synopsis: as his migraines get worse, spencer begins to worry about his ability to be there for his daughter
pairing: s6 dad! spencer x reader
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff
wc: 1.5k
notes/tags: spencer’s migraine era, brief references to his fears about developing schizophrenia and to spencer’s childhood, not super reader heavy ngl, yes this implies he became a dad in the early seasons, i didn’t really know how to end it lowkey, rambling :3
masterlist // if you enjoyed pls reblog it helps promote the fic so much!!
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Spencer turned the key in the lock with a wince, even just the quiet metallic jingle sounding like a bell ringing inside his head. The creak of the door as it opened echoed, bouncing off of the walls of his skull with a rattle as he stepped inside, dragging his feet behind him. Instinctively he began to make his way to the stairs, his body screaming at him to go and hibernate in the dark somewhere, when he heard the sweet giggling- the sound of home- coming from down the hallway.
He glanced between the hallway and the stairs and could hear the ticking of a clock telling him to make his choice, guilt already brutally gnawing away at him like something carnivorous as he felt himself being pulled away. With a heavy sigh he turned with one hand on the banister, the movement sending a wave of nausea through him as he began to pull himself up away into the lonely solitude of his bedroom.
“Daddy’s home!” A little voice sang, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of little feet sprinting down the carpet.
“Oh- honey, slow down!” You called out after her, but Spencer was already turning back around with open arms and a tired smile on his face as he caught her with a grunt.
“Hey sweetheart.” He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring the pounding inside his own. “Did you have a good time with Mommy today?”
“Yeah!” She cheered and he fought another wince. “We went to the park and fed the duckies!”
“But not bread.” You chimed in, leaning over her to kiss his cheek in greeting. “She remembered you said it was bad for them and made me buy the little bags of duck feed they sell.”
On any other day Spencer would’ve melted at the thought of his daughter strolling around the park quoting him like a tiny little clone, but today he barely even registered the words. “Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” He said, trying to sound excited but the words came out dry.
You shifted on your feet as you studied him, his slumped shoulders and pinched brows, the sunglasses hanging folded on the dipped collar of his cardigan. He had a migraine again. Gently, you put your hands on your daughter’s shoulders and pulled her back towards you as you tried to distract her. “Hey, honey why don’t we go finish those cookies we were baking? I bet they’re almost done by now.”
She turned to you with a wide beam, bouncing on her heels excitedly. “Daddy can help make them pretty!”
You didn’t miss the way his posture very nearly crumbled, tears already threatening to spill at the thought of disappointing her. Taking her hand in yours, you flashed him a sympathetic smile and a nod towards the staircase as you lead her back into the kitchen. “Why don’t we decorate them for him and we can surprise him with them later, huh?”
He heard her sugary little ‘okay!’ as he began to drag himself upstairs, suddenly finding himself collapsed atop his bed in the dark without realising he’d even gotten there. His head throbbed, a sharp pain behind his eyes as if someone was trying to push them out. Every little sound felt like it was roaring through a megaphone being pressed directly to his ear, the rustling of the sheets like waves crashing violently as he tossed and turned as he tried to find a comfortable position.
From downstairs he could faintly hear the clatter of baking equipment and of fun being had without him. He heard your daughter’s laughter, her gleeful shouts and your gentle shushing as he pictured you running around the kitchen after her cleaning up trails of icing and sprinkles as you went. At some point she wondered into the hallway, her voice echoing louder up the stairs as she paused at the bottom of them.
“Why can’t Daddy come play with us?”
The words tore through him like a knife, the guilt that had been bubbling up all night finally overflowing as his bottom lip trembled. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, pressing and pressing like they could squash the ache beneath them. It was something he’d never wanted to happen to his own child- to be keeping themselves company the way he had growing up. To wonder why their parent was in bed again, why they weren’t themselves, why they were shutting out the world. Yet, as the migraines became more and the answers less he found himself fearing that reality more than ever.
Hastily throwing his arm over his eyes, he willed himself to fall asleep as the dark caved in around him. He didn’t like the dark at the best of times, but right now he felt like he deserved it. It was some time later when his eyes peeled open to the sound of the bedroom door creaking, a slither of light bleeding into the room as someone shuffled inside. Slowly, he turned his head on the pillow, ignoring the way his brain seemed to shake with the motion as his gaze fell upon a little girl carefully tip toeing towards him.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He rasped, voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing in here?”
Her wide eyes shone as she stared back up at him, her mouth hanging open in a way that said she definitely didn’t mean to get caught. “Mommy said you felt sick.” She whispered, taking another tentative shuffle towards him.
“And you got worried?” He asked, feeling a fresh pang of guilt hit him.
Her curls bounced as she nodded. “I brought you this.” She announced softly, reaching out with a teddy bear in her hand. Without another word, she tucked it in beside him, her little eyebrows furrowing in a way that mirrored his own.
Spencer immediately recognised it as her favourite toy, the one she’d had since she was just a baby that had lived squeezed tight in the palm of her hand ever since. It was the one that she held when she cried, that she put in the swing set next to her at the park, and most importantly the one that she slept with when she was sick.
“He’ll make you feel better.” She added after a beat, her hands fiddling in front of her like she was unsure what to do with the sudden emptiness.
“That’s very kind of you, honey.” Spencer reached over, stroking her hair with a feather light touch as he bit back the emotions threatening to pour out. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t play with you tonight.”
He watched as her gaze fell to the floor before landing back on him. He’d taught her better than to say things were okay when they weren’t, scared of teaching her to bottle up her feelings for the sake of other people in the same way he’d always done. He knew that she missed him and for all the words in the English dictionary he couldn’t express how much he’d missed her too.
Silently he shuffled over, leaving a little girl sized space next to him which he patted before settling back down. Grinning, she pulled herself up onto the bed, nestling into Spencer’s side instantly the way she knew she belonged. He was about to tuck her into the covers when she propped herself up on her elbows (one digging into his chest- which he wouldn’t dare complain about) and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Spencer froze for a moment. It was a gesture he was familiar with. There’d been countless sleepless nights with her, nights interrupted by nightmares or fevers, where he would carry her to bed like the princess he insisted she was before kissing her forehead goodnight. The guilty pang in his chest began to morph into something different, something warmer as the realisation hit him. She was copying him. Taking care of him the way he always did for her.
His eyes squeezed shut again, this time in relief as he felt the weight of the day finally lifting. In the dark, he felt a small arm drape over him and a messy head of curls tuck itself under his chin, the comforting scent of strawberry shampoo grounding him. The pain was still there- the pounding in his head and the nausea still swimming- but it suddenly felt manageable as he drifted off again, the soft snores of his daughter beside him his lullaby.
You found them like that, having followed the suspicious sound of silence right to the open crack of your bedroom door. With a tender chuckle, you pulled the sheets up tight around them, smiling to yourself at the matching open-mouthed expressions on their sleeping faces, at their rosy cheeks and fluttering lashes.
You wouldn’t tell him how she asked for him when you were done baking, how she set aside a plate for him with the cookies that turned out the best, or how she pouted when she realised he wasn’t coming down. Not when he was already so scared of how much worse it could get. Instead, you perched yourself on the edge of the bed and watched with a full heart as they slept it all away, wrapped up in each others arms so tightly- refusing to let themselves be pulled apart.
summary: you wake half-convinced that yesterday was a dream, but spencer reid and his shiny new wedding ring are quick to reassure you that it was all real—and forever has never looked so good.
genre: fluff | word count: 1.2k
tags: fem!reader, husband!spencer, newlyweds, just straight fluff, spencer is a wife guy, he's so in love it's disgusting, cuddling, title from a noah kahan song (duh), not proofread
notes: i don't usually write wedding/marriage fics, but i make an exception for spencer reid. he'd be such a whimsical little wife guy oh my god i hate him.
"And the edges of your soul, I haven't seen yet. Now I'm glad I get forever to see where you end." — Noah Kahan, Forever
For a moment, you aren’t sure where you are.
A bed, obviously. You can feel the plush of the mattress hugging your hip. The covers, freshly washed, covering your sleep-leaden limbs. Something’s thumping, steady, under your head. A heartbeat murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. A pair of strong lungs. Inhaling, exhaling. An arm around your waist. A hand on your shoulder.
Your eyelids fight against the last dregs of sleep, and you squint in the unwelcome face of the sun. It spills into the room through the sheer curtains, soaking you in its warmth and blinding you with its light. You shift, stiff joints groaning in protest, and press your face into his chest.
Bells. You remember bells. Confetti; the environmentally friendly kind. A bouquet of purple flowers, frozen mid-air in a hazy memory, landing in the reluctant hands of Emily Prentiss in another.
Something moves. His fingers are in your hair now, brushing through the strands with such painful gentleness it doesn’t even feel real. This is just another later of a dream, more warm and fuzzy scenarios created by your unconscious. It has to be, because nothing that is real could possibly feel so…sacred. It’s too perfect. You feel as though you’re floating, lighter than air.
Until the ache sets in. It’s in your head, dull and heavy, dragging you back down to earth, clouding your mind with a fog that extends beyond simple drowsiness. And with it comes a sore throat. A dry mouth. Can you be hungover in a dream? Surely not, that would just be cruel.
You groan. The sound reverberates in his chest, rattles his tender heart. You hear him chuckle.
“Ugh…time?” you mumble, voice hoarse.
“Ten thirty-two— no, thirty-three,” he says in a whisper, keeping his words soft, inoffensive, like he knows your condition without you needing to complain about it. He sounds awake, and he’s smiling—you can hear it.
With great effort, you raise your head, wincing as the light hits your face. His hand reaches out, casts a shadow over your eyes.
He isn’t smiling. He’s grinning.
“…hey.”
“Hey.” He tucks some of your hair behind your ear, brown eyes turned to gold in the sunlight; honey, like his voice. “How are you feeling?”
You lean into his touch, expression melting into a lazy smile. With a gentle sigh, you let your head sink back against his chest as you murmur, “’m good.”
Spencer’s arms wrap around you, holding you tight as he presses his nose to your hair. “Just good?”
“Great,” you correct, shaking your head. “Happy. The happiest.”
“That’s better.” He kisses the top of your head. “I’d feel like a failure if my wife weren’t the happiest the morning after the ceremony.”
His wife. You swear you feel the world tilt.
“I’d have to find a way to fix that,” he adds, letting his fingers trail down your spine.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he says. He’s trying to sound serious, and he isn’t doing a very good job. “That’s what Morgan kept telling me yesterday: happy wife, happy life.”
You huff out a short, breathy laugh. “And you’d take advice from Morgan?”
“Is it not true?”
“Oh, it’s true. Just…right message, wrong messenger, I guess.” You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a smile. “But I’m plenty happy. You’ve nothing to worry about there.”
“Good.” He fixes your hair again, smoothing any flyaways as he studies you with this look of intense focus, almost frowning, like he’s struggling to believe what he’s seeing, committing your every feature to memory in case you disappear. “And Morgan’s had some successful relationships.”
You hum. “Define successful for me, hon.”
“Having a favourable or desired outcome,” he says, not missing a beat. “Success is subjective, my love.”
“Mhm.” You nod slowly. “And Morgan’s idea of success is…”
“Intense, short-term relationships.”
“Right, of course. So, naturally, he’s the guy you’d go to for marriage advice.”
“I never said I sought him out,” he says, frowning. “I actually told him I wasn’t interested in any advice, or…pep talks. But he kept badgering me as I was getting ready.”
“That’s what the best man is for,” you muse with a solemn smile, “spewing unsolicited advice as he mops the sweat from your forehead.”
Spencer scoffs. “I wasn’t sweating.”
“You so were.”
“It was hot.”
“You were shitting yourself,” you say, brows raised. “Don’t lie to me, Doctor Reid.”
“Fine, Mrs Reid,” he concedes with a huff. “I may have been…shitting myself. A little bit. Figuratively.”
Mrs Reid. He’s trying to kill you.
You bite your lip, roll your eyes at the sight of his smug little smirk before trailing your fingers down his chest. Your wedding ring glimmers in the light as you draw lazy patterns along his skin. “I was shitting myself, too. Figuratively.”
“I didn’t notice,” he says. When you frown, he quickly adds, “I’m serious.”
“You’re a profiler,” you say.
“And you’re beautiful.”
He says it like it’s a fact. Concrete. Unchangeable.
You laugh. You have to; you might cry if you don’t. “And beauty is enough to render your years of profiling experience useless?”
“Only yours.”
Yup, definitely trying to kill you.
“You…” you shake your head, feeling your smile falter. It shifts into something raw, something fragile.
Spencer cups your cheek, holds you steady. Murmurs “I love you” in this agonisingly tender tone that only breaks you further.
You lean into him, closing your eyes as you admit in this small, quiet voice, “I thought it was a dream.”
“The wedding?”
“Mhm.”
“The whole thing?” he asks, amusement seeping into his tone. “Even the staff threatening to kick Morgan and Garcia out for indecency?”
“I have a…vivid imagination,” you say. You fall silent for a moment, pursing your lips, before adding, “But…I doubt I’d have been able to come up with those, um, vows of yours. You’d have made a fucking incredible renaissance poet. Proper…dramatic.”
He’s grinning again, pride swelling in his chest. “You wanna hear them again?”
“Do you want to make your wife cry?” you ask.
“Only if they’re happy wife tears.”
“Sadist.”
“I said happy tears. Come here.” He grabs your waist, shifts you so you’re lying on top of him, chest to chest. “Let me recite my vows, please.”
You glare at him, barely able to contain your smile. “You just want to show off.”
“Pshh, no.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I just want to make sure that you know just how grateful I am…that I get to be the one to spend forever with you. It’s an honour.”
The way his voice softens with each word has you closing your eyes, fighting back the stupid tears that threaten to spill if you keep looking at him. He brushes his thumb against your cheek, touch so light it feels almost reverent.
“And I want to show off, just a little.”
He laughs as you swat his hand away, hisses like you’ve hurt him. You shake your head, try to speak but your voice comes out all wobbly, so you hide your face in the crook of his neck, and you sniffle when he hugs you.
absolutely LOVE your writing!!!! im afraid the spencer somno one made me pregnant........ and it gave me an idea. i saw your last post is a request and came to ask are you taking them???? cause i need spencer (i imagine first seasons but it doesn't need to be) completely obsessed with his girlfriend and the way she's so horny for him! like initiating sex at the most random domestic times cause he's so sexy all the time!!! and she needs him all the time!!!! he can't be more happy to have a gf that loves him so much and finds him so attractive so of course he let's her use him for her pleasure 😵💫😵💫 he's fascinated with the dynamic, "yes baby make yourself feel good" <33333 while she's crying bouncing on him and the sight is so good and so beautiful in his completely in love brain that he cums imediataly
spencer reid with a horny gf that he'd never say no to
UR SO SWEET (is it too soon to say i love you?) YES!!
ohhh he is so pleasantly confused by how attracted she is to him but he is Not about to argue, especially when she’s kissing on him and trailing her fingers over his waistband in the middle of the night
“mmm honey?” he grumbles and she’s sooo turned on by him all of the time but his sleepy voice gets her even wetter
“need you, spence, please.” she whines and he’s never going to deny her of anything she wants, but especially when it’s him
“yeah, baby, what d’you need?” he says between heated kisses and she just starts pulling on his pajama pants and boxers
“oh, fuck, okay, baby, okay” he lifts his hips up so she can get them down to his ankles
he trails his fingers inside of her sleep shorts and she’s not wearing any panties and he can immediately feel how wet she is
“jesus, honey, you’re this wet for me at this hour?” and all she can do is whine and rut her hips against his hand
“please, spence, please”
so he fingers her just enough to stretch her out for him, turns her on her side so they’re spooning, his chest pressing into her back, and slowly guides his pulsing dick inside of her
he loves when she gets like this and the sight and feeling of her makes it so he’s already twitching and leaking
he wraps his arms around her to pull her as close to him as possible so he can get so deep inside of her, just how she likes
he squeezes on her breasts and nipples with one hand and circles her clit with the other
they’re both moaning and panting and their neighbors can definitely hear them but they don’t care, they need and love each other so so much and the only thing they can think about is each other
she’d get frustrated that she can’t turn around all the way to reach his lips to kiss him properly if he wasn’t pleasing her in 3 different ways already
she pushes her hips backwards with each thrust and she’s too fucking hot and it’s the middle of the night so spencer knows that he won't last very long (he rarely can with her)
"yeah, baby, fuck yourself back on me, help me make you feel good"
he manages to make her cum once before he does, but she immediately turns around in his arms to kiss him so intensely and he knows she needs more
he can't believe that someone loves him this much and needs him so badly
he makes sure that she cums at least twice before he gets up to get a cloth to clean up with, smiling at himself in the bathroom mirror
he has hickies on his neck that she must have put there before he even woke up, his hair is a complete ruffled mess, and he’s never ever been happier
-
she’s just completely shameless for him and absolutely initiates sex whenever she can
while he’s reading, curled up on the couch in his glasses, with his fingers trailing over the pages, she curls up next to him and can’t stop herself from grabbing his hand to suck on his fingers
his looks over at her with his mouth opened into an ‘o’ and can already feel himself getting hard at the feeling of her warm wet mouth and tongue drenching him
she’s soon bringing his hand through her panties and literally using him to rub on her clit and she pushes his fingers inside of her
she’s moaning and writhing and all he can do is watch and let her use him, she’s so beautiful and he can’t believe that she’s his
“need you to fuck me, spence”
“yeah? let’s go to the bed?”
