’t have any perfume here. Come on, Mr. Hotchner, help me out. Besides, if I smell like you, then people will know we’re together, right? They’ll know that you actually brought someone with you.”
Mr. Hotchner’s eyebrow is raising steadily as you speak, but he gives you a slow nod all the same. “I’ll be… right back,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone down the little hallway you appeared from a couple of minutes ago.
When he comes back, there’s a glass bottle full of blue liquid in his left hand, and, yes, it’s definitely the cologne that you bought him. He raises it to spritz into the air, and you smile to yourself when you see that the bottle is half-empty. How often does he use it?
His hand motions you forward, and you step through the scented mist and pull on a pair of high heels that Jessica left here after a night out while he sets the bottle aside. “Ready to go?” You ask, fiddling with an earring to make sure it’s still in place.
Mr. Hotchner grabs your purse off the counter and passes it over to you, holding his car keys in his other hand. “I’m ready. Jack, we’re leaving now. Be good for Auntie Jess, okay?” He calls out, and Jack shouts out a muffled ‘Bye!’ from the living room before Mr. Hotchner opens the apartment door, motioning for you to step through first.
You walk to his car in silence, trying to think of something to say. You’ve been alone with your employer on occasion, but never like this. You’ve got a decently friendly relationship, too; he’s warmed up to you a lot over the last year, and these days he actually relaxes and smiles and cracks jokes with the most bone-dry sense of humour you’ve ever heard.
It’s a far cry from when he first hired you, and he was all business with a stoic frown and a glare to match. He’s grown more chatty, and he’s often asking you questions about your life, your grad studies, anything the conversation might invite him to wonder about.
He’s not chatting now, though, as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Mr. Hotchner–”
“Aaron. Please, call me Aaron.” It’s something he’s said before, but he sounds a little firmer than usual right now. “If you don’t want to do that regularly, I understand. But for tonight, I’m Aaron.”
“Aaron.” His name sounds foreign on your tongue, but it’s not bad. Usually, you use his last name. It’s a barrier, a wall of professionalism, reminding you that he’s your employer. No matter how handsome he is, how charming he can be, or how good he looks in the morning when he’s come home in the middle of the night and wakes up to find you cooking breakfast. He’s your boss. “Okay. Anyways, I’m sorry your date cancelled. Hopefully, you can go out when she’s feeling a little better.”
Mr. Hotcher–Aaron–snorts a little at that, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve never met her. When Jessica found out about the gala, she insisted that I go and take her friend as my date. I’m just sorry that you got roped into it; it’s not exactly your scene.”
His shoulders are relaxing a little bit as he speaks, and it makes you relax in turn. “Oh, really? What’s my scene, then, Aaron?” You ask, and you watch a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, aside from playing video games with Jack.”
“Oh, I don’t know. But I promise, it’s not going to be this.” He pulls into a parking lot as he speaks, and you’re a little surprised that it was such a short drive. There’s no time to ruminate on it because Aaron is turning to you with a serious look on his face. He’s correctly and considerately guessed that you’ve never been to something like this before, apparently.
“There’s a bar, a snack table. and live music inside. There are going to be tables, so you can stay seated there for as long as you like. I need to see a few people and shake a few hands, but there’s no need for you to be present for that. I’ll make the rounds as quickly as I can, we’ll show up in a couple of pictures, and I’ll get us home as soon as possible.” He looks genuinely apologetic, and it makes you a little nervous; how bad can this really be?
“I’ll have a couple of drinks, find a table, and camp out while you rub elbows. It’s going to be fine, Aaron. I won’t embarrass you,” you promise as you get out of the car.
He follows suit and meets you by the hood, taking a deep breath as he offers up his arm for you to take. When he exhales, there’s a slight smile on his face. “I’m not worried about that,” Aaron promises as you take his hand and he leads you towards the door. “I know you can handle yourself. And… by the way, you really do look beautiful.”
The rawness of his voice makes the compliment hit you that much harder, and you can feel the warmth of his words in your chest. When you speak, your voice is soft and you hope that you sound just as genuine. “And you look incredibly sophisticated. No one is going to think that you hired me.” You wait two beats before tacking on, “Unless they think I’m a sugar baby, I guess. Come on, let’s go.”
Horror paints itself on Aaron’s face as he leads you through the door, like he hadn’t considered that possibility. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything about it, though, because you can hear the sound of music and chatter and laughter down the hall and you beeline towards it. It’s time to see what you’re up against.