“no, i can’t wait, right here, please spence please”
and what else is he supposed to do but fuck her into the couch cushions!?
-
or when he’s in the kitchen making them coffee and breakfast on a weekend morning, sun painting everything golden
his pajama pants are loose around his hips and his shirt is riding up his sides, leaving a smooth strip of skin that she can’t help but touch
she wraps her arms around him from behind and kisses at the back of his neck as she unties his pants
“oh, good morning!” he squeaks out and she trails her hand down the front of his pants and into his boxers, stroking him until he’s groaning, head tilted back, and painfully hard
she hops up onto the kitchen counter, pulls his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free and she pushes her sleep shorts to the side, there’s no time to take them off, she needs him now
she pulls him toward her with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his dick, guiding him inside of her
the stretch is almost too much without any foreplay and first thing in the morning, but she doesn’t care, she loves how he feels inside of her and will take him no matter what
he's so loving and so concerned though, "you sure, baby? need me to finger you first?"
"no, spencer, i need you now"
so he places his hands on her thighs to open her up for him even more, and the sound of their moans mixes with the sound of the coffee pot brewing
he's stretching her so wide and he feels so so good that she starts tearing up
it’s then that he realizes that he hasn’t even kissed her today, so he leans forward to do so, and she immediately gets her tongue in his mouth and is nibbling on his lower lip
“fuck, honey, i love you so much” he says
“i love you, spence, you're so hot, fuck” she replies as she pulls his hips closer to push his cock in deeper
they both wish that they could start every single day like this
-
he knows he’s too down bad for her once she manages to convince him to have car sex, but he wouldn’t have it any other way
they’re having a date night and they’re supposed to be on their way to a movie after having dinner
but the way he looked in the candlelight, in his suit and tie, fingers wrapped around his glass that was dripping with condensation has her dripping for him
and he tipped 30% on their expensive ticket
her panties are absolutely soaked and she can’t think about anything other than his cock
she tells him to pull over onto a dark side street and at first he’s concerned that she’s going to be sick or something, maybe the food didn’t sit well with her? he’ll have to look up the ingredients that were in her meal and cross-reference them with things she’s had before to make sure this doesn’t happen again and-
oh- she’s leaned over the center console and is pulling him towards her by his tie and oh fuck now she’s making out with him and palming him through his nice dress pants
“honey, we can’t do this here!” he tries to tell her
she grabs his hand and shoves it between her legs so he can feel that her panties are completely drenched
“need you, spence, need to fuck you right now, i can’t go sit in a movie theater like this”
and he completely agrees, he doesn’t want her to be uncomfortable literally ever but especially not for the whole duration of a 2/3 hour movie
he doesn’t know what to do though, he’s never had car sex before
“okay, fuck, okay… should we get in the backseat?”
she just shakes her head and climbs over the center console to straddle him, licking into his mouth and grinding roughly on his hardening cock
she reaches her hand to the side of the seat and leans it back before he can even think about doing it himself
she unzips his pants and pulls him out of his boxers and he’s absolutely throbbing and she’s barely touched him yet
she hikes her dress up so she can rub herself against him, skin to skin, and he has no idea when she took off her panties but she’s completely exposed for him
she’s grinding back and forth on him, he can feel her folds sliding up and down his cock, and he’s not even inside of her yet, but he’s already moaning and gripping at her hips
“oh, yes, baby, use me so you can feel better? need you to feel better so we can go see our movie?”
she’s almost annoyed that he’s still thinking about the movie when his tip is catching on her entrance with every grind, but she just finds him so hot and so endearing and so hot
she grips his base to guide him inside of her properly and she looks so so beautiful tonight (all the time, actually, but especially tonight) and he’s nervous about someone seeing them, so he’s already biting his lip and closing his eyes to stop himself from cumming
“feels so good, spence, you always feel so good.” she tells him and he’s flushed down to his chest and he has to loosen his tie to get some air
“yeah, honey? fuck me so good”
“love when you need me like this”
“love when you use me like this”
his words only make her ride him even faster and harder, she leans to suck on his neck and the new angle is so delicious, it pushes him in even deeper
she’s rubbing her clit with one hand and has the other wrapped around his jaw to keep him looking at her
the new pace and angle and the sight of her like this has him cumming before she does, and she whines in frustration
she has tears in her eyes so of course he says, “it’s okay, baby, keep going”
he’s so overstimulated that it’s starting to hurt but he wants to be good for her, so he squeezes at her gorgeous tits through her dress and leans up to kiss her until she’s groaning and trembling all over him
she gives him a chaste kiss and thanks him before she climbs back over to the passenger seat
his dick is still out and he’s sweaty and completely awestruck
once he’s pulled himself together enough to drive them to the theater, he looks at himself in the car visor mirror to make sure he’s decent enough to be seen in public, and his lips are stained red from her lipstick, he has red marks scattered near his collar, and his hair is a wreck, he looks wrecked
once they’re inside he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet to pay for their popcorn, and his fingers brush against damp lace
he looks over at her all wide-eyed and she just hums questionably and curls herself into his side, gazing up at him with this sparkle in her eye that he just knows is going to get him in trouble someday
hopefully they’re not pushing their luck too far when she starts brushing her fingers against his bulge in the back row of the dark theater
-
i hope u liked anon! had to start with a reverse somno situation since u mentioned that one! <3
spencer knows that up to 80% of women have faked an orgasm to appease their partners. when he catches his girlfriend pretending to experience one, he is so upset, but not at her! he's upset with himself for not being a better partner to her.
he's just arrived home from a grueling case, and he hasn’t been able to get inside of her for over a week, so he doesn’t last very long once he gets inside her warm, tight walls.
when she feels the rhythm of his thrusts start to falter, followed by the warm sensation of him starting to fill her, she clenches around him and starts writhing around, moaning and chanting his name.
he’s still inside of her and has been when she’s climaxed before, so he knows this isn’t how it normally feels against his cock. his mind is replaying every orgasm he’s ever given her, and this 'one' completely sticks out in his library of memories.
he doesn’t feel the usual fluttering of her walls, her back isn't arched, and her lips aren't parted like they usually are. everything about it just feels wrong.
she’s so embarrassed when he brings it up.
“baby, what was that?”
she’s immediately flushed and wide-eyed. he pulls out of her to lie next to her and stares at her so intensely. his eyes are still round and soft, though, conveying that he's not mad at her. if anything, it's the opposite; he's concerned.
“what do you mean?” her voices wobbles and she nervously bites at her lower lip.
“i know that wasn’t you having an orgasm. why did you do that?” his tone is stern, but not at all irate. he’s holding back anger at himself for making her feel like she had to do it, along with anger at any of her previous partners who might have made her feel this way.
she’s wringing her hands together and is so mortified that he caught her, “i’m sorry, i just know that you’re tired from being away for work and i didn’t want you to worry about me.”
he sighs and reaches out to smooth her hair. “please, don’t ever do that again. sex is only fun for me if you’re enjoying yourself too.”
she nods and whispers, “i’m sorry.”
he leans over to tenderly kiss at her neck, “no, i’m sorry. i appreciate that you were trying to be considerate, baby, but i’m going to take care of you properly now.”
his hand trails down her torso, squeezing and pinching at her breasts and nipples, ghosting down her sides and stomach, before resting at her pussy. she widens her legs for his access.
he gathers his cum that has leaked out of her and gently pushes it back in with two fingers, causing her to arch her back and let out a small moan.
“there you go, honey, just relax.” his lips brush against her ear as he speaks, causing chills to blossom down her arms.
he’s slowly and leisurely fingering her while kissing at her neck. it's so intimate and sensual that she can barely keep her eyes open.
he lets his fingertips graze the sensitive spot inside of her with each thrust, ever so slightly, and she can feel tears brew behind her eyelids. she tried to take care of herself while he was gone, but nothing compares to the sensation of him; his thick and rugged fingers, his lips stroking and sucking on her neck, even the smell of him brings her insurmountable pleasure.
“please, spencer ... feels so good,” she manages to breathe out.
“please what, baby? what do you need?”
“more, i need more.” she's trying to ask him to touch her aching clit, but she’s too far gone to be specific. when he presses a third finger inside of her, she gasps and reaches down to hold his wrist.
lifting his head from her neck, he uses his other hand to graze her cheek, he’s trying to be sweet and comforting, but at this point it feels almost condescending when he’s also asking her, “yeah? is that good?”
she can’t speak. she barely has enough air in her lungs to breathe, let alone to give him any words. she nods with her eyes squeezed shut. it does feel incredible, even if it’s not exactly what she wanted.
“hey, i need you to look at me.”
his fingers falter slightly in his ministrations when she turns her head and gazes at him with half-lidded eyes and blown-out pupils. a sly smile finds his lips at the sight of her like this. he knows her body like the back of his hand, and they both know it.
“there she is,” he whispers, and she responds with a high-pitched whine. she’s getting closer and closer to the edge with each pump of his fingers; he increases his pressure and speed with each thrust. she hopes he never stops.
when his thumb finally reaches up to caress her clit, she can’t help but close her eyes again, repeating “yes, yes, yes,” like it’s a prayer.
he completely stops all of his movements when her eyes close, though, and she groans in protest before a tear falls down her cheek.
his hand is already nearby to wipe it away and he says, “come back, baby, i need to see you.” he normally wouldn’t be so insistent on her keeping her eyes open, but he’s missed her so much that he craves her pretty eyes on his.
she follows his directions and looks absolutely destroyed when she does. he can barely see a ring of color with how much her pupils have expanded. her eyes and eyelashes are glistening and she looks so beautiful.
"thank you, baby. i'm sorry, i just missed you so much." his hand is still cupping her cheek, so she nuzzles against it as a means of replying.
he resumes the movements of his fingers, and it only takes a few more thrusts and a few more circles on her clit before she’s toppling over the edge of her orgasm. her jaw falls open, and her neck tips back. he can feel her gummy walls fluttering against his fingers. her thighs start to close against his hand, but he doesn't stop until she's ridden the entire high of her climax.
she maintains the eye contact that he wanted so badly to the best of her ability, but she's just barely squinting at him.
he whispers, “there you go... good girl,” as she cums (for real this time), and he lavishes the feeling of her walls pulsing around his fingers and the slight tremble of her thighs.
he hopes that he’s proven that he will always take care of her, no matter how tired he is or how long he's been away. he's already considering going down on her, too, thinking she deserves another orgasm for being so good for him.
spencer making reader squirt by accident 🤰🤰🤰 he just cant stop fucking her and they're in a really overstimulating (in a good way) position!!!! she didn't even know she could do that
spencer reid makes fem!reader squirt for the first time
18+ (smut)
wc: 1,182
literally thank u for requesting this, these are always so so hot to me LMAO. i hope u like how it turned out!
ohhh u already know he has read up on it and studied how to make it happen for her, but he knows that it doesn’t necessarily happen for every woman, so he’s not fully expecting it when it does happen.
they have a rare day off together and he loves her so much, he wants to spend the whole day making her feel good. he's not even aiming to make her squirt, he just wants to please her.
he takes his time with her, makes her cum twice with just his fingers before leisurely eating her out for what felt like hours to her.
he looks so pretty all the time, but when he’s looking up at her from between her legs with those beautiful, round hazel eyes, it makes her melt.
right after making her cum again with his mouth, he slowly buries his cock inside of her, he just can’t wait anymore to feel her soaked, tight heat wrapped around him.
"fuck--" he groans.
"ohmygod--" she moans.
as he thrusts in and out of her, he lifts her leg up and holds it against his hip, pressing himself into her as deep as he can go.
he thinks about a position they can try that's incredibly pleasurable for the woman. "can i try something baby?"
she nods with a "mhm," trusting him immediately. "what is it?" she figures she should ask.
he lifts her leg up all the way to his shoulder and the moan that comes out of her is foreign to both of their ears; it's a brand new sound that she's never made before.
"feel good honey?"
"so so good, babe" she's barely able to speak to him between her moans and the immense pleasure he's giving her.
"feels amazing for me too, always so good for me."
each thrust punishes her cervix, hitting her so deep and low in her stomach.
it's simultaneously too much and not enough, so she wraps her other leg around his waist. he lifts that leg the rest of the way up to his shoulder, as well. he's basically folding her in half, trying to fuck her as deep as possible.
he’s so fucking big and she was already so far gone after three orgasms back to back to back, that the position makes her head spin.
she can feel him everywhere, and it feels like the pressure of his cock is hitting her bladder.
“wait, spencer, i feel like i need to pee...” she wraps her hands around his upper arms.
he’s trying so hard to hide the excitement he feels hearing that phrase, he knows exactly what that means “that’s okay, honey, i can change the sheets.”
he's been waiting to get inside of her for so long, been painfully hard for her for so long, he really doesn't want to stop, but he would if she asked him too.
“no no, i don’t want to pee on you” she’s getting genuinely stressed and embarrassed.
“heyyy, shhhh, it’s okay baby, really. just relax and let me make you feel good. does it still feel good?” he’s stroking her hair and hasn’t let up with his thrusts, unfaltering in his rhythm.
“mhm,” she whines high in her throat, “always feels good, but i’m scared.” she's not scared of him, but she doesn't have a better word to describe how she's feeling.
“don’t be scared, honey. let it just feel good and let go.”
she breathes deeply and lets herself trust him, she knows he wouldn’t make fun of her if it did happen and he seems to know more about the situation than she does.
she's never trusted anyone as much as she trusts him.
he reaches between their bodies and rubs her clit with his thumb, the way he knows she likes. the rest of his hand stretches over her lower stomach, and he doesn't push down, but his palm is firmly placed against her.
"fuck-- spence, it's happening!"
"you're okay, baby. you're doing so good for me."
the pressure growing low in her stomach slowly releases and the relief she feels is unimaginable.
the slow release overlaps into the most intense orgasm she's ever had in her entire life.
he can feel a warm and wet liquid make contact with his lower stomach, but she has no idea its happening.
he looks down to watch her, "oh fuck baby, there you go."
he's having to recite chemistry formulas in his head to stop himself from cumming at the sight.
her walls are pulsing against his cock ferociously and he can feel a tightness in her abdomen under his hand. her thighs are trembling against his body.