Apparently, you’re up against security first. Oops. You stop just short of bumping into a security guard in the doorway, and when she asks for ID Aaron pulls his credentials out of his pocket and holds them up. You’re allowed through with ease, but the only thing your attention is focused on is the old picture of Aaron that’s in his free hand.
With his arm still looped through yours, it’s an easy reach to pluck the badge wallet out of his hand and croon, “Oh, you were so cute!”
If Aaron looked horrified a minute ago, he looks mortified now. The tips of his ears are red, and he snatches the wallet back from you. His voice is steady, and his face regains composure even as he says, “...What?”
Your own words catch up to you, and now it’s your turn to look embarrassed while he chuckles and leads you toward the tables next to the dance floor. You don’t know if he’s questioning your word choice or your use of past tense, so you try to defend both.
“Well, I mean… you used to be handsome-cute. Now, you’re more handsome-handsome. You’ve got that whole ‘classically handsome, guy in a suit and tie’ thing going for you. You know?” You didn’t even know it was possible to say ‘handsome’ that many times; you really should shut up, and that’s exactly what you do.
“I didn’t know, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “But thank you. Oh- I need to speak with the senator before he disappears; he’s over by the snack table, there. Would you like to get a drink? I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“Hey, hey, Hotch! We’re over here!” A shout, barely audible over the music, pulls your attention to a group of people sitting at a table a few rows back, and Aaron sighs as he glances back over towards the senator. Apparently, the politics will have to wait.
He surprises you by taking your hand as he leads you toward the table, and his voice is low as he speaks. “This is my team. They’re a bit much, but I think you’ll get along just fine.” The smile in his voice is audible, and you playfully scoff at his teasing tone as one of the people sitting at the table speaks up.
“Hey, man, we didn’t know if you were comin’. Good thing you made it; Garcia’s threatening to tear up the dance floor, and we’re holding her back. Can’t have my baby girl on the loose, you know how that goes.”
Your eyes are trained on Aaron, who somehow looks more tense and more relaxed all at once. “Yes, well, she usually does,” he responds distractedly, and he drops your hand with another nervous glance back toward the senator. “This is my team. Er, Dave, Morgan, Prentiss.. Garcia… Reid, JJ…” He glances back again, and you roll your eyes in exasperation.
“Go, Aaron. You’re watching that guy like you’re trying to hunt him, and it’s obviously important for you to talk to him. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” He doesn’t move a muscle until you physically shoo him away, and you catch a glimpse of his grateful smile before he turns away, straightening his lapels and fiddling with his cufflinks as he walks toward the senator. Once you’re satisfied that he’s actually walking away, you turn back to the table to see everyone watching you.
An older man sitting down next to a woman with bangs speaks first, taking a sip of his drink. “So, you’re Aaron’s date.” It isn’t a question, but you nod all the same and give them your name.
“That’s me. I’m usually just Jack’s babysitter, actually, but rent just went up,” you joke. Your eyes widen a second later; between Aaron and you, the amount of times someone has made this implication tonight is just getting ridiculous, and you try to backpedal. “No! I didn’t mean… his date cancelled at the last minute, and I was already there, and he couldn’t take Jessica, obviously, so… here I am?”
It sounds more like a question than a statement, but that’s the least of your worries as a blonde woman with glasses stands up and comes over to you. “Hi, I’m Penelope. We’ve heard so much about you!” She exclaims, and before you know it, she’s hugging you. “Come on, let’s get you a drink!”
You don’t have a chance to say anything else before she’s steering you towards the bar, and once you’re there you don’t know what to say. The bartender hands you your jack and soda, and you awkwardly shift the glass from one hand to another. “Sorry… did you say that you’ve heard about me? He talks about me?”
Just over Penelope’s shoulder, you find Aaron standing just in your line of sight. He must be in the middle of an important conversation, because he’s got that stoic frown you haven’t seen in so long and he’s nodding along to whatever the senator is saying.
“Are you kidding? Hotch thinks you’re the best thing since, like, the babysitter version of sliced bread. Like Mary Poppins, or something. I’m so glad we’re finally meeting you,” Penelope gushes, taking a sip of her strawberry daiquiri. “So, no offence, obviously, but why couldn’t he bring Jessica? Is she okay?”
It takes you a few seconds to answer her; you’re in an information overload now, and she must be able to tell because she isn’t trying to take you back to the table just yet. “She’s fine, she’s watching Jack. They were just saying that he can’t bring her because… well, you know, she’s Haley’s sister…” Your voice lowers a little, and Penelope tilts her head a bit.