"spence," she moans, high and long.
her head is tipped back against the pillow. her back arches, which lifts her pussy impossibly closer to him. her grip on his arms tightens.
the second he feels her orgasm descending, he finally lets himself let go and cums deep inside of her. she whimpers at the overstimulating feeling of being filled by his warmth.
after he pulls out, he gently leads her legs back onto the bed. while he tenderly rubs her thighs and hips, he finally looks down to see the puddle of her squirt on the bed between her thighs.
he doesn't want to embarrass her, so he's not sure how to bring it up, but he finds it so so hot and and is so proud of her. he's so grateful that she trusted him enough to fully let go.
he's so thankful when she says, "that position was insane, we should definitely do it again. i don't think i've ever came that hard."
"we definitely should, baby. it did make you squirt."
"wait, what?!" she sits up and sees the mess she created on the bed. her jaw slackens, "i've never done that before."
"never? not with anyone or by yourself?"
she shakes her head no, "is that why i felt like i was going to pee?"
he nods, "i thought it was, but i wasn't sure."
she jokingly smacks his arm with a smile, "you asshole! you could've told me! i was freaked out!"
"i know, i know, i'm sorry! but i didn't want to freak you out more or pressure you. the research says that women need to be fully relaxed for it to happen."
"the research, huh? of course, you know more about it than i do."
he blushes and averts his gaze downward, "i researched a lot before we had sex together for the first time. i wanted to make you feel as pleasured as possible."
"aw baby, that's really sweet. you're always amazing in bed, you're so good to me." she pulls him toward her and kisses him sweetly.
once she's come down from her orgasm, he helps her into the shower. they shower together, and she thanks him by giving him the best blowjob of his entire life (the first one she gave him was the best one too, they only get better and better, she's only competing with herself).
he takes care of the sheets like he said he would, then they cuddle in bed with takeout.
i kinda struggle with ending these lol sometimes i just wanna write, "and then they lived happily ever after!!!"
i did do research for this one, i hope it was realistic enough <3
also i'm working on a longer request in between these shorter ones, so stay tuned! like and subscribe!!1!!1!
ngl this was supposed to be short and sweet like my other ask requests have been, but i wanted it to have a more poetic vibe? so it somehow became 7000 words. i hope u still like!! also i named the docs file 'girl in red' and thought that was funny and wanted to share lolz
Spencer thinks absolutely nothing of the prospect of having sex with her when she’s on her period; it’s just a natural bodily function. He’s entirely unaffected.
They’re lying on his couch, evening light dispersing through the curtains and painting everything a soft golden. Lying horizontally and facing each other, faint conversations turned into soft kisses that tumbled into something sensual.
Her fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to her. His hand raises to rest on her cheek, angling her neck upwards to grant him easier access to her.
Their tongues tangle and slide together; the moist sound blends with their quiet sighs. The documentary on his TV has long been muted.
His hand trails down her arm, leaving sparks under her skin in its wake. His palm lands on her hip and firmly tugs her lower half closer to his. The feeling of his growing arousal is present against her thigh: thick and warm.
“I’m on my period,” she warns him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist.
“Yes?” he already knows this. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t have her cycle memorized? He knows exactly when to estimate the start of her menstruation, and can feel the tension increase in her body in the preceding days. How else would he keep her favorite ice cream stocked in his freezer for her to delight in?
“So, we can’t.”
“Well, we can,” he smirks, “but not if you don’t want to.” His eyes are intensely earnest.
“I always want to, but what about the mess?” Her gaze meets his, and she looks so unassuming and adorable; he needs her so badly.
“Let me worry about that.”
As he presses his lips to her neck, “orgasms can help alleviate your cramps. The hormones released after are natural painkillers.”
He’s the only person who can extract her thoughts from her head simply by being close to her; he knows this. He’s turned her stiff body into putty, and she’s on her way to being a liquid for him. Her eyes flutter shut, and she exposes her throat for his access, instinctively.
As his lips part and he starts to draw in her skin, “Oh- okay… Wait, I need to go to the bathroom and…” she gestures at her pelvis while biting on the inside of her cheek.
His lips twitch into a smile, “Of course, baby, I’ll get us set up on the bed.” He’s so amorous for her that he would’ve worked around a pad or removed a tampon for her without question. He has to suppress a laugh at his own desperation.
She tentatively untagles her limbs from his and rises from the couch to scamper into the bathroom.
After she leaves, he rolls onto his back and gazes at the ceiling, trying to pull himself together. He’s always eager to be intimate with her, but the anticipation of getting to see her during such a private epoch has his mind reeling. He thought he’d be impervious when the thought first occurred to him, but as the idea settles in, eagerness begins to hum under his skin.
His most beloved part of making love to her is getting to see the proof of their arousal on their skin. When they’re glistening with juices, sweat, and spit, he can barely contain himself. She has the ability to turn him into a person that he didn’t know he could be. His carnal desires transform into something almost animalistic, just for her.
Eventually, he rises from the sofa and gathers a large towel, a glass of water, and her favorite chocolate bar to bring into his bedroom. He assembles each piece with careful precision. The towel is layered over his bedsheets, and the water and chocolate get placed on the nightstand.
He takes pride in his penchant for taking care of her and foreseeing her needs. Like a scout, he needs to be prepared for anything: if she gets light-headed or changes her mind.
He strips down to his boxers and settles onto the edge of the bed as she emerges from the bathroom. Gaze slowly descending her body, taking in the sight of her clad in just her black bra and matching underwear, his breath catches in his throat. As she tangles her fingers in front of her stomach, he rises from the mattress and extends his hand toward her.
“C’mere, baby.”
Palms settling on her hips as he draws her in, their bodies connect like moths to a flame. His thumbs rub soothing circles on her skin, relieving the pressure she carries there. His touches always unravel her.
“Hi,” she whispers, coyly.
“Hey, beautiful.”
He lowers his head to nuzzle his nose against hers. His breath fans in soft streams against her face. Her eyes close intuitively, and she angles her neck upward. She feels like candlewax melting near an open flame.
Finally, their lips meet again. The way he tugs her body towards his is reminiscent of the way he did so on the couch, but this time, they meet core to core. The soft, warm heat of him at her lower stomach mitigates the deep tightening that’s lived there for days.
Their lips fit together like puzzle pieces: delicate, but firm. They’re still damp from their earlier ministrations on the couch. He gently pulls her upper lip between his. The kiss is soft and velvety, and it perfectly toes the line of being exactly what they need and not enough.
He leaves a hand on her hipbone and brings his other to rest on her cheek, expertly tilting her head backward to deepen their kiss. Tracing her bottom lip with his tongue, her hands rise to find purchase on his chest.
The hand on her hip circles around to her ass, and his gentle squeeze allows a soft gasp to escape her. A knowing smirk rises on his lips as they turn upward against hers. He knows exactly how to reduce her to warmth and instinct, and he revels in that feeling.
Her parted mouth allows him to properly slide his tongue against hers. For a moment, she forgets where they are and what’s occurring in her panties. All she can feel, smell, and touch is him.
He knows this; he’s felt all of the tension unravel in her body, so he seizes the opportunity to rotate their bodies so the backs of her legs make contact with the mattress.
He regretfully separates from their kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “Are you sure?”
It reminds her of their very first time together. His earnestness is familiar in the sense that he gives it to her constantly, but right now it feels different. It feels deeper and heavier.
She nods her head and hopes she’s conveying her genuine sincerity in her eyes, “I’m sure.”
There’s a thrill in knowing that they still have milestones to discover together. They both hope that the list never ends. They intend to spend the rest of their lives learning and relearning how to make the other tick.
He flattens her onto the bed, on top of the soft towel he placed before. The stiff, bone-deep ache in her spine dissipates as she settles into the mattress. She’s surrounded by softness; his skin presses into her front, and her back is cushioned by the plush towel.
Positioned on top of her with a knee between her thighs, he leans over her. He curls an arm around her head as he leans in to slot their lips together again. He’s less patient than he was previously, and he wastes minimal time before slipping his tongue back into her mouth.
His other arm grazes her upper arm and shoulder-blade, and he sensually slides her bra strap down. She knowingly arches her back so he can reach under her to unclasp it. He’s done this for her so many times before that he’s able to unfasten it with one hand, and without his mouth faltering on hers.
She sighs in relief as the restrictive fabric loosens, and he pulls the article off her body before tossing it to the floor. His lips trail from the corner of her mouth to her jaw, cascading down her neck. His mouth is moist with a mixture of their saliva.
As his hand cups her newly exposed breast, a timid moan escapes her. She’s always so reactive and sensitive to his touch, but right now her body is on fire for him. She feels heavy and full in his hand. He softly squeezes her as he sucks a mark on the junction where her neck meets her shoulder.
“Spence…” she emits during a long exhale.
“I know, baby, let me take care of you.”
His thumb brushes around the edge of her nipple, easing her into his ministrations. He continues the descent of his mouth down her chest, kissing and leaving pink marks on her skin.
He tends to her dense breasts reverently. He uses both hands to squeeze the fullness of them, lightly skimming circles on her nipples. The relief she feels is already euphoric, and he hasn’t even touched her where she’s aching and pulsing for him.
The knee between her thighs drifts closer to her damp, aching core. She just barely feels the ghost of his kneecap against the apex of her inner thighs. Rutting her hip downward towards him, she feels pleasantly dizzy and can’t control the tilt of her head against the pillow or the air that escapes her lungs.
She’s so sensitive, it’s like he has direct access to her nerve endings. When he flattens his tongue over her nipple, she gasps and arches her back sharply. He rolls her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger ever so slightly, before alternating his touches.
He retreats from her just enough to see his saliva glistening around her areolas and bites his lower lip in pleasure at the sight. The curve of her breasts is slightly swollen from her menstruation, and he feels so fortunate to have this access to her.
He returns his lips to hers and lightly caresses one hand down her arm to her hipbone. His other hand comfortingly strokes her hair. He’s being so soft and gentle with her, like her skin is glass.
His thumb rests on the skin of her hipline, and his palm feels warm and firm. He lets his thumb brush underneath the elastic of her waistband, and he slowly eases his hand inside of her panties. His body shifts to create easier access to her.
She separates her thighs and pushes her hips upward as a means of telling him where she needs him. Her arms rise to cup his face with her hands, pulling him even closer to her.
His palm slides down her center, and he dips his middle finger into the wetness that has accumulated at her core.
“Oh, baby.” He whispers against her lips. She’s completely drenched in a mixture of blood and arousal. She feels so warm and so so wet; he’s enraptured by the feeling. A low keening noise emits from low in her throat.
His finger glides with ease through and around her folds. When the tip of it grazes her clit, her hips jerk involuntarily. She feels so sensitive and vulnerable. She feels charged and heightened, like a livewire.
He maintains eye contact with her as his finger enters her slick hole. He can feel the heat emanating from her. She feels like soft, silken sheets in the summertime.
He leisurely pumps his fingers, and they can both hear the squelching noise of her moisture. It’s already so lewd. She’s soaked down to her inner thighs.
He studies her face as he easily inserts a second finger alongside his first. There’s barely any stretch, and her hole pulls his fingers deeper on its own accord. A gravelly moan escapes her against her will.
His fingers seem to be reaching the low and constant ache that resides deep inside of her. Each pump of his fingers chips away at it, while introducing a new, more pleasant pressure for her to focus on.
He curves his fingers to stroke her most sensitive spot with each thrust. Her hands shift to his neck, pulling him against her so she can bury her face in his chest. Her deep moans reverberate against his skin.
He wants to tell her how badly he needs to be inside of her, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. He wants to give her space to change her mind, if she wants.
It’s all he can think about, though, as her drenched, silky pussy envelopes his hand. He can barely wait to get his cock wrapped in her tight, warm, wet heat. If he were a lesser man, he’d pull her panties down right now.
As he continues fingering her, her nipples feel electric as they pleasantly press against his chest. The smell of him travels up her nostrils and seems to blanket her brain. He smells crisp of cedar and coffee.
He raises his thumb to roll over her clit, and her body shudders against his.
“Oh, fuck, Spence,” she whines.
“Yeah, baby? How’s that feel?”
“So good, Spence. I need you inside me.”
“I will, baby. Just relax for me, I wanna make you cum before I do.” He leans down to kiss her again, sensually sliding his tongue inside her mouth. Her moans vibrate between his lips and onto his tongue. He tangles a hand in her hair, not pulling, just holding her.
As he gradually increases the speed and pressure of his fingers, the squishing noise between her thighs grows louder.
A low moan escapes him as she clenches around his fingers. Her thighs tremble, and her jaw goes slack against his. Soft whimpers enter his mouth, and her back arches slightly off the bed.
“There you go…” He mutters as he watches her head tilt back, and her eyes squeeze shut.
She feels the white-hot pleasure of her orgasm rolling through her. She feels like a struck match that’s slowly burning down to nothing. Sparks glow behind her eyelids.
Spencer continues the movements of his fingers until her thighs start to close around his hand and her hips squirm away from him. He then removes his hand from her panties and rests it back on her hip. His fingers are warm and wet and sticky on her skin.
She’s completely breathless, and as she opens her eyes, her vision is blurred at the edges.
He litters kisses down her neck, to her chest, and back to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples back into his mouth. Her hands tangle in his hair to attempt to pull his mouth back to hers, but he groans in pleasure at the feeling of her touch and maintains his hovering position over her tits.
He lets a slow string of spit fall from his lips and land on her red, swollen nipple. She whines as it makes contact with her overworked skin. He watches as his saliva settles into her skin with a focused gaze.
He lets his gaze fall to his messy fingers, and his brain short-circuits when he sees the proof of her stained all over them. Underneath them, her hip is red with his fingerprints.
He loses himself in the sight of it, and she starts fearing that he’s disgusted by what he sees.
“Spence? Do you still… want to?”
His head snaps back to her face, where he finds her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, and a soft crease has formed between her eyebrows.
He uses his dry hand to pull at her bottom lip, and it forms into a pout. He kisses the crease between her brows and softly grinds his hips against her outer thigh.
“Yes, baby, I absolutely still want to.”
She feels the proof of his statement in the warm, hard pressure against her leg and sighs in relief. He maintains eye contact with her as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, sexily licking them clean of her blood and arousal.
Her jaw slackens in shock at the sight of him like this, and his eyes close in pleasure as he tastes her. She tastes both familiar and entirely new. He then winks at her. Her concerns regarding his desires fall away.
His fingers remain somewhat stained, and a red spot is left on his bottom lip.
As he moves down her body, he sucks her nipple into his mouth and rolls it between his lips. She whimpers and places her hand on the back of his head. He releases her with an audible ‘pop’ noise and kisses slowly down her stomach and to her waistband. He now has a perfect view of the mess that’s grown along her inner thighs.
He places tender kisses along her lower stomach, exactly on the places where her cramps typically form. Following his lips comes the weight of his palm, which caresses her softly.
He understands her well enough to know that her first orgasm softened her nervous edges enough for him to remove her panties, but he still looks up at her in question as he hooks his fingers into them.
She nods enthusiastically, and he smiles as he tugs them down her legs.
They suction to her cunt on the way down, and her slick mess is slowly revealed to him as if he’s unwrapping a present. In a way, he is; getting to be with her at all is a gift.
After carefully folding her panties and placing them on the edge of the towel, his gaze meets her exposed cunt. He’s completely entranced by the red smears that paint her inner thighs and pelvis. He impulsively bends her legs to set her feet flat on the bed, granting him an even better view of her soaked core.
Seeing her blood-smeared pussy, exposed just for him, a low and desperate groan escapes him. Blood trickles through her folds and onto the towel beneath her.
Spencer needs to get inside of her. He needs to feel her warm lubrication wrapped around his cock.
He leaves a quick kiss on her inner thigh before sitting up to hurriedly push his underwear down his legs. He barely has the wherewithal to get them off his feet.
He gathers some of her bloody slick with his fingers and strokes his throbbing cock to lubricate himself. Repositioning himself on top of her, he draws one of her knees against his waist and props himself up with the other by her head.
For a moment, all he can see is the pink and red and maroon that litters her body. Pink are her cheeks. Red are her lips, the marks he left scattered over her neck and chest, and her bitten nipples. Maroon is the handprint he left on her hip.
“Thank you for letting me have you like this. You look absolutely divine, baby.”
The pink on her cheeks blossoms into a red. Only Spencer would take the time to compliment her so dearly before he’s about to fuck her into the mattress. Only Spencer would abandon his own needs to provide her with this tender moment.
Their pupils are equally dilated and expanded, matching each other in darkness and intensity.
He slowly drags his tip through her slickness, mesmerized at the way her blood catches and stains his smooth skin. She gasps and jerks her hips upwards as he contacts her clit with each slide.
He’s completely painted with her from tip to base, smeared into the soft hair that’s littered there.
He lowers himself down to kiss her as he lines himself up with her entrance. She gasps into his mouth at the ease with which his tip slides inside of her. He has to stop himself from gliding all the way inside of her to the hilt. She’s so slick and so wet that he could do so with ease, but he won’t before she’s ready.
She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him in to the hilt; she can’t wait anymore. She craves the feeling of him deep inside of her. The impact punches the air out of both of them. The descent was completely frictionless; they could feel her walls softly stretching to accommodate him.
“Fuck-” He moans at the feeling of her completely enveloping his cock: thick and warm and wet.
She can feel him pulsing and throbbing inside of her. She reaches for his shoulders to hold him for purchase, her nails pushing into his skin.
The biting sensation of her nails brings him back to reality, and he realizes he’s been stagnant inside of her for an unknown amount of time.
As he starts moving, it’s nearly impossible for him to control his thrusts; everything is so slick and slippery. Each thrust is filthily easy with wetness and moisture. Each slap of their hips produces an obscene, wet smacking noise.
Each drag of him along her sensitive walls has her writhing and arching underneath him. Her sopping pussy pulls him in even deeper with each thrust.
Spencer is enchanted. Normally, he treasures having eye contact with her during sex, but he’s fascinated by the sight of her smearing all over his cock. His eyes are wide and round, and his mouth falls open in shock.
He knew he wouldn’t be disturbed by the sight of her like this, but he didn’t expect his attraction to her to grow impossibly stronger.
His eyes are locked on where they meet, gaze laser-focused on her. His grip on her thigh tightens with each thrust of his hips.
“Look at you, baby. You’re making a mess all over me.” He sounds as fascinated as he looks. His eyes are full of devotion.
She sits up to meet his eye line where his core slams into hers. As she shifts, she unconsciously clenches against him, and her greedy walls suction him in even deeper. Her nails dig deeper into his shoulders.
Her upright position makes them moan in tandem. Her eyes widen as she sees her smearing blood on his pelvis and V-line. It’s collected around the base of his cock and has spread through his pubic hair, gathering in the soft strands. Her inner thighs are coated with a crimson stain that ascends to her lower stomach.
The sight of him pumping in and out of her makes her head spin on a normal day, but this vision has her entire body tingling with desire. It awakens something deep and carnal inside of her.
For a moment, all she can see on him are the red details. His lips are kissed red. Her nails have left red crescents on his shoulders. His chest is flushed a reddish pink. His pelvis is painted red with her. With each thrust, she can see the blood that has accumulated around the base of his cock. It tapers out into his soft, curly pubes and has started collecting in the groove of his hip.
She feels a feral sense of pride brewing in her stomach at the sight of what she’s done to him.
Her gaze flitters over to the faint fingerprints he left on her hip, and her jaw falls open in a pleasant shock.
“So pretty like this, baby, so so pretty.” The repetitiveness of his adjective is a testament to how far gone he is. His grip on her thigh tightens as his thrusts become more and more rigorous.
“Oh fuck me.” Her head tilts back, elongating her throat. He surges forward to suck more marks on her smooth skin, darkening the ones he’s already left there.
Her veins are so flooded with pleasure that she falls backwards onto the pillow, dragging him down with her. One of her hands tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck, needing something to hold on to.
With the new angle, she can feel his tip kiss her cervix with each thrust; she emits low moans, “ah, ah, ah,” like a prayer with each penetration.
His hand that was propping his body up now slides down the sheets to grab hers, intertwining their fingers like he can’t get close enough to her; as if being inside of her and covered in the evidence of her biology isn’t enough. She grips it like it's her lifeline, and he can still feel the pleasant sting of where her fingernails had done the same into his shoulder and upper back.
“Shit- you feeling okay?” his head is burrowed in the crook of her shoulder, and his breath collides with her heated skin.
“Mhm,” she emits a high-pitched moan, “feels really good.”
His voice is wrecked, “Good, baby, let me take care of you. Feels so good for me too, you always do.” His hand spans her thigh as he lifts it high above his waist, opening her up even further. She can feel a new wave of blood and fluids gush out of her as he spreads her open.
She’s clenching around him with a tenacity that would normally push him outward, but she’s so drenched that it seems to only draw him in further. The blood-slick glide feels phenomenal for both of them. Breathless gasps intersperse with deep moans that blend with the squelching noise at their cores. It creates the most erotic melody they’ve ever heard.
He lifts his head from her bruised neck, watching her facial expressions as his cock punches into her again and again and again. Up close, the vision of each other’s glistening lips is too tempting to resist. They can see the evening sun filtering in through the curtains out of the corner of their eye, and it’s now painting the room with an alpenglow. The sides of their faces are backlit by a heavenly light.
They’re so intensely attracted to each other, and the light only strengthens their desirability. Their mouths crash together into something wet and desperate. Tongues slide with a frenzy.
Running out of air in his lungs, Spencer just slightly pulls away from the kiss, so close to her that she’s somewhat blurry. A string of spit connects their mouths, and he closes his eyes with a low groan that comes straight from his chest.
He likes his sex messy. He never thought he would, but being with her has made him obsessed with the sight of her sheer sweat, their glistening saliva, and his milky cum painting her skin. Her bloodstains hit him deep in his stomach. The obvious proof of what they’ve done has his dick twitching in excitement.
She thrusts her hips up to meet his, smearing more and more of her around his pelvis and hipline. The thrusts become deeper and faster and even messier. The pressure of him in her stomach seems to be canceling out any pressure from her uterus.
This entire experience is so erotic that Spencer can barely keep himself together; he’s a ball of yarn being slowly unraveled. She’s so plush, pliant, soft, and warm underneath him that he wishes he could stay like this forever. Rough groans that seem to be coming from his stomach sound foreign to their ears; he’s never sounded so pleased or satisfied.
Each point of contact with his skin feels heightened and hums beneath hers. She feels akin to a tree without its bark, raw and exposed.
The clenching of her walls falls into a steady rhythm, and the thigh he’s been holding against his side trembles beneath her skin. Her writhing hips become erratic.
His fingers untangle with hers to fit his hand between their bodies. Just the feeling of him hovering over her clit has her jittering. When he connects with it, drawing slow, wet circles on the nub, she knows the fire that's been growing inside of her is about to explode; his touch is the gasoline. His fingertips slip and slide with ease.
“I’m close,” she whimpers into his ear.
“I know, baby, let go for me. I need to feel you cum around me like this, please.”
Her veins feel like a lit stick of dynamite as she approaches her climax, slowly burning into an explosion of sparks and fire that spreads up to her eyelids. It blazes through her, leaving none of her atoms untouched. She’s left as a pile of embers as it dissolves.
He can see the fireworks boom behind her eyes, and her chest arches up into his. They’re so slick with sweat that their torsos glide together.
Her walls pulse as her orgasm descends, causing his to follow behind it after a handful of haphazard thrusts. He buries his cock to the hilt, cumming deep inside of her.
He collapses on top of her body, nuzzling his head into her neck. She can feel his hot air against her skin and the rapid rise and fall of his chest against hers.
Her hand sticks to the strands of hair at the back of his neck, also moist with perspiration. The room is humid and smells of sex and something that’s distinctly them. The last traces of the sunset are starting to transition into night.
“Wow.” She manages to say between gasps for air.
“I know.” He mumbles into her neck; the vibrations of it are almost too much for her sensitive nerves.
Some time passes where they lie in a comfortable silence. Needing to regain control of their breathing and not wanting the moment to end.
Eventually, his head rises from the home it found on her shoulder. His eyes are glazy with passion and affection. Hers are half-lidded and adoring.
Her body feels gelatinous, but she manages to lift her head enough to press a firm kiss to his mouth. His reaction is slightly delayed, as if everything is moving in slow motion.
After they break apart, her lips brush against his jaw, down to the sweaty moisture that’s started to dry on his neck. He smells so palpably like himself there that she can’t help herself from darting her tongue out to lick at the dampness.
His head falls back in pleasure, and a guttural groan escapes him. If there’s anything Spencer loves more than his saliva spreading on her skin, it's hers connecting with his.
His hips shift against hers instinctively as a chill almost meets the surface of his skin.
This reminds both of them that his cock is still buried deep inside of her. She envelopes him in a warm and wet heat that he doesn’t want to pull away from.
“Oh my god, you’re gonna get stuck in there.” She jokes with a tired giggle.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Like that’s not exactly what I want.” He smirks, and she affectionately rolls her eyes at him.
He carefully extracts his hips from hers. The blood that's collected there has started to dry into something slightly sticky. The squelching sensation blends with the faint clinging of their skin.
Both of their pelvic areas are completely painted red and crimson with her blood. It’s like various red wines have been spilled and left to absorb into the fibers of their skin.
The feeling of his cum dripping out of her entrance blends with trickles of blood. It feels like a gutter emptying after a heavy rainfall. The heat under her skin slowly retreats as the air conditioning breathes over her damp body.
He can’t stop his temptation to see his cum mixed with her blood, so he shifts his body down the bed until he’s positioned between her thighs. It drips out of her as a soft pink before it combines with dark red. He’s so intrigued that he can’t look away.
“How’s it look, Doctor?”
“Completely marvelous, my love.” The air from his speech makes contact with her folds, making her shudder.
He lets a long string of spit fall from his lips and watches in wonder as it softly lands in her folds, making her whimper.
He licks a firm, wide stripe from her fluttering hole to her clit. He meant to ask, not wanting to cross any of her boundaries, but it’s like her cunt and his tongue have a magnetic pull.
“Oh! Spence!” she exclaims, arching her back and gripping his hair
He pulls back slightly, lips and chin already smeared with red. “I’m sorry.” Lips pursed and shifted to one side. “I should’ve asked first. Can I?”
“I’ll never say no to that, but you really don’t have to. I’m sure it tastes like pennies.”
He shakes his head, accompanied by quiet laughter, “Not at all. You always taste so good,” and dives back between her thighs.
He has to clean her up; he always does. He continues licking wide stripes up the expanse of her pussy, flicking at her clit on the way up each time. Her body jerks each time he does it, the line between overstimulation and pleasure softening with a blur.
She does have a slight metallic taste, but it makes him think of beautiful things like jewelry. She’s still sweet and tangy underneath it, a flavor he’s addicted to.
He wraps his arms around the underside of her thighs, opening her up just for him to explore.
“I’m so lucky to see you this way.”
He hopes that nobody has ever had her like this before. He knows it’s territorial and possessive to think that way–maybe even slightly problematic–but he’s never felt intimacy like this with anyone else. Regardless, he hopes he can do this with her every month for the foreseeable future.
As he sucks and inserts his tongue into her hole, his nose grazes her puffed clit until she’s writhing underneath him. Her soft whimpers and whines are music to his ears. The corners of his lips turn upward as his grip on her thighs tightens.
He’s drowning in her juices, his cum, her blood, and his saliva. He’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Spence,” she whines. The distant sound of her voice mixed with the squelching in his ears creates the most wonderful song he’s ever heard.
He licks wider stripes up her pussy, and he briefly wonders how much of a mess he’s making on his own face in the name of cleaning her. He loves seeing her arousal glistening around his mouth and chin when he normally does this. The thought of the proof of her pleasure being even more prominent has his stomach doing somersaults.
He shifts his mouth to meet her clit, softly sucking it into his mouth. Her whines tumble into proper moans, her grip on his hair tightens, and her thighs push against his arms.
He releases one of her thighs to push his pointer finger inside of her. He softly caresses her satin walls, ensuring to make contact with her most tender spot with each thrust. A low moan releases from her throat, and her newly freed thigh closes on the side of his head. He can feel it trembling against his cheek and can see her lower stomach tensing.
The experience has him letting out a low and soft moan that vibrates against her skin. Pleasuring her satisfies something deep within him.
The expanse of his devotion has warmth growing behind her eyes. Nobody has ever been this committed to taking care of her in any aspect. She’s never gotten close to trusting anyone to this extent, with her body completely at their mercy.
She feels the knot in her stomach tighten until it snaps, like a pulled thread. The oscillations of his voice are what drive her over the edge. Her orgasm tangles and rolls through her. He pulls at her seams until she comes undone, unraveling her completely.
He continues his ministrations until her grip on his hair starts pulling him away from her core. He sees her eyes squished shut, and her hair has formed a halo around her head on the pillow: perfectly accessorizing her angelic body.
The rapid rise and fall of her sweat-coated chest makes him want to rise to lick it all off of her, but he prioritizes her sensitivity over his own desire.
She looks down at him and gasps, wide-eyed, and covers her mouth with her hand.
“Oh my god, honey, you look scary.” She laughs into her palm.
“Scary?! That’s not nice,” he mockingly pouts at her. “So I can’t have a kiss?” he purses his red-stained lips at her.
“Just a little one,” she concedes and gestures with her thumb and forefinger, showing him the gap between them. He laughs and shakes his head at her, ascending her body to press a soft and brief kiss to her lips. She tries to lean forward to meet him halfway, but she’s still enduring a deep tremble that seems to be coming from her bones. Her limbs feel soft and melted.
“You do taste like pennies… and keys… and nails.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he teases, eyes fused to her red-stained lips. “Should I be worried about your dietary habits?”
“See, I was wondering if I should be worried about yours. You’re not secretly a vampire, are you?” Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she playfully squints at him.
He just laughs and shakes his head at her before leaning down to steal another brief kiss.
He considers wiping himself with the edge of the towel underneath her, but decides against it in favor of seeing her mess all over him in the bathroom mirror. Her blood has mostly dried and begun settling into his skin, anyway.
“Shower?” He asks her.
“Definitely.”
He rises from the mattress and helps her sit up enough to sip the glass of water he prepared for her. The moisture glossens her lips, collecting in the corner of her mouth. A droplet dribbles down her chin and to her neck, so he leans down to kiss it off her.
“Is that for me?” she points at the chocolate bar resting unassumingly on the wooden nightstand, looking up at him wide-eyed and curious, biting on her lower lip to subdue a smile.
“Oh, no… I got this for me,” he teases with a sly smirk, as he picks it up and holds it to his chest, in jest. She justs her lower lip out at him and gives him doe-eyes, sending a jolt to his chest. He’d do anything for her regardless, but that look could convince him to follow her into a collapsing, burning building.
He tears the package open and places a piece between her lips. As she nibbles at the square, his eyes scan her debauched body. Various red stains litter her skin in marks on her neck, chest, and breasts, all leading down to the red sea that laps her hipline, pelvis, and thighs.