“Really? That’s weird; he brought her last year. Well, it really doesn’t matter, as long as everyone’s okay. Hey, do you want to dance?”
Aaron brought Jessica last year? The new information is even more overwhelming, and you can’t begin to think of what it means that your very handsome, very clever employer is here with you as his date. You take a long sip of your jack and soda, trying to let the alcohol calm you down.
Penelope seems great, but everything she says is just confusing you more and more. Maybe talking is a bad idea, right now. “Actually, I’d love to dance. Lead the way.”
Your cup is empty in record time, even as you promise yourself that you’ll only have the one drink. Aaron might trust you not to embarrass him, but there’s no way you’re going to make that a difficult promise to keep. Once your plastic cup lands in the recycling bin alongside Penelope’s, she wraps a hand around your wrist and drags you to the dance floor.
This is your scene, you think. There’s nothing to worry about except the music and the way your body moves to it, although it’s slower and softer than the music that plays at the local bars. There’s nothing to think about, except not bumping into other people. A dance floor is a dance floor, whether it’s at a stuffy FBI gala or a sweaty club that doesn’t even check ID.
Okay, there’s a lot less grinding on this dance floor, actually. But that’s really the only notable difference.
One song fades into the next, until it’s impossible to know how long you’ve been dancing. You don’t know how long it’s been when you feel a hand brush your shoulder with purpose, and you turn to see Aaron; he’s still got that little frown on his face, and somehow he looks even more handsome than he usually does. “Hey!” You greet, speaking a little louder than usual to make up for the music playing nearby. “How’s your elbow?”
“Sufficiently rubbed, I think. I’m sorry for taking so long.” He smiles at you, and the expression is such a 180 from his stoic frown that you can feel your heart do a little flip. “How are you doing? Do you want to get out of here?”
“Oh, I’m having fun. I was just dancing with…” Your words die in your throat when you turn back around to see Penelope walking away. “Okay, so I was dancing with her, but I guess not anymore. She’s really nice.”
“That, she is.” Someone brushes by you as Aaron speaks, almost bumping into you, and he steadies you with a hand on your waist. Even once the person is gone, his hand doesn’t move. “If you’re having fun dancing… would you like to dance with me?”
Maybe it’s the jack and soda going to your head, but you could swear Aaron looks nervous. His hand stays on your waist, and his thumb rubs tiny circles there, just begging you to agree.
“Of course I do.” It’s the truth, the only thing you can say, and Aaron grins as he moves a little closer to you. There’s a faster-paced song playing now; it’s nothing too flashy, nothing that would ever be played in a club, but Aaron seems to know exactly what he’s doing as he pulls you closer, both hands now on your waist.
You let out the tiniest laugh of surprise as he takes your hand, making you spin before he pulls you close again. Who knew that he could dance like this? Aaron’s smile only grows when he hears your laugh, but he doesn’t stop moving with you.
The song passes by in a blur, and so does the one after that, and the one after that. In fact, you don’t stop dancing until Aaron pauses on a dime. Your mouth opens to enquire about it, to ask what’s going on, but that’s when you see a photographer walking around, taking pictures of people.
Aaron’s arm wraps around your waist, and he turns his head towards yours and angles his mouth towards your ear. When he speaks, warm air brushes your neck and brings goosebumps with it. “Just a quick one? We can keep dancing after, or we can leave.”
Your voice comes out steady; thank god, because that’s what you’re fighting for it to do. “A quick one, yeah.” When he hears your confirmation, Aaron flags the photographer down with a wave.
The woman walks towards you, holding up her camera. “Okay, you two, let’s see you pose!”
Aaron’s hand doesn’t leave you. In fact, it splays out over your hip while you lean into him to rest a hand on his chest, and his chest seems to puff up slightly. His heart is beating hard under your hand; almost as hard and fast as yours is. Your other hand slides around his back, feeling the silky-smooth and undoubtedly expensive material of his jacket under your fingertips.
It’s impossible to resist peeking a glance out of the corner of your eye as you lean in closer, and you like what you see. Aaron, Mr. Hotchner, the dictionary definition of Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Stoic, is grinning ear to ear in the photographer’s direction.
The camera flashes and you totally weren’t looking at the lens at all, far too distracted by the smile stretching across Aaron’s face. “Oh, shoot.”
“Wha-” Aaron turns to look at you, but his approximation of where you’re standing must be off. His nose almost catches your face, barely brushing it, and the slight glance of skin on skin mixes with the feelings bubbling up in your chest, resulting in a sharp burst of laughter from you.
It feels like some bubble of awkward tension has popped and Aaron laughs like he can feel it too, drawing you in with his other arm on your waist. Your hand slides up his back to cup the back of his neck, and your other hand slides up and rests on his shoulder.
Long-forgotten but not yet disappearing, the camera flashes again. This time, you’re hardly aware of the flash or the fact that you aren’t looking anywhere near the photographer’s direction as you and Aaron just laugh, revelling in the moment together.
He looks twenty years younger like this, grinning and laughing like a man free of every curse that’s been thrust his way. The corners of his eyes crinkle up into laugh lines, and you distantly have to wonder if your age difference will be obvious in the photos, even as you giggle.
The laughter dies down when Aaron’s eyes catch yours in the dim light. Have they always been so hazel and dark at the same time, so easy to fall into? You’re trying to convince yourself that it’s a trick of the light for a moment. In your peripheral vision, the photographer is giving you a cheery thumbs up and wandering off, but you don’t look away from Aaron.
“They don’t even let us see it? What if I blinked?” You complain jokingly.
Aaron’s gaze has strayed to follow the photographer, but when you speak he turns to face you again. His hands don’t move from your hips and yours don’t move from his shoulder and neck. His cologne is noticeable from this distance, even though you’ve got the same scent on, and you take a deep breath.
“You didn’t blink,” he promises, meeting your eyes. A stray lock of hair has fallen from your dancing, and he brushes it aside gently. “I’m sure you look gorgeous.”
That makes you smile, and you lean a little closer to him as your hand lowers on his shoulder back towards his chest. “And I’m sure you look handsome.” Your eyes drop to his lips when his tongue darts out over them, and you hope he doesn’t notice your wandering gaze.
Aaron smiles at your words as he says, “Do you want to keep dancing, or do something else?” His eyes dart over to the table that his team is at and his hand goes slack on your hip, like he’s ready to pull it away. Is it possible that you’re misreading this?
That concept is almost impossible to consider, now. He could have brought Jessica tonight, and he brought you. He could have watched you dance, but he joined in. He could have pretended not to see the photographer, but he made sure she took a picture of the two of you.
It’s bad to want this; you know that. Still, you lean a little closer, and your hand stays on his chest. “What do you want, Aaron? What should we do?”
Your moment of confidence pays off; the hand on your hip tightens a little, and you can feel his fingertips gripping your flesh through fabric. Aaron’s voice is low and soft and electrifying, sending shivers up and down your spine. “Well, we could get another drink and mingle for a while. You could get to know everyone a little bit better. Or…”
“Or…?” It’s getting a little harder to breathe now, in the best way possible, and your eyes meet Aaron’s to find his gaze dark, boring into you. You tilt your head the slightest bit, all but begging him to say it.
“Or, we could get out of here.”
There it is. You can’t take this new kind of tension anymore—even if it’s the good kind of tension—and neither can he, if his hand on your side is any indication. “Take me home.”
That’s all Aaron needs to hear, apparently. He turns towards the door abruptly, keeping his arm around your waist as he steers you out of the gala hall, out of the building, and towards his car. Your heart is hammering with anticipation, thudding against your ribcage so hard that you can hear it.
Neither of you says a word until Aaron is pulling the car out of the parking lot. “When you told me to take you home… should I drop you off at your apartment?” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you give him the confirmation he’s looking for.
“Don’t you dare,” you answer, and he smiles at that. Your voice is a little breathier than you want it to be, but there’s nothing you can do about that. “I guess Jessica is sleeping in the guest room… right?”
Your words have the desired effect, and you watch as Aaron’s hand slides over to rest on your thigh. It’s tentative, giving you every opportunity to stop him, but you don’t. “That’s right. What are we going to do about that? Where should you sleep?” His tone is just a little teasing, just a little challenging. He wants you to say it.
Well, you can certainly do that. Your hand rests on his, tracing a shape over the back of it while his grip tightens a little. “You’ve got a pretty big bed.”
Aaron hums in agreement, but you can tell that he’s pleased with your answer. “I do. Thick walls, too,” he adds on like it’s an afterthought, but you can see the smirk playing on his lips.
“You don’t say.” Just like you noted before, the drive is short. Aaron is already parking the car as the words leave your lips, and you grab your purse to pull it into your lap. When he turns the car off you turn towards him and start to speak, and that’s when he kisses you.