He finds her utterly ethereal. Being intimate with her was already the most sacred experience in the world, but this experience is ineffable. He’s so grateful to have her, and he’s so thankful that she trusted him to do this with her.
He reluctantly leaves her side to pad over to the bathroom to start the shower for them. After twisting the handle, he finally turns to see his reflection in the mirror.
His eyes widen, and his lips separate at the vision of himself. The entirety of his lower face is coated with evidence of his debauchery. It surrounds his mouth, chin, and there’s even a smear on his cheek from her thigh closing in on him.
His gaze filters lower on his body, where he finds more confirmation of their activities together. The blood that surrounds his pelvis has dried into a deep maroon and mahogany. He’s frozen in place, in awe of the contrast of it on his pale skin. Her blood blooms and spreads from his softened cock to his pubic area, hips, and to his lower stomach.
He doesn’t want to wipe any of it away. He wishes he could tattoo it onto himself to admire for the rest of his life.
Ultimately, he rinses his face in the sink and watches mournfully as the diluted blood flows down the drain. A red tint lingers on the skin surrounding his mouth.
As he reenters the bedroom, she tells him, “I don’t know how I’m gonna get to the shower.”
“I’ll take you.” He replies with ease, tucking his arms under the towel, then under her knees and upper back before she can even ask what his plan is.
He holds her body close to his chest and ducks down to kiss her properly. Her arms tighten around his neck as she sighs happily into his mouth. The love they have for each other is so full that it could spill out of their bodies.
He carries her into the bathroom and sets her gently onto the shower floor, ensuring her legs are steady before he releases his arms. The towel gets crumpled, mess side inward, and tossed toward the bathroom corner.
She’s already started rinsing herself when he steps in behind her. They watch as the blood fades into a pale stream down her thighs, legs, and to the drain. Minimal words are shared as they clean each other off; they don’t need to. They can feel the adoration emitting from each other's bodies, and it can be seen in the recesses of their eyes.
The water runs steadily around them. Periodically, they lean into each other, her head to his chest and his arms around her waist. There are soft kisses and even softer whispers. Nothing is rushed or demanded. They bring each other comfort in the small space. They stay there longer than necessary.
Afterward, Spencer gathers clothes for her and helps her prepare her menstrual product. He cooks her an iron-rich meal that he knows she will like, and they eat it while curled together on the couch. As a movie plays on the TV, he finds his mind drifting to replay the memories of their time together over and over in his head.
-
i fear i need to put the thesaurus down but i also am proud of this but i also am scared to share LOL be nice to me!!!
just imagine— superboy prime, off world and missing you so much he’s jerking off just from the thought of you
this man was so sexually frustrated from how far apart he was from you that he had to use his fist to satisfy his cravings, pants leaving his lips and slick slaps of skin being heard
clark’s lustful eyes were on his cock, imagining it was your soft hand going up and down his thick cock, wanting your tongue to run over his length, craving for your pretty walls to suck him in and not let him go
“ohhh fuck, miss you baby” he moaned, tracing his tip with his thumb and pretending it was your thumb. “miss you so much—" a whimper was heard from him. the action made his cock twitch and clark couldn’t take it anymore
with his free shaky hand, he pulled out his phone and hurriedly unlocked it to open his photo gallery and press on the gallery that was dedicated to you
one picture was you with an outfit that highlighted all of your curves, your boobs slightly perky from how tight the top was. it made clark salivate, his fist around his cock now speeding up. the other picture was you sleeping peacefully next to him, lips still swollen after a night with him
but when clark scrolled to the next picture, it was one he had snapped a few weeks— you, looking up at him with those beautiful wide eyes and your mouth filled with his cock. his breathing increased, moans of your name leaving his lips
“fuck, i want the real deal” he panted, scrolling to the next one— a picture of you under him with a clear shot of his cock perfectly snugged inside your pussy. the camera perfectly captured your expression, eyes half lidded and lips parted with an ‘o’— a pornographic expression so lewd it made clark groan, feeling that build of pleasure slowly form
“already imaginin’ her—shit— squeezin’ me tight” he moaned, knocking his head back after tightening his grip and imagining it was your pussy instead of your walls, now thrusting his hips and fucking his hips— all imagining it was you
each picture of you— lewd or not— made his cock harden with no failure
and after a few swipes of pictures and one last stroke of his cock, clark let out a curse under his breath before his orgasm washed out. “ohh that’s it, pretty girl. milkin’ me dry” he kept mumbling to himself, his hand now sticky and slick with cum as his pace slowed down but not enough for his hand to stop
fuck, he couldn’t wait to get back home
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: writing this with one hand rn, literally. lets also ignore how this was too long for a drabble but idc its still a drabble)
something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going
no closer could i be to god ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x reader
summary: spencer's love language is acts of service. he'll happily do anything for you, including helping you apply lotion after a shower.
genre: fluff! (suggestive, MDNI) word count: 1.8k
tags: fem!reader, nudity, spencer puts lotion on reader, non-sexual intimacy, with a singular boob squeeze, they're so in love it's disgusting, clothes sharing at the end, mentions of body odour, spell-checked but not proofread
notes: this is so revoltingly self-indulgent
Your reflection is veiled under a thin film of condensation, stripping your form to its bare foundations: the hazy shape of your shoulders; your face, reduced to little more than a flesh-toned blob; and the stark white of the towel wrapped snugly around your body. Secured under an armpit. Bound to come undone if you breathe too deeply.
You drag your palm across the mirror, and, for a moment, you see yourself in your entirety—face heat-flushed, hair sopping wet—before the condensation makes its brusque return, taking you with it. You vanish in the mist, gone before you can so much as fix the parting of your hair.
Somehow, you anticipate the knock at the door before you hear it. It’s your sixth sense, or something akin to it; knowing where he is, where he will be. You can almost feel it through the wall, that magnetism. The slight shift in the air whenever he’s nearby. Invisible. Barely felt. But there.
“Can I come in?”
Spencer’s voice lights your face with one of those involuntary, almost girlish smiles that you’re never quite able to fend off. It’s the kind of smile you’d expect from a highschooler whose crush just said hello to her by the lockers, and not from a grown, mature woman such as yourself—if you can call yourself that.
“No.”
Damn it, you can hear it in your voice.
You don’t know what it is about him that makes you so…kittenish, almost. You’ve never been a particularly bashful person; you don’t blush easily, you don’t smile at the sound of someone’s voice, your stomach doesn’t do somersaults when you catch someone’s eye. You’ve always been confident. Unaffected. Some would go as far as to call you aloof.
Every relationship you’ve ever had has settled into a kind of mundanity, and that isn’t at all meant in a negative way. Sparks dim, honeymoon phases fizzle out, butterflies go into hibernation—it’s normal.
And your relationship with Spencer Reid, by that logic, is decidedly abnormal. You live with him, have lived with him for over a year now, and yet every time he walks into the room you still find yourself staring. Transfixed. Your heart flutters, your stomach flips, and your lips curl into that cursed smile. It’s disgusting, really, how much you like him.
You aren’t surprised when the bathroom door opens. Steam rushes out into the dimly lit bedroom, and Spencer pokes his head in. He, too, is smiling like an idiot. And he, too, is desperately trying not to; he’s trying to pout, by the looks of it, and he isn’t doing a very good job.
“What’s up?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He shrugs and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “I missed you.”
“I’ve only been in here for—”
“Forty-three minutes,” he says, “and fifteen seconds.”
“And you can’t last forty-three minutes and fifteen seconds without me?”
Spencer puts his entire face into that pout: he frowns, closes his eyes, juts out his bottom lip far beyond what should be natural, and he crosses the room with his arms outstretched like a touch-deprived, attention-seeking zombie as he wails, “no.”
You press your lips together, suppressing a grin as his hands settle on your shoulders. He pulls you into a hug, pressing your body flush against his.
“Ugh, Spence— I’m all wet…”
“Don’t care.”
He mumbles this into the damp skin of your shoulder, just above your collarbone, and he presses a kiss to where the words landed before pulling back to gaze at you.
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him with mock sympathy. “How on earth do you survive without me at work?”
“I languish,” he whines. “I sit at my desk, and I wither away.”
“You…” you sigh. “…are so dramatic.”
“I thought it was one of my charms?”
“Maybe. The—” he cuts you off with a peck on the lips, and you gently push him away. “The shower’s free. Go on.”
Spencer hums, acknowledging your words, but he doesn’t move.
“Just one more minute,” he murmurs.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile at his affections—and you do allow him one more minute before pushing him away. You scan the bathroom in search of your lotion, but Spencer grabs the bottle before you can.
“Thanks—”
…and he holds it out of your reach as you try to take it from him.
Your face falls, and you cross your arms. “What?”
“I was thinking…maybe I could help you,” he poses, keeping his voice light and innocent on the off chance that you might not see straight through him.
“Help?”
“Get the, uh…hard-to-reach areas,” he clarifies with a smile.
“Uh huh.” You nod, eyeing him sceptically. “You just want to feel me up.”
Spencer’s jaw drops, and his mouth contorts into this comical, overly surprised ‘o’ shape. He shakes his head adamantly, brown hair falling into his eyes as he says, “that’s not— …the only reason.”
You click your tongue, trying to keep up your façade of mild disinterest even as you begin tugging at your towel. “At least you’re honest.”
Spencer does not try at all to hide the way his gaze fixes on your body as you remove your towel, trailing over every inch of you before putting on this big, stupid-looking grin. He leans in to kiss you—properly, this time—anchoring one hand at the back of your neck whilst the other keeps a tight hold of the lotion bottle. You let him have his way for a moment or two, or three, before pulling away.
“Hey,” you snap your fingers, donning the sternest expression you can muster, “moisturise me.”
He sighs, puffing air into his cheeks before pressing one final kiss to your forehead. “Okay, Lady Cassandra,” he mutters, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “Turn around for me.”
You turn away as he pops open the bottle of lotion, and you hear it sputter as he squeezes some onto his hand. The pause that follows as he sets the bottle aside is oddly anticipatory, and then his hands come, gently, into contact with your back.
That’s another thing about Spencer Reid—he’s more or less a human radiator. His hands are always warm, no matter the conditions. You seek him out for warmth in the winter, snuggling up to him at any chance you can get, and you avoid him like the plague in the summer. He does, however, have a profound fondness for cuddles, so you often end up toughing it out and letting yourself overheat—for his sake.
His touch alleviates a tension you didn’t know you were carrying. You feel your shoulders loosen as you breathe out a quiet sigh. Spencer works the lotion into your skin with great care, working in sections as he advances down your back until he’s crouching behind you, massaging lotion into your sides, your hips and, finally, your ass.
“Your favouritism is showing,” you mutter.
“I—” Spencer scoffs. “I’m just ensuring that there is even coverage—”
“You’re ensuring that you get to fondle my ass,” you interrupt, correcting him. You’re sure he can hear the smile infiltrating your voice. “Meanwhile my legs are drying up.”
You hear him huff, and his hands briefly leave your body as he squeezes more lotion into his palm before turning his attention to your right thigh. He tends to each leg separately, and even throws in a brief, unexpected calf massage before rising to his feet.
“You’re very…shiny,” he notes as he picks up the bottle for a third time.
“This is how I stay silky smooth.”
One at a time, Spencer works his way down your arms. He stops at your wrists, avoiding your hands—clearly, you’ve complained one too many times about hating the feeling of lotion on your palms. “I don’t moisturise like this,” he says, “and I’m silky smooth.”
“You can always be silkier and smoother.”
“Mhm. And would you do this for me? Slather me in lotion until I’m all slippery?”
“Ew. Don’t say it like that. But yes, I would…slather you, if you asked me to.”
Spencer leans in to kiss your cheek as his hands trail down to your stomach. “So kind,” he murmurs, grinning. “How lucky I am to have someone so willing to smear lotion all over me.”
“I hope you’re grateful.”
“Always.”
His lips meet the side of your neck just as his hands move up to your chest. He squeezes you, gently, just enough to make your breath catch just before your hands close around his wrists, and you pull his hands away.
“And we’re done,” you announce, turning back to him.
Spencer frowns. “But I didn’t do your collarbones.”
“I can do my own collarbones—”
“Please?”
He’s pouting again, staring at you with those big, stupid brown eyes like you’re depriving him of something sacred.
“…fine.”
Spencer steps forward, and he carefully massages the last of the lotion into your collarbones with a proud smile. His fingers dance along your skin, touch so light it almost feels reverent.
Crushes are supposed to subside with time. The giddiness, the novelty, it’s all supposed to wear off within the first few months of dating. And yet every time you find yourself like this, face to face with him, close enough to feel his breath on your skin, giddiness is all you can feel.
As much as you try to hide it, you have the biggest crush on your boyfriend. And you can’t see it going away any time soon. You don’t want it to go away. Ever.
“There we go.”
Spencer backs up a little to admire his work—or, more accurately, to admire you—with a grin that almost stretches from one ear to the other, splitting his face with a joy that is almost infectious. Almost.
“Thanks, Doc.” You give him a nod, maintaining a perfectly neutral expression as you gesture to the shower. “Now go, it’s your turn.”
“Actually, I was wondering if—”
“I’m not showering with you, Spence,” you say. That damn pout returns full force as you turn him down, but you don’t let it dissuade you. “You just emptied half a bottle of lotion onto me. That’s like, four dollars.”
“But—”
“Shower. Now. You stink.”
“I don’t stink.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Well, actually, statistics show that couples often enjoy each other’s natural body odour, so—”
“Yes, but you have work tomorrow. I doubt the BAU will appreciate your stench as much as I do.”
“Fine.”
He begins fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, hurriedly undoing them as you turn to leave. He catches you by the arm before you make it to the door, and he presses the shirt into your hand with a sly smile.
“I love you.”
Barely able to bite back a smile of your own, you take the shirt off his hands. It’s warm, worn, and smells unapologetically of him. You slip it on like it’s your own.
like a heathen clung to the homily ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x reader
summary: spencer returns home in the middle of the night, exhausted beyond words and in dire need of a snack. who are you to turn him down?
genre: smut (MDNI) word count: 2.9k
tags: fem!reader, oral (f receiving), munch!spencer, fingering, kissing, spencer is a tease, yes of course he's wearing glasses, title from a hozier song, written in a morrisons car park, proofread (please hold your applause)
notes: on god he's devouring that shit like it's his last meal
Coming home late is an art that Spencer Reid has learned to master. He’s studied which floorboards creek, which ones groan, and which ones scream bloody murder at the slightest misstep. He’s learned how to unlock and open every door without making a sound. He’s adapted to staying light on his feet and traversing the apartment, soundlessly, in complete darkness.
Every inch of this place is memorised; every sharp corner, every piece of furniture, every lip of every thick woollen rug that he once would trip over almost every day. He even knows where you are most likely to leave your belongings, and he accounts for them, whether they are there or not, as he goes about his silent routine.
There used to be a time where he could make as much noise as he wanted to, within reason. A time where he could flick on the lights and hum a happy little tune to himself without fear of disturbing any sleeping lovers. But it isn’t just him anymore. His once solitary apartment—his bachelor pad, as Morgan used to call it—is now a shared space, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would happily spend the rest of his late nights fumbling around in the dark, holding his breath, if it meant that he got to return home to you.
But tonight, though he does continue with his usual dance in the dark, the last thing on Spencer’s mind is letting you sleep.
“Psst. Hey.”
You wake disoriented, half-buried among your hoard of soft pillows and softer blankets. You’re sprawled out like a starfish, limbs strewn across your shared bed, with your face partially obscured by your favourite purple and orange quilt—a birthday gift handmade by Spencer.
Leaning over you is Spencer himself. Hair tousled. Glasses sitting halfway down his nose. Backlit by the light of the moon peeking through the blinds and looking very much like a guardian angel.
All you manage in response is a low grumble. Words feel too far out of your reach as you squint up at him, face all scrunched up in this confused, sleep-riddled expression that is probably about as far from sexy as you can get.
You’re dimly aware of the state of your hair, and of the fact that you’re sleeping in a shirt that very obviously isn’t yours; you like maths, sure, but not enough to parade yourself around in a shirt displaying a right-angled triangle with the words “I’m always right” printed under it in big, ugly lettering. You’ve told Spencer to throw this shirt out more times than you can remember, and yet here you are wearing it when he isn’t around. If he hasn’t already figured you’ve been missing him, then he’s bound to find out as soon as he sees that cursed shirt.
“…Spence?” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open.
He greets you with this huge smile, bright and excited in all the ways that are sorely inappropriate for such a late—or early—hour.
“There she is.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, and he stays there for a moment, letting his words hit your skin as he murmurs, “there’s my angel.”
“You’re back,” you observe, stating the obvious. You rub your eyes, still trying to pull yourself out of your haze as he settles down beside you.
“I am.”
He sounds far more enthusiastic than you do, peppering your face with kisses like he’s been away for months, and not a week—six days, technically.
He was due to come home tomorrow night. At least, that’s what he told you. You wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the sake of surprising you like this.
“How did it go?” Your fingers find his face in the dark, and you cup his cheek. “The case. Did you—”
“Shh.” Spencer presses his lips to yours, silencing you with a kiss that seems to thrum with something more, something unspoken, but he pulls back before it can be explored. “Just let me kiss you.”
“Spence,” you whine, but your protests are quickly muffled as he kisses you again.
Still, despite your attitude, you lean into him. Your hands slip into his hair, and you thread your fingers into the silken brown strands as you pull him closer. You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down.
“It went well,” he eventually murmurs. “I missed you.”
“’Missed you, too. How well is ‘well’?”
Spencer sighs against your mouth, and he pulls away with a barely contained smile. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you, studying you in all of your sleep-ruffled glory. “We caught the unsub,” he says, “no one on the team got hurt, and Los Angeles can sleep well knowing they don’t have a serial killer to worry about.”
“Only paparazzi.”
“And celebrity stalkers.”
“Same thing.”
“Very true.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “But that’s enough about me. How have you been? Have you been sleeping okay?”
“Well, I was…”
He flashes you this faux-sympathetic pout. “Sorry.”
“Empty words,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I was having such a nice dream, too.”
“Oh?” Spencer shifts, bringing himself closer to you as he props his head up with his hand. “What were you dreaming about?”
You shrug. “Oh, you know…some pretty FBI agent, a queen-sized bed, and…” your voice trails off for a moment, and you puff air into your cheeks before adding, “whipped cream.”
Spencer’s brows shoot up, and he nods along animatedly as though you’ve just uttered something profound. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Sounds like fun.” He trails his fingers, touch feather-light, along your jaw. His glasses continue to slip until they’re balancing precariously on the end of his nose, and you’re certain they’re about to fall right off and hit you in the face. “But I feel like whipped cream on a queen-sized bed would just result in quite a…sticky mess, right? I mean, the amount of laundry that would come of it—”
With your index finger, you push his glasses back into place. “Shh, let me have my fantasies.”
“Okay, okay,” he concedes with a sigh—light and breathy, almost like a laugh. “And I’m very sorry that I interrupted such an…interesting dream.”
“Very interesting,” you say.
“I’m sure it was.” His hand is holding your jaw, barely. He’s handling you with such an impossible gentleness, angling your face towards his with such subtlety, that you hardly even notice he’s doing it. “Let me make it up to you?”
“Hm…maybe.” You find yourself leaning into his touch instinctively, gazing up at him with love-laced curiosity as you ask, “what do you have in mind?”
Spencer purses his lips for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought as though it isn’t painfully obvious that he has, in fact, come in here with a plan. His hand leaves your face, and he begins carefully peeling away your blanket. “The same thing I’ve had in mind for the last week.”
“I’m listening.”
The words come out a fraction quieter than you had been intending. You try to bite back a smile, but your efforts prove futile as Spencer pushes the blankets aside to reveal you in just a t-shirt and underwear. Again, his t-shirt. One that he clearly recognises, because his face lights up with this stupidly smug grin. When you roll your eyes in response, he leans down to kiss your cheek.
"It suits you," he murmurs, almost whispers, and he follows it up with another quick kiss before sitting up.
He nudges your knee, silently asking something of you. Your brain is, admittedly, still a little foggy, so there's a moment where you just stare at him, buffering, before you spread your legs and hope it's the correct move. Thankfully, it is.
He settles between your legs, on his knees, and leans over you. One arm braced against the mattress, the other brushing hair from your face. He inches his face closer to yours, taking a long moment to just…look at you, admire you before (hopefully) kissing you again.
You decide he's taking too long, so you cup his cheeks and pull him down until his lips meet yours, and it seems that every ounce of restraint he had been exercising thus far dissolves in a matter of seconds. He kisses you like he's been starved of oxygen, need-driven and thoughtless—as thoughtless as Spencer Reid can get, that is—like he'd devour you whole, if physics allowed it.
His glasses, no longer in place on his nose, press against your browbone, and you break the kiss just long enough to take them off and set them aside, out of harm's way, before turning back to him. Lips still parted, ready for him to dive back into you.
But Spencer's focus has now shifted to your neck. He trails his lips down until they meet the junction between your neck and shoulder, where he knows you're most sensitive. He nips lightly at the skin, and you feel him smile, proud, as your breath catches. Then, he works his way back up until his teeth find your earlobe.
"You know, it's a generally accepted theory that erotic dreams may be representative of latent non-sexual desires, or needs, that aren't being met," he explains in this soft, honeyed tone as he pulls back. His hands travel down your body, palms brushing over your curves through your (his) shirt. "They can come about as a result of loneliness, or a need for safety—even low self-esteem."
His fingers hook under the band of your underwear, and you raise your hips without hesitation. He pulls them down slowly, so slow it’s almost hard to watch, because he just loves making you wait, skimming the fabric along your legs before casting them aside.
"There's also a possibility that you may see qualities in this pretty FBI agent that you lack in yourself," he continues, lifting your leg to press a kiss to the inside of your knee before progressing, steadily, down your thigh, "such as…attention to detail, maybe. Or perhaps…orderliness…a level head…"
"Spence…"
At the sound of your voice, Spencer looks up at you, brown eyes wide. Almost innocent-looking. You never should have told him that those eyes, and that damn deer-in-headlights look, were your weakness—all he’s done since then is use them against you.
"Mhm?"
"We agreed to keep Freud out of the bedroom," you say.
Spencer grins, baring his teeth against your thigh as he chuckles softly. "I know, but it's kind of difficult. He's so relevant."
"I’m sure he is," you mutter, doing your best to look unamused despite the smile tugging at your lips. "I have an idea."
"And what would that be?"
"Stop talking."
He gasps, faking offence as his hands squeeze your thighs. "I thought you liked my ramblings."
"I do," you say, "when we're not…like this."
"Oh, I see…you're getting impatient."
You stay quiet, denying him the satisfaction of a response. If you disagree, then odds are he'll drag this out even longer. And if you agree, if you validate him, then it'll just go straight to his head. And his ego is already big enough as it is.
"I could be a lot worse," he adds with an unassuming smile, "if you—"
"Spencer."
"Yes?"
"…please."
The word is an admission in itself, but it beats the alternative.
Spencer sighs. "Well…if you insist." He lowers himself, settling fully between your legs as he brushes his nose against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him to be. "I suppose I won't boreyou with all the dreams I’ve had while I’ve been away…"
"Wait, what—"
A sharp gasp cuts through your words as Spencer's mouth finds your clit, and any coherent thought vanishes, replaced with hot static and an overflow of need that has built up in his absence. His fingers press divots into your thighs, keeping them open as he works you with a proficiency that only he could manage; that eidetic memory serves him well when it comes to memorising you. Your body, your essence, your nuances; all the little things he can play to that have you writhing beneath him, forgetting everything that isn't the way his mouth feels, and the hunger that it ignites within you.
Need mounts almost to desperation as you lift your hips in a silent plea for more, and you whine when he gently presses you back down against the mattress. Your fingers find their way into his hair, curling into the chestnut strands as you push his face deeper into you. He makes this noise in response; a low, pleased hum, and it reverberates through you in a way that has you fucking reeling with pleasure.
He releases his grip on one of your tensed thighs, and the next thing you know he's slipping a finger inside you with ease. A second finger follows and, before you know it, you're arching your back and trying to stifle moans in the hopes that the neighbours won't hear you as Spencer finger fucks you with practiced, calculated precision, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly and bringing you closer and closer to the edge at a carefully controlled pace. He knows you, inside and out, probably better than you know yourself—no, definitely better than you know yourself, because not once have you managed to achieve this kind of high when you've flown solo. It's second nature to him, something he can do without thinking—something he needs, just as much as you do, after such a long week.
His name tumbles from your lips, whispered like a prayer between hymnal moans. He looks up at you and, for a moment, his gaze locks onto yours. What you see in those dark eyes in that split-second is nothing short of worship. Tainted around the edges with a smugness that he can never quite hide when he has you like this, especially when you start to devolve into helpless whines and whimpers and choked, breathless curses. The way you always do just before he brings you over the edge.
The orgasm hits you right when he wants it to; halfway through whining his name, so all you can manage is a weak “Spence-” before the tension snaps and you lose yourself completely. You moan into your hand, and your thighs clench around his head—not that he seems to mind—as he continues guiding you through it, squeezing every ounce of bliss out of you before it all subsides, and you melt beneath him, dazed and drunk on your own ecstasy.
Spencer sits up, red face glazed with a thin sheen of sweat, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He watches you for a moment, gaze travelling across your form like you're a work of art in his stupid t-shirt, and he allows you to catch your breath before leaning down and capturing your still-parted lips in a slow, tender kiss. Your hands return to his hair, and you pull him that little bit closer, unable to stop yourself from moaning softly as you taste yourself on his tongue.
You trail a hand down his body until your fingers brush against his prominent erection and, when you do, Spencer breaks the kiss with a gentle shake of his head. His fingers close around your wrist, and he pulls your hand away even as you whine in protest.
"Not tonight, sweetheart," he whispers.
"Why not?"
"Because," he punctuates his words with a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "I just want this to be about you."
You pout. "Why can't it be about both of us?"
All Spencer does in response is flash you a knowing smile—one that raises far more questions than it answers—before lowering himself until he's lying flush against your body, being careful not to put too much weight on you.
"You're weird," you mumble.
"You like it."
"I do."
Spencer nestles his face in the crook of your neck, and you can still feel him smiling against your skin as you run your fingers through his hair. It's hard to believe that he's only been gone for a week; it feels like it's been so much longer than that. Too long.
You'd ask him to never leave again, if you thought you could. But you know exactly what his answer would be; soft-spoken, sympathetic, disappointing. He can't be here every night, not without giving up his job, and you'd never ask him to do that.
Instead, you go a different direction.
"So…" you murmur, "about those dreams you mentioned…"
He lifts his head. Eyes narrowed; brow raised. "Oh, now you want to hear about them?"
"Yes. I’m curious."
He purses his lips for a long moment, keeping you on edge until he finally shrugs and says, "no."
You frown. "No?"
Spencer nods, and that smug, knowing little smile returns. Only now it's tinged with a hint of something disconcerting—something sinister, almost. He kisses your cheek once, then your nose, and then, finally, your lips.
"I think it'll be better if I show you," he says, keeping his voice light and innocent. "Tomorrow."
summary: spencer hasn’t been sleeping well lately. thankfully, you’re a great roommate, who’s more than eager to help him relax. genre: smut, fluff tags/cw: MDNI, smut, subby!spencer (a little), soft dom!reader (kind of), blowjob, handjob, kissing, making out, begging, boobs, spit, an offensive amount of ’i don’t know’s, whiny spencer, mention of condoms, insomnia, no use of y/n w/c: 4.3k. a/n: first part of a roommate!spencer mini series is here! it’s my first time writing smut so let me know what you think and i am very open to advice. gif by @reidgif !!
series masterlist | main masterlist
Living with Spencer proves, day by day, to be better than you could have ever expected. You didn’t expect much, to be honest – initially just hoping for some peace and quiet. Ideally, for him not to be a creep.
After meeting with him, your worries started slowly fading away. It was hard not to take notice of his, rather timid, nature. Spencer Reid – agent of the FBI, as you later found out – did not seem like a guy who likes throwing parties late at night or spying on you while you’re naked in the shower.
Actually moving in with him ended any doubts you could’ve had. In fact, you learned pretty early on that you probably couldn’t have found a better person to share your living space with. Well, his living space.
Spencer turned out to be perfectly respectful. He always takes your opinion into account, which is honestly more than you’d ever expect from a guy. He’s neat, though not as quiet as you thought in the beginning.
It was in no way bad, though. The exact opposite, actually. The longer you lived together, the more comfortable you got with each other, which encouraged both of you to open up – share facts and stories about your lives until you got to know one another so well, you could say with confidence that you’ve never been closer with a person than you have with Spencer. Not even the friend you lived with all throughout college, the one who kicked you out of her apartment – the very reason you found Spencer at all. A blessing in disguise, as they call it. (Though you’re pretty sure They don’t understand the meaning of this saying as well as you do. Not when they never had the courtesy of experiencing him.)
So, overall, living with Spencer ended up being nearly perfect. With the small exception of his very demanding, very time-consuming job. While it made you feel safer at first, with time, the feeling turned more into one of frustration. You’d gotten so used to his presence that whenever he’d have to leave for a case – which you initially considered a free-of-charge bonus – you’d end up missing him like crazy, all while worrying for his life until he’d send you an occasional text – even more rarely, a call – or let you know he’d be coming back.
Thankfully, Spencer isn’t away right now. He’s as close as he can be – in your shared kitchen, where you can hear him moving around as you wake, probably preparing his morning coffee. And normally, you wouldn’t think anything of it, but last night he sent you a text, letting you know he’d be going out for drinks with his team. And you have no idea when he got back, because before you could even realise, you passed out after a busy week of work.
So, while you got your – approximately – ten hours of sleep, you’re sure Spencer came back much later into the night, waking earlier than you, considering he’s already up and… doing things people usually do when they’re awake.
Still, you don’t want to seem neurotic – though you discovered pretty early on that Spencer understands such behaviour better than anyone – or overbearing, confronting him about his sleeping habits first thing in the morning, so you head to the bathroom first, making sure you look presentable.
And then it’s on.
—
“Morning, Spence,” you say, as cheerfully as you can at 8:30 in the morning, walking into the kitchen where Spencer sits at the table – still in his pajamas, a cup of coffee in one hand, a rich fountain pen in the other. Most likely to do the crossword from the morning paper, another one of his day-off rituals. He doesn’t bother using a pencil like other mortals, his genius brain never makes any mistakes.
“Hi. Good morning,” he replies, a soft smile on his tired, pretty face. “Did you sleep well?”
“Oh, yeah. Went, like, straight to bed last night.”
“Yeah, I figured. It was all dark and quiet when I got back,” His chuckle forces a smile of your own. It’s impossible to keep a straight face, even in the most tiresome of mornings, when the person you’re pretty sure is your best friend in the world greets you like this.
“What about you?” you ask, subtly concealing concern in this overall normal question. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh– Not really. That’s my second cup,” He lifts his coffee up for you to see, emphasizing his point, a flat, almost-smile decorating his face.
“No!” you gasp. “Spencer! Get back to bed right now– What are you doing?”
“N-no! I won’t be able to sleep anyway, I’d just be wasting my day.”