For all of your thoughts about how attractive Mr. Hotchner is, how charming and masculine he is, you haven’t let yourself think about this in the year that you’ve known him. You’ve never let yourself imagine Aaron’s hand cradling your cheek, or his tongue licking into your mouth, or the way he groans somewhere deep in his chest when you nip at his lip.
But now, you know. You know, because he’s doing it, and it’s real, and… there’s a very good chance you can never kiss anyone else for the rest of your life, because who the hell is going to compare to this?
Melting against him is the easiest thing in the world, and it’s even easier to put one hand on the back of his neck to hold him close. Your hand was in the same position earlier during the second photo, and Aaron’s neck might be your hand’s new favourite spot in the world.
The kiss subsides almost as suddenly as it began, and Aaron pulls away. There’s a glimpse of his dark eyes, a whiff of his cologne, and then he’s speaking in a low voice that’s just as attractive as the sight of him in a suit.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confesses in a murmur, and his eyes catch on your lips like he’s thinking about doing it again. His own lips curl into an equally dark and attractive smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “We should go inside, while I can still let go of you.”
As if to emphasize his point, the hand on your thigh withdraws with a final squeeze. You could stay here all night, flickering your gaze between his eyes and lips and hands and everything else, but… well, it sounds like you’re going to get the chance to kiss him again if you follow him out of the car and into the apartment building.
The choice you make is the obvious one.
Aaron Hotchner kisses like he’s starved for it, starved for you. He kisses like he doesn’t need oxygen, or anything else except the feeling of your lips against his and the taste of you on his tongue. He kisses you positively stupid in the elevator where you find yourself pinned between his body and the wall, and on the short walk from the elevator to his apartment door he hardly detaches his lips from your neck long enough to fumble for his keys.
The apartment is dark and silent, and you feel like you’re in high school again as you and Aaron feel your way to the bedroom as quietly as possible. You’re dreading the sound of Jack or Jessica awakening and finding you like this; both of your mouths kiss-swollen, his bowtie undone, and your hair undoubtedly mussed from large hands running through it in the elevator.
Your roommates are never going to believe you, when you tell them about this. They’ll give you the third degree, and they won’t believe a single word you say.
Finally, you feel Aaron guide you through a doorway, and hear him lock the door before he turns the lamp on. The lamplight illuminates him perfectly, lending credence to his sharp profile and strong jawline. An equally strong hand rests on your right thigh as he lays you back on the bed.
Aaron is hovering over you, admiring the fan of hair on his pillow as you open your mouth to speak, and his hand slides up as he leans down to silence you with a kiss. His hand squeezes your thigh, alternates between gently kneading the skin there and running his fingers over the cutouts of the dress.
When Aaron breaks the kiss he’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, and you don’t know yet if it’s from exertion or adrenaline. Either way it’s sexy as hell, and you start to unbutton his shirt as he tosses the jacket of his tuxedo aside and puts his left hand back on your thigh.
His right hand cups your cheek ever so gently, and his thumb traces over your bottom lip as he speaks in that delicious, sinfully low voice of his. “What do you want? How far do you want to go, sweetheart?”
How… far? You want to go far, you want to go to the ends of the earth and to the moon and wherever else he’ll let you go. “Aaron.. I need you…”
Maybe you’re naive, or maybe the arousal coursing through is messing with you, or maybe you just can’t believe that this is actually happening, but you could swear that you see Aaron’s gaze soften a little bit before he kisses you again, letting you push his now-open shirt off of his shoulders.
It hits the floor, and whatever you saw in his eyes must have been a trick of the light, because his voice is anything but soft when he speaks against your cheek. “I get to be ‘Aaron’ now, hm? What happened to ‘Mr. Hotchner’, sweet girl?”
Your response is a soft laugh as you pull Aaron in for another kiss, resting one hand against the back of his neck yet again. “You told me not to say that, Mr. Hotchner.”
“I did, didn’t I?” You can feel the curve of a grin against your cheek before Aaron slides down to kiss your neck, practically attacking the delicate skin there. One large hand spreads your legs apart, skimming up your inner thigh, and when you let out a little moan you can feel him chuckle against your neck. “So do you know how to follow directions, or not?”
Aaron’s hand moves to your outer thigh and wraps around the waistband of your panties. It’s impossible to remember if they’re plain cotton or something a little more seductive, but it obviously doesn’t matter much to the man who’s swiftly tugging them down, past your knees and ankles, and discarding them to the floor.