“If you keep drinking the coffee, then maybe, but I’m sure if you just lie down–”
“Honey…” he replies, the smile on his face almost condescending. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Well… I mean, can’t you just try?” you ask as you, not so subtly, grab his hands and urge him out of the chair, slowly walking backwards in the direction of his bedroom. Leading him right back to bed. “Please?”
For all that it’s worth, he actually entertains your whining. He follows you obediently until you’re on his bed – knees navigating over the nicely made covers – and he stands in front of it, waiting for further instructions. His hands still in your grasp.
“Okay, now you’re in my bed. What’s the plan?” he asks, sarcastically but now cruelly. Never cruelly. Pretty boy’s got jokes now.
“I’m not in your bed, I’m on it,” Your reply comes with a playful frown. “And the plan is that you get on it with me. Not even with me, actually, by yourself would do just fine. But since I have to lead you by the hand now…”
“Whoa, okay! No need to get all– hostile with me,” he says, but still sits on the bed, facing you. “But, you know, since you’re basically forcing me to do this, the least you could do is stay here with me. Entertain me a little.”
The laugh escapes your lips before you could even think about stopping it – quick, disbelieving, probably a little louder and more honest than what you’d usually feel comfortable sharing with a guy. That never stops Spencer's gaze from trailing down, down, down your face with a soft smirk of his own, until it reaches the source.
“You, my dear, do not get to demand any entertainment from me. You’re supposed to be sleeping, remember? Lie down.”
He rolls his eyes but settles his back against the pillow anyway – not really lying, more like… sitting back.
“I’m serious, Spence,” you say as you lean over his body, resting on your elbow by his side – not bothering to hide the concern anymore. “I’m worried about you. You’re already not getting enough sleep as it is, and you know how important it is, and it’s Saturday! You’re allowed to sleep in a little! Instead, you’re getting up earlier than the birds. How are they gonna get their worms, huh, genius?”
“I–” He can’t help but laugh at how, even when worried, playful you are. “I know that, and I appreciate your concern – I really do – but I just can’t. I would have slept in if I felt like I had it in me, but it’s just… not working.”
You let out an annoyed huff, throwing yourself back against the pillow and staring at the ceiling of genius Spencer Reid’s bedroom. You hate how he always has a good point.
“You seriously need to relax more. Maybe you should start doing yoga? Or get laid.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Oh yeah? And how would I do that, oh mastermind plan maker?”
“I don’t know – go to a bar, talk to a pretty lady. I don’t know how you pick up girls.”
“I don’t,” he replies, looking at you partially as if you just said the silliest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth, partially in a way he usually does when he starts doubting himself. “Besides, I’m not really… into that.”
“What, you’re not into sex?”
“I’m not into casual sex. You know,” he starts, his eyes locked onto yours before they drift away slowly, making their way over the entirety of the space he can see without pulling his head from the pillow. “Sex is a powerful ritual. It’s intimate and vulnerable, and it’s not something I feel comfortable sharing with a stranger. Even for just one night. Or especially for just one night. I can’t imagine doing it all and then just leaving as if nothing happened when it’s done. Not without a connection.”
You look at him in silence for a minute, staring at his profile as his eyes bore into the ceiling.
“And it’s not like I can just form the connection. I’ve never been good at talking to women, and with the job and everything… I don’t know, I just don’t really see myself getting into a relationship anytime soon.”
You take a deep breath, gathering words that will seem smart, since he’s always smart, and the least he deserves from you is good advice. After all, you’re the one who forced him into bed. And into this conversation.
“I understand what you mean. But it’s not like you can’t talk to women – you’re doing just fine with me! You just… don’t think of yourself as highly as you should. But I get it, I’m not going to try to convince you to get into a relationship. It’s just… you could if you tried.”
You stay silent for a minute more. He lets out a hum, you know he doesn’t believe your words. You’re both stubborn when it comes to it, both hellbent on holding your ground. Neither of you really feels like arguing about whether or not Spencer Reid is capable of picking up a woman.
“At least a little self-care, then. Or, you know, I’m always here if you need me,” Your words are playful, though not completely unserious. Beneath the joke lies a very real proposition that feels entirely too heavy to just say outright.
“Wow, such a good roommate I have.”
“Oh, you know it,” You hold eye contact for a while, each of you sporting a teasing smile. “But, I mean, why not? We have a connection, right? Some kind of connection, at least. If you, I don’t know, don’t feel like it’s too weird or something, I wouldn’t mind.”
You shrug, playing it off as if you were completely nonchalant and friendly about it, even though the thought of his rejection is suddenly making you feel more and more like an idiot by each passing second.
He stays silent. Thinks about it.
“I don’t know– don’t you think it would be weird? Or something?”
“I don’t think so? We already live together, it’s kinda like we can’t get much closer than that. And if it means I could help you finally relax… Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
Your heart is beating faster as the possibility of hooking up with Spencer gets more real. He’s chill about it. Be chill about it.
He lets out a resigned half-laugh. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You wouldn’t be asking,” You shrug. “I offered.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Mhmm. Are you sure?”
Spencer’s mind miraculously turns slower at your proposition. It’s not something he would usually do – probably not ever – especially with someone as close and dear to him as you. But the truth is, even though he discards your concern, he can feel the tiredness in his body. He’s pent up, tense, obviously not getting enough sleep – as you so wisely pointed out – and it’s been a while since he felt truly relaxed. Also, it’s not every day that your gorgeous flatmate offers to help you take care of it. So it’s kind of a no-brainer in his book.
“Yeah. I am.”
You lean over his body, face nearing his own, while your gazes stay locked on one another. You love it when his eyes get all dark, but right now, courtesy of the sunlight falling through the window, they resemble liquid honey more than the usual milk chocolate. You think, very briefly, that you might actually prefer this sight.
And then you kiss.
His lips feel softer than you thought they would, considering he often bites them, and he tastes faintly of the coffee he drank not so long ago. Which reminds you he was drinking coffee to stay awake instead of trying to fall back asleep like he should have been–
The thought doesn’t dwell in your mind for much longer, as he brings his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper, the way his tongue is inside your mouth.
You didn’t really imagine what it would feel like to kiss Spencer much – maybe once or twice in passing – but it’s safe to say you’re surprised at how good he is. The way he talks about his inability to get women to notice him – in a positive light at least – would make you think he’s completely inexperienced or just very lousy. And here he is, making you forget you were ever even the slightest bit annoyed at him. Making you forget anything that isn’t him, touching you, kissing, pulling you closer until your chests touch.
You move, hand drifting slowly – starting from his shoulder, resting there just for a little while, before it starts trailing down, lower, until it reaches his abdomen and the waistband of his pajamas.
“Is this okay?”
“Y-yeah.”
He nods quickly, cheeks flushed, lips pink – raw from the kissing. You have a feeling you’re not looking much better. Certainly not any more put together, as your hand finally reaches him, still over his clothes.
He’s half hard already – quick, you think – the makeout clearly taking its effect. You start rubbing your hand over his cock, and it takes barely a few seconds before Spencer's head falls back against the pillow, soft puffs of air and quiet noises escaping his parted lips. So plump. So pretty…
He looks so pretty like this. His hair has been getting longer, and even though it’s not as messy as it usually is right after he gets out of bed, something tells you it will need some work after you’re done with him – the way he just can’t keep still.
“Feels– that feels good.”
He says and tilts his head up to chase your lips. The kisses are dizzying, and he’s not really sure how much more he can take before snapping like a cheap rubber band – quickly, pathetically.
“Yeah? Can I touch it now?”
“You are. T-touching it,” His mind is a little hazy with pleasure and, oh look! Seems like you finally found a way to dumb down the genius.
“You know what I mean.”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer nods eagerly, a few strands of hair falling over his face. “Yeah. Please.”
You run your nails gently over his stomach, dripping low. He shudders at the touch. It feels good – he's as hard as can be now, but it’s not nearly enough.
He laughs weakly – it’s more of a breath than a laugh – but it catches your attention. As if he didn't already have all of it.
“You said you were going to touch me now,”
“And you said that I am touching you.”
You smirk down at him, but you’re not cruel. He looks like he needs it – you know he needs it – so you decide not to deprive him of your touch any longer.
Your hand finds its way into his pajamas, then into his boxers, until it finally reaches the smooth skin of his cock. You run over it a few times, rub it just a little, before taking him into your hand. He feels heavy, and you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to see it just yet, but you lower his clothes and– Oh.
To say Spencer is pretty all over would be an understatement.
Soft sounds escape his lips, bordering on needy and ruined, when you pull your hand away. He looks as if he’s about to protest until he notices you bring the hand up to your lips, and then his eyes are fixed on your spit as it drips from them, your own gaze never leaving his face.
The drop lands on your open palm like a prophecy of what he’s about to experience. He can barely form a thought other than you and how good it feels when you finally start stroking his cock, your lips running over his jaw, then down his neck.
“Thank you. Ngh– Thank you.”
“It’s okay, baby,” You press a single kiss to his lips. He chases them for more. “Does it feel good?”
“God, yes,” The whines would sound pathetic even to his own ears if he were capable of caring about anything other than his pleasure right now. To you, they’re dizzyingly beautiful. Enough to make arousal drip between your legs.
Your hand starts moving faster, gripping him tighter until he can barely breathe. And, if there’s any thought in his head, it’s that:
“I don’t… I don’t have any condoms.”
You take a moment to think about his words, not stopping the movement of your hand. You couldn’t, not when he looks so pretty, falling apart for you.
“That’s fine. We won’t need them today.”
Normally, if Spencer’s mind was working the way it usually does (which it is not), he’d think about your words, make sense of them. However, that doesn’t happen so quickly. Not while you’re kissing his lips, glossy with spit, not when your kisses start moving down his jaw and neck. Not until he feels you pull away and push his shirt up, lowering your face to reach low on his abdomen and start pressing kisses there, dangerously close to his needy cock, which throbs for attention.
“Wan’ me to use my mouth on you?” Kiss. Deliciously messy. “Gonna let me do that?”
Spencer’s head jumps from the pillow to look down at you before dropping back again with a moan. He doesn’t think he can handle the sight. Not unless he’s ready to finish right now. (He’s not. Please, let him keep his composure just a bit longer. Forever, ideally.)
“You don’t have to do that, honey.”
“I didn’t say that I have to, I asked, nicely, if I could,” you say and lean back, sitting on your knees, as your hands grasp the very bottom of your shirt, tugging it up, and off, until it ends up at the end of his bed. “So?”
“Yes. I need it, angel, please.”
That’s what you are to him. With your lips wrapped around his cock, you’re the closest thing to a deity he’s ever known. The only one he wants to believe in.
His eyes travel between your mouth – so warm against him – and your bare breasts. He feels like the world's biggest asshole at the thought of never being able to forget the sight. Damn his stupid eidetic memory.
“Fuck– that’s it,” He begins, but the words are interrupted by a loud whine as you suck, then slowly lower your head until you’re ready to go back to his head. “Please, don’t stop.”
Spencer can feel you hum around his length, most likely meant as reassurance – It’s okay, I’m not stopping – but the vibration only serves to give him more pleasure. It’s hot and overwhelming, and he’s not sure how his hand is ever supposed to live up to this.
And he’s trying – really trying – not to ruin this, but it’s impossible to focus on anything other than the feeling of you, touching him, you all over him– Fuck. He’s getting really close.
He takes a second longer, desperately fighting with his mind to wait until he’s ready for it to be over, but it’s getting harder each time you suck, run your tongue over him, hum – do the things that you do that drive him positively crazy – and he doesn’t even notice when his hands tangle in your hair. Then in his sheets, then your hair again, because, fuck, he truly doesn’t know what to do with his body.
What he does notice is your own hand, joining your soft, wet mouth on his cock, following after your head, up and down.
It’s then that Spencer realises his end is painfully near.
“Wait– stop! Mgh– honey, stop.”
“What is it?” you ask, pulling away in concern, though your hand stays on him.
“I’m getting close. I don’t wanna finish yet. Don’t wan’ it to be over…”
You don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him, but it sure is hard to keep it from slipping out.
“Spence, you’re supposed to enjoy yourself. Relax. You can cum, baby.”
He’s almost ready to protest, beg you to wait – just a second – until he can think straight again, but then he sees you take him back into your mouth. And it’s over before it really begins.
He gets loud, just seconds before the coil inside him snaps, and he tries to warn you, but you stay near, and soon, hot cum floods your mouth.
And it all goes quiet. Only in his head, though Spencer could swear it’s a feeling he’s never felt before. He moans and whines, hands tighten in your hair – his attempt to keep himself grounded as his hips lift from the bed and his head turns deliriously empty.
Only when he settles back down do you finally pull away, pressing one last kiss onto the head of his cock, before tucking him back into his pants.
“Wow, doctor. Seems like you really needed this,” You say with a playful smile, your eyes now at the same level as his.
“Yeah, I… I’m sorry, I don’t… finish this fast, usually. It’s just been a while…”
“Don’t worry, I’m glad I could help,” You look at his flushed face, tender hands brushing strands of hair from his sweaty forehead. Then, you press a kiss against his jaw.
“That was– perfect. You’re incredible. Thank you,” Spencer pulls you into a kiss, his hands once again in your hair. There was a moment when he was worried it might be too much – too intimate – but thoughts as mundane as this one meant nothing to his soft, mushy brain, possessed by post-release hormones.
You, in turn, were cautious of kissing him in case he found it gross, considering you’ve just had him in your mouth. Spencer, however, continues to prove that he’s different from any other guy you’ve ever known.
“How about you get some sleep now, hm?” you ask, petting his cheek gently.
Truth is, your attempt of tiring him out seemed to work, as his glassy eyes keep growing heavier by the second.
“Mmm… Could you stay?” He grasps your wrist and looks at you in a way that makes you believe you could never refuse anything he asks of you.
“Okay.”
And when you get under the covers next to him, his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest. Though soon, as he drifts further into sleep, they begin to loosen, only sometimes tightening involuntarily.
You can’t help but think – you’re not sure whether this is a sleep or a sex thing – that Spencer Reid is a cuddler.
—
When you wake, the sun is high and bright, signalling that you’ve slept far longer than appropriate, and you’ll most likely regret it later.
Still, you try to keep your movements as subtle as possible so as not to disturb Spencer. He deserves this, you think, for all that he does for you, and the whole country, for that matter.
It’s hard not to stare a little as you pull away from his body. You never get to see him like this. He naps on the couch sometimes, though very rarely, since he tries to keep the common spaces available to you at all times. But even when it happens, he’s usually facing the couch, or his face is scrunched up in this really cute way that tells you he’s actually somewhat conscious and will likely wake up if you’re not careful enough.
You’ve never seen him like this, though. So soft and relaxed, gentle in the sweetest way possible. It makes something warm and fuzzy settle deep in your chest.
So you get up from the bed. Debate pressing one last gentle kiss somewhere on his skin – his forehead, maybe – then decide against it.
Even the thought alone feels far too intimate despite the fact that you can still faintly taste him at the back of your throat. You find it leaving you all giddy instead of disgusted. That’s something to worry about another time, though. Right now, you need to start functioning – even if normal people have probably already been up for hours – and leave your sweet, exhausted roommate to get his rest.
You wish him sweet dreams in your head. Scold yourself for it because it’s stupid and he can’t even hear it – and giving him a blowjob was probably more than enough for sweet dreams – but for a reason unknown to you, you don’t actually despise yourself for thinking it.
Maybe you’re just a little embarrassed by your mind.
likes, reblogs and interactions of any kind are greatly appreciated!!!
a/n pt2: i did the thing. gradient title and dividers, i feel all fancy and professional
━ Summary: You and Clark have always been careful, no matter how desperate things got. But one night, while he’s buried deep inside you, you make a decision. You reach down, pull the condom off, and whisper that you don’t want anything between you anymore.