Your answer is forgotten into a moan as Aaron slides his hand back up the inside of your thighs, and his thumb rolls over your clit in determined circles. “Mm… oh…”
“Is that good?” he breathes out, as though he isn’t slipping his middle finger inside of you and fingering you like some kind of sex god. It’s hard not to imagine where he got this kind of practice, and you let out a breathy laugh at the thought of him practicing on a sex doll.
Apparently, laughter is not the answer he’s looking for. The lips on your neck shift a little, and Aaron bites down just hard enough to make you whine. “Is something funny?” he murmurs, and a second finger joins the first, scissoring you open while his thumb brushes over your clit again, more intense this time.
“N-no…” A soft gasp escapes you, and you’re struggling to find words as his fingers pick up a rhythm, sliding in and out of you. “Just wondering how you’re so good at this. You never bring anyone home, I thought…” It’s been a while since you’ve had sex, is what you’re trying to say. You just aren’t doing a very good job of actually saying the words.
Aaron’s answering chuckle is dark and sinful and delicious. “I never bring them here, sweetheart. But maybe I should have. It would be sexy to see you get a little jealous, hm?” His fingers spread apart slightly to stretch you, and his mouth covers yours just in time to swallow your moan. “You’re so wet for me, you’re almost dripping. What do you need, sweet girl?”
“Aaron… fuck me, please.” It’s just shy of begging but he must like that, because he kisses you harder. The scent of his cologne surrounds you, and it’s so fresh and woody, so masculine, so Mr. Hotchner that it’s sending you into a frenzy.
“Soon,” he promises, and his other hand starts working at the zipper of his dress pants. He’s obscenely hard, and the feeling of the tented black fabric against your leg paired with his fingers inside of you makes you moan again. “Be patient, baby. I’m just getting you ready, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
His bulge drags against you again, and you know exactly what he means instantly; he feels huge. It’s confirmed when he pushes his pants down with one hand, and he pulls away so you can see the way he’s straining in his boxers. One large hand rubs over the bulge, squeezing a little bit to give him some relief, and then he’s pulling down the boxers too.
Arousal courses through you as Aaron pulls his other hand away from you, his fingers gleaming wet, and he wraps that hand around his cock with a satisfied hiss. It’s enthralling to just watch Aaron touching himself, but it’s also getting you more and more needy for him.
“Please, I want it.” Your voice sounds more like a whine now, and Aaron lets out another low, dark chuckle when he hears it.
“You’re going to have it, angel. Do you want to take your dress off?”
The shake of your head is enough of an answer for him, and Aaron pushes the fabric up higher on your hips to give him better access. His hand leaves his cock, and he’s so visibly hard that the head of it slaps his stomach, making you moan again and making Aaron smirk as he leans over you to kiss at your neck again.
He’s kissing a trail down your collarbone when he pauses, hums against your skin. You’re just about to ask him what’s wrong when he shifts, wordlessly helping you pull your arms out of the thin straps of the dress. Once they’re out of the way he pulls down the dress from the neckline, leaving your midsection wrapped in fabric and your chest completely exposed for him.
Your lack of a bra brings another smile to Aaron’s lips, and he resumes his mission of kissing every inch of available skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth over one nipple without lingering. “Are you ready for me? You’re sure?”
Aaron catches your eye as he asks it, letting you know that he wants your permission before going any further. He’s hard as a rock against you, hot and heavy on your thigh, and there’s no possible answer you could give except, “Please.”
“You’ve got good manners,” he remarks, spreading your thighs with one big hand while he lines himself up and slowly sinks in. “That’s it, good girl. You’re taking it so well, angel. Are you ready for more?”
He’s not even in all the way? That can’t be possible, but you nod up at Aaron and he gives you a little smirk like he knows what you’re thinking as he presses forward.
It’s a stretch, a perfect stretch, filling you up completely without hurting too much, and it makes you moan louder than you did before. “Aaron, fuck…”
Aaron shushes you a little harshly, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Be quiet, baby; the walls aren’t thick enough for that. I want to hear every sound, but not tonight. We don’t want anyone waking up, do we?”
Your hand grips the back of his neck as you return the kiss, not giving him an answer as it gets deeper and deeper. Aaron’s body is blanketing yours, and one of his hands is roaming over your ass, up the bundled fabric of your dress, and onto your chest.
And then he starts to move. You’re no expert, but you’re pretty sure that when he pulls out halfway only to thrust back in, you die and go to heaven for a split second. “Fuck, sir!”
Aaron rewards you with a grunt as his hand covers one of your breasts, his thumb rolling over the nipple in a tight, focused motion. His voice is low and rough, and you can practically feel it in your core when he speaks. “Are you laughing now? Call me that again, angel, say it.”
The sound of slapping skin is almost drowned out by your sharp moan, and Aaron puts a foot up on the bed to find a newly overwhelming angle so that he can drive into you harder, faster, until you aren’t aware of anything except the feeling of him surrounding you so wholly. “Sir… sir, oh my god, feels so good, don’t stop…”
“Not stopping, baby. You feel so good, so tight,” he rasps, and his hand lifts from your breast to your chin. Aaron takes your jaw in an iron grip, forcing you to meet his eyes.
He looks… oh, god, he looks so sexy like this. There’s a fire in his eyes, something dominating in his glare that pins you in place even more so than his body covering yours. His hair, always gelled perfectly into place, has a few strands stuck to the sweat on his forehead. His jaw is clenched hard like he’s trying to restrain himself, and he grunts again when you clench around him.
“Dirty girl,” he mutters, his hand still gripping your face. “How long have you wanted this? Be honest, angel; you don’t want to lie to me.”
“So- so long, sir, fuck!” You gasp again when his hips snap forward, like he’s trying to fuck you straight through the mattress. The look in his eyes is full of passion and dominance, and it’s got you so delirious with lust that you keep babbling. “And, and when you come home, mm…and when you’re wearing a suit-”
Aaron cuts you off with another low laugh, and his fingers dig into the side of your face and your chin a little harder. “My suit, really? That’s what turns you on? Do you like thinking of me at work, giving orders all day, getting called ‘sir’? Because I like you thinking of that. And then I come home, sweet girl, and I just see you, with your little jokes and gifts and your ‘Mr. Hotchner’ and all I can think about is bending you over and taking you right there, while I’m still wearing the damn suit.”
That gets another moan out of you, and your hips raise like you’re trying to get him even deeper inside of you, like you can’t feel his balls pressed flush to your skin when he thrusts in. Your mouth falls open and he lets it; he’s still holding your jaw, but he hooks a thumb over your bottom lip to keep your mouth wide open as he leans in.
A little smirk and the working of his jaw is the only warning that you get, but you know what’s going to happen and you whine eagerly. Without another word Aaron leans closer, then spits into your waiting mouth. He moves towards your ear as he removes his thumb and holds your mouth shut, and his voice is dangerous and raspy. “Swallow.”
There’s no argument, not a hint of trepidation or hesitation on your face as you do what he asks. Your reward is another soft, “Good girl,” breathed out against your lips and then he’s kissing you again, his body rocking against yours at a furious pace, enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
“Sir… please, Aaron-”
His hand moves so quickly you can barely see it, but you can feel the sting on your cheek from the light slap he just gave you. “Is that what you call me? Hm? Come on, sweetheart… if you’re going to be a little slut for me, you aren’t going to hold back. Try again.”
“Mr. Hotchner!” Tears sting your eyes from the slap, as gentle as it was, and you gasp out the title as he groans above you. Undoubtedly, he’s feeling the way you’re clenching so tight around him.
“That’s right… that’s it, angel. You like it when I call you a slut? When I tell you how dirty you are, how sexy, taking your bosses cock like this? You feel so good…”
The noise that escapes you is somewhere between a moan and a sob of pleasure as he snaps his hips forward like he’s trying to break you. You’re well past the point of forming sentences, but you still try to speak. “Please… fuck, please!”
Aaron leans down, his body blanketing yours as his lips find that spot on your neck and he kisses it madly, like he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him. “Please, what? What does my sweet girl want? Say it, baby, tell me.”
“Need, come, please!” Your sharp whine gets the message across well enough, and Aaron nips at your neck as one of his hands moves to toy with your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“I will,” he promises, and his voice is somewhere between teasing and smug. “I will come, baby.”
That draws another frustrated whine from you, and you arch into his hand. “Me, I want…”
“You want to come?” His voice is a mere whisper now, shaking slightly as his rhythm falters from the feeling of you around him, under him, looking so perfect. “Can you wait for me, sweetheart? You can do it, I’m almost there.”
When you nod, you can feel his mouth curve into a smile against your neck before he goes back to kissing you. His fingers are still playing with your clit, and the calluses on his fingertips are making your eyes roll back. “Good girl,” he praises, the words slightly muffled against your skin. “I’m gonna make you finish and then I’ll pull out, okay?”
Aaron is obviously experienced with this game; he’s thinking ahead, remembering that there’s no condom involved. However, he obviously isn’t experienced enough to anticipate your legs hooking around his midsection, like you’re trying to hold him in as you groan out, “Inside.”
There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation from Aaron and nerves from you. Did you say the wrong thing? Did you overstep? Before you can open your mouth to take it back, the silence is broken with a groan from a deliciously dark voice that’s lower than you’ve ever heard it.
“Is that what you want? Huh?” Aaron punctuates his question with a sharp thrust, and when you cry out he just kisses you again. “Answer me. Do you want me to come inside you? Inside this perfect little pussy?”
If you weren’t so aroused, you’d be in catatonic shock right about now. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that Aaron Hotchner would be such a talker, with such filthy things spilling from between those lips as he goes back to mouthing at your neck.
And he isn’t even finished speaking, apparently. “That’s what I want, baby. I want to fill you up, claim you, filthy, dirty girl, you’re mine.” He’s muttering against your skin, pure obscenity fuelled by possessiveness and need, and if it were anyone else growling these things against you it wouldn’t be this good, but it’s him, it’s Aaron, it’s Mr. Hotchner, and it’s so goddamn perfect that you moan again.
It’s hard to muster the strength to speak, but you manage to get out a few breathless words. “Please, inside… sir…”
“That’s right… I’m going to come inside, baby. I’m going to fill you up and you’ll be dripping with me all night, isn’t that right?”
He’s moving faster now, and it’s almost too much, but it’s also so perfect. You’re lost to the feeling of his cock stretching you, his fingers rolling over your clit, his mouth on your collarbone biting and sucking and guaranteeing that you won’t forget this for a long, long time. “Please, please..!”
The noise that Aaron makes in response is something you want to commit to memory. It’s a low grunt as he presses into you once more, and when he rocks his hips, presses deeper, you fall apart with a loud moan. He silences it with another long kiss, one that’s just as deep and dominating as he is, and rocks his hips through your orgasm. “Good, good girl… you’re gonna take it…”
When he comes, you gasp into his mouth at the feeling and kiss him harder. Your hands are in his hair, on his head, somewhere that keeps him in place against your lips, and he rewards you with his own moans as he just keeps rocking, pushes it deeper, working the two of you through your orgasms together.
You had no clue that Aaron could be so… so filthy, so primal, but you’re apparently learning a lot of new things today. You learn one more thing when he breaks away with a gentle kiss and pulls out of you, then moves so he can see his cum leaking out.
“You’ll hold it in,” he murmurs, and it’s not a question but you nod anyway. Thick fingers rub over your pussy, and one presses inside just for a moment, making you moan quietly again. “That’s it… good girl.”
The intensity of his gaze there makes your cheeks grow even warmer, and you squirm a little. Aaron just chuckles and pulls his hand away from you, up to his mouth, where he licks his gleaming wet finger.
He really is filthy.
“Next time,” he says, and his voice is low and soft as silk, “I’m going to taste you, first. I was too excited, angel, I didn’t get the chance.”
While Aaron speaks, he slips your dress off and over your head. The fabric covers your eyes for a brief moment, but when it’s pulled away he gives you a smile and a chaste kiss. He’s softer now, less intense outside the throes of arousal, but no less attractive.
“You promise?” You ask when the kiss breaks, and you recognize Aaron’s chuckle as the same sound he made when you mentioned his suit during sex. That chuckle promises a lot of things, and you want to experience all of them.
One of Aaron’s shirts is produced seemingly from nowhere as he kisses you again, and he tugs the fabric over your head. He lies down, wraps an arm around you, says “Cross my heart”, and maybe you really are in heaven.
The shirt is oversized and reads ‘GWU’ in large letters across the front. It smells like Aaron and his cologne, and it’s so soft against your skin, so comfortable. “Thanks,” you murmur. Sleep is calling your name now as you feel how exhausted you really are, and Aaron is still holding you close, making you feel as safe and warm and protected as you’ve ever been.
“There’s no need to thank me,” Aaron says and he sighs, a sleepy sound, before pressing one last kiss to your temple before he turns off the lamp. “Goodnight, sweet girl. Don’t run off in the morning, alright?”
What an absurd thought. Normally you would tell him that or just laugh, but you’re too tired, too close to sleep to form the words. “Mhm… I’ll stay here,” you mumble instead.
Your eyes flutter shut, and you don’t see Aaron’s lips curl into a soft grin. Yes, you’ll stay here. Tomorrow you’ll stay here with him and Jack, in the home that already has a place carved out for you. You’re going to stay, and he’s going to cherish every minute of it. He’s finally got you, and he’d be an idiot to let you go now.