━ Pairing: clark kent x f!reader
━ CW: explicit smut (18+), established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, multiple rounds, possessive/devotional behavior, explicit language, emotional intimacy, aftercare, very overwhelmed and deeply in love clark kent ♡
━ 1.1k wc
likes and comments are very appreciated <3
You and Clark had always been careful. Even after years together, moving in together, building a life that felt steady and permanent, there was one boundary the two of you had never crossed. No matter how many nights ended tangled up in each other, no matter how much trust sat between you, Clark always insisted on protection. Not because he didn’t want more closeness — if anything, he wanted it too much.
But Clark worried. About his strength, about hurting you without meaning to. About the weight of everything he carried, even here, in the quiet safety of your shared bed. And underneath all of it sat another fear he rarely admitted out loud: what happened if something changed before you were both ready?
The room was dim, city light slipping through half-drawn curtains and stretching silver across the sheets tangled between the two of you. Clark hovered over you, broad shoulders tense beneath your hands, his breathing uneven despite how carefully he held himself together. His hips rolled slow and piercing, controlled in the way only Clark could manage, like restraint had become second nature to him. Even now. Even when he was clearly losing himself.
His forehead pressed briefly to yours, warm skin damp at the edges from exertion, a quiet sound leaving him every time he buried himself deeper. The familiar latex barrier was still between you, but you could still feel how hard he was trying to stay measured. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice rough around the edges but steady. Always checking. Always careful.
Instead of answering, your hand slipped between your bodies. Clark’s rhythm faltered when your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. You hooked them under the slick latex and tugged. The condom came off easily, and you tossed it toward the edge of the bed. Clark froze, buried halfway inside you, eyes wide with shock.
“Baby…” His voice cracked. “What are you doing?”
You looked up at him, cupping his face with both hands. “I don’t want anything between us tonight,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”
Clark’s breath caught hard. For a long second, he just stared at you, chest rising sharply, that familiar crease forming between his brows. Concern. Love. Hunger. All of it fighting behind those big blue eyes. Then he sank back into you — bare. The sound that left him was broken. “Fuck…” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. His whole body shuddered. “Oh my god… you feel…”
He couldn’t finish. The raw, wet heat of your pussy wrapped around his bare cock seemed to overwhelm him completely. No barrier. Just tight, silky warmth gripping every inch of him. Clark stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, like he was trying to process the feeling.
You felt it too. The burning heat of him, the way every thick vein and ridge dragged against your walls. He felt bigger. Hotter. More intimate.
Clark started moving again, slow and careful, savoring every inch. “I can feel everything,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You’re so warm… so wet. God, I can feel you pulsing around me.”
The wet sounds were filthier now. Skin on skin. No latex to dull anything. Every thrust made an obscene, slick noise as he pushed deeper. His pace gradually picked up, control fraying at the edges. Clark fucked you harder, hips snapping with more force than he usually allowed himself. You moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, voice strained. “Baby, I’m so close already—”
“Inside me,” you gasped. “Please, Clark. Fill me up.”
He buried his face in your neck and came with a deep, guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy for the very first time. You felt every pulse, every heavy spurt as he pumped you full. Clark kept grinding through his orgasm, pushing his cum deeper, like he couldn’t stop.
When he finally stilled, he pulled back just enough to look between your bodies. The sight of his thick white cum leaking out around his cock — still buried inside you — made something in him snap. “Jesus…” he breathed, eyes darkening.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried deep as he started moving again, already getting hard inside your cum-filled pussy. The second round was much nastier. Clark fucked you like he was addicted to the feeling. Long, deep strokes that pushed his cum in and out of you, making wet, filthy squelching sounds with every thrust. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider so he could watch.
“Look at that,” he groaned, voice hoarse. “My cum’s dripping out of you and I’m still so fucking hard.”
He pounded into you harder, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your soaked skin filling the room. The feeling of his warm cum being fucked deeper into you with every thrust was overwhelming. You were a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him, completely lost in the raw sensation of having him bare. Clark leaned down and kissed you messily, tongues sliding as he fucked you through the obscene wetness. When he came the second time, he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked on you as he spilled even more cum deep inside your already full pussy.
Afterward, Clark stayed inside you for a long time, both of you catching your breath. When he finally pulled out, a thick rush of his cum followed, leaking onto the sheets. He stared at it for a moment, almost mesmerized, before gently kissing your forehead.
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm, damp cloth and a glass of water. Clark helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips while you drank. Then he cleaned you carefully between your legs, with gentle touches that still made you twitch from sensitivity.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, blue eyes full of concern. “I didn’t hurt you?”
You shook your head, smiling tiredly. “I’m perfect.”
He cleaned himself quickly, then crawled back into bed and pulled you into his arms. Clark wrapped himself around you completely, one leg thrown over yours, his big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” he admitted quietly against your hair. “Being inside you with nothing between us… feeling you take all of me like that.” He swallowed hard. “It was everything.”
You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. Clark held you tighter, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your temple, and the tip of your nose. His hand never stopped its soothing motion on your back as the two of you drifted off together, warm and more connected than ever.
Clark is a Kryptonian, so his stamina is higher. He’s always outlasted his sexual partners; they just can’t keep up with his boundless energy and nonexistent refractory period. Lana couldn’t go more than three rounds. Lois put up a valiant effort at four.
But somehow, despite being fully human, you can match Clark. You’ge had the same problem as Clark , outlasting partners. But it’s not because you’re some metahuman, you’re just borderline a nymphomaniac.
The apartment is clean and orderly. Innocent until you open the utensils drawer in the kitchen and see the condoms and wipes stash. Or find the same items in the couch cushions. And tucked under the fake fruit in the bowl on the dining room. You and Clark are so needy all the time you end up making sure there’s always supplies to wipe up the copious amounts of cum and slick and sweat.
Most mornings you and Clark go a round or two, once in bed and another in the shower. If he can, he comes home and you have another quickie during your lunch hours. And when you have a free night? Sex can go for hours and hours and hours. Clark once got 8 orgasms out of you one night. You were so incoherent Clark was scared he’d broke you. But the next morning you were still pawing at his waistband, wanting more.
It helps that sex with Clark was mindblowing, every single time. It was as if you were made to fit snugly around his cock, each vein rubbing perfectly against the sensitive walls of your pussy. Clark knew exactly how much pressure to put on your throat to get your eyes to roll back yet not hurt you. You knew just how to fondle that little ridge on his cock with your tongue to get Clark to moan your name.
There was no moment where you didn’t feel whole when you were sat on his cock, full and pretty.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!Reader
Category: Smut 18+ MDNI
Summary: A shared motel room, two bored agents, and a bar of chocolate—what could go wrong? Everything, when the chocolates turn out to be fast acting aphrodisiacs. Or it all goes right; it’s simply a matter of perspective. Part 2 of In the Secrecy of his Room.
Content: 5k words, early season dom!Spencer Reid, bratty reader, dom and sub dynamics, accidental consumption of aphrodisiacs, probably inaccurate depiction of aphrodisiacs, nipple play, unprotected p in v, dumbification of reader, size kink if u squint, use of good girl and sir, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting.
a/n: I listened to ben platt’s version of diet pepsi on loop while writing the last 2k words lol. Also, I’ve been seeing sentiments against writing early seasons Spencer as a dom so uh click here if you prefer him whiney and inexperienced. Or just scroll away! It’s all free! If u stay, i hope you enjoy! Requested by the lovely @misserabella. First half was proofread by @cherrypickinns and then it's all my deranged writings once they begin kissing. Gif is by the bestest @reidgif
It isn’t that the case is harder than usual, but there’s something about this small town in Nebraska that makes everything seem like it’s moving through water. Warped and just on the side of sluggish. The team had come at an unfortunate time, because there’s a harsh thunderstorm outside. So strong the authorities made necessary suspensions, and now everyone is stuck indoors.
On top of that, you’re sharing a room with Spencer. Of course, the universe is cruel enough to work like this. To his credit, he’s the picture of professionalism. He had assured you secrecy and it’s a promise he’s been upholding consistently. No teasing, nothing to give away the activities you’ve engaged with each other, no references to how he’d given you pleasure. For this, you are grateful. Small miracles and whatnot.
Tonight is no different; stranded together on a work trip, he’s politely ignoring you by poring over the case files, as if his single minded focus would be enough to solve it.
It would be easy to coax him out of this, but you don’t want to make anything awkward. Besides, you’d both set strict rules—those activities, your roles, all must be contained within his bedroom. The moment you’re out of it, you’re simply two coworkers again, barely friends, and yet…
You drag your eyes away from him, away from those fingers tracing over words on a page as the very sight triggers some treacherous part of your brain and goosebumps break across your inner thighs where he’d drawn invisible patterns with the very same fingertips and littered deep purple blossoms from his mouth.
Okay, stop.
“Ughhhh,” you roll over until you’re first into the pillows, muffling the last bits of your very articulate sound of complaint.
His snort catches you by surprise though it doesn’t quite ring as annoyance. More like amusement.
“What?” you lift yourself on your elbow, pouting.
“I thought being difficult was just something you play up… you know, when we’re having our sessions.” He murmurs from his seat, a slight hesitance tugging at his voice; this is the first time either of you acknowledged that outside of their designated weekends. Outside his room. He continues, musing, “But it seems like you’re simply a brat in real life too.”
His form remains focused on the case files at the desk. Still reading, as if you aren’t important enough to warrant his full attention.
You aren’t sure if he’s doing it deliberately, but, well, it’s making you want to act up and get his attention.
You don’t fall for it, though. Mostly. “Well, sorry if I’m bored.”
“You have a case file sitting in your bag, and it’s not going to read and solve itself.”
“We’re off the clock. Everything’s suspended until tomorrow because of the storm, Spencer. Besides,” you roll over onto your back with a groan, “I’ve no interest reading it again—I’d read it cover to cover multiple times already. It won’t get solved if we’re stuck in here with incomplete puzzle pieces. Like Hotch said, we need to search the woods and cross examine some witnesses, but that’s not happening in this weather.”
“I, for one, would appreciate some silence,” he replies quietly. He turns the page. You pout at his back, unsure of what you want and infinitely restless.
Finally, you sit up and rifle through your bag, huffing with annoyance. If he hears, he doesn’t bother acknowledging it. You almost want to scream. The rummaging noises you’re making are so obviously calculated. It’s just a passive aggressive attempt to get his attention; you don’t even know what you’re looking for, this is simply done for the sake of doing something.
Spencer still doesn’t dignify you with a response. However, your fingers curl over something smooth and unfamiliar. A smile splits across your face when you pull it out, relief and elation replacing the initial curiosity.
A bar of chocolate. This had been from Penelope, something she slipped to you with a beaming face the morning before you left. You had stuffed it into your go bag when Hotch said you’re leaving, and thank heavens for that. At least now you have a sweet treat.
You push off the wrapper, eager for some sugar. The wrinkling sounds make Spencer turn in his seat, brows raised in question. “Have you finally decided to review the—what is that?”
“Oh, Pen gave me some chocolates.” you reply, peeling off the carefully packaged wrapping paper—Penelope loves elaborately wrapped gifts, even gifts as simple as these. A glance back at Spencer shows that he’s looking at the bar with some form of longing, “Want some?”
He shrugs, “If you don’t mind.”
“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, Dr. Reid.” With a grin, you hold the chocolate from both ends and bend. It’s gotten softer from being in your bag, and you’re able to halve the bar easily.
“How fortunate, indeed. You know, some studies have linked chocolates to heightened focus.” he says as he accepts his share. His fingers brush against yours briefly, just the tips, but it’s once again enough to trigger memories of how those fingers feel running across hidden crevices in your body. Slow, teasing. You clear your throat and retreat immediately once the chocolate is in his possession.
No room for lewd thoughts tonight. Absolutely none. Not when you’re on a work trip. And sharing a room on top of that.
Nope. You cram chocolate into your mouth quickly. Too much. So much that your cheeks bulge at the sides and it’s difficult to chew through. It’s good old milk chocolate, sweet but decadent, and thankfully, it melts easily in your mouth.
You take another bite, not trusting yourself to speak to him. There’s a slight aftertaste to the chocolate, but you figure it’s probably just an unfamiliar flavor. Penelope enjoys experimenting with her desserts, after all. It’s good, regardless, and you’re not going to complain about free chocolates.
Unsurprisingly, the chocolate is consumed quickly.
“Is that enough chocolate to help your brain focus better, Dr. Reid?” you ask him teasingly.
“I didn’t have an issue focusing in the first place, in fact, I think you would benefit from it more.” the words would cut if it came from someone else, but it’s Spencer and he’s grinning back at you like you’re worth something, and finally, you feel satisfaction bloom in your chest.
And then with a quick thanks, his attention dissipates and he ducks back to the case file and the satisfaction wilts like a neglected houseplant.
With a groan, you give up trying to pull him away from his reading and pick up your own case file. Maybe he’s right and the chocolate would help you focus.
It creeps up on you, the uncomfortable heat. Nearly imperceptible at first, and quickly eased by turning on the small fan provided by the motel. It’s weird, though, because the storm pelting outside has made the place considerably cooler. Still, the heat creeps with such subtlety that you don’t dwell upon it. Maybe your body heat’s fluctuating. Maybe you need a shower.
After a little while, Spencer speaks up too, brows knit in annoyance.
“Do you mind sharing the fan, it’s too hot.” he says, glancing at your figure. Prone on your bed, legs up in the air like you’re reading some issue of Cosmopolitan rather than your work folder, and hair rustling from the fan pointed directly at you.
You glance up fast enough to catch his eyes on your ass.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” With an exaggerated groan, you heave yourself up and move to press the button on the fan. It oscillates, and you huff annoyed sentiments about the lack of air conditioning. It’s unique to the room you two are sharing; Gideon and the others had managed to claim first dibs on the rooms with functional air conditioning systems. You suspect it’s more that you two are the youngest, and there’s still some playful hierarchy going on within the team. After all, everyone else got their own solo rooms as well—you and Spencer had been the only ones sharing a space.
But the heat only seems to thicken as time passes by, and you shift on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Something in you curls, heavy and slow and burning like molten honey.
“Oh my god,” you hiss, sitting up.
From the desk, Spencer whirls to face you, “Do you mind? It’s already difficult to focus with this heat.”
Your eyes land on his forehead, noting how the strands of his hair have tumbled down and are now plastered to his skin, moist. A bead of sweat runs down from his temple, and your eyes trace its movements. Somehow your gaze lands on his mouth, the tops of his lips also gathering moisture.
What would he taste, all hot and worked up like this?
You blink. Glance away. But he seems to catch something in your expression, because suddenly he’s on his feet and walking to your bed.
“What was in the chocolate?”
“What?”
“There’s something wrong with both of us—we’re exhibiting similar symptoms of discomfort, increased body heat, and—” his voice drifts lower, frustrated, “What was in the chocolate? We shared one bar and approximately six minutes and forty seven seconds later, I began feeling hot.”
You blink up at him, watching as his hand swipes over his forehead. His eyes are trained at your neck, where a couple of droplets are racing down your throat. His eyes considerably darken. Your thighs clench.
“What was in the chocolate?”
“I don’t know,” your voice sounds higher, squeakier, as you begin to panic very slightly. Tearing your gaze away from his accusatory expression, you rummage through your bag for the wrinkled wrapper, “Penelope gave it to me, I doubt she’d try to poison us.”
“This doesn’t feel like poison, this—”
“Oh my god, no!”
“What?”
If possible, you feel even hotter as you read through the little pink post-it note from Penelope. It had been stuck on the wrapper and in your boredom and haste to eat, you had simply missed its existence.
This is the aphrodisiac I told you about, my beautiful cupcake. Consume moderately and enjoy!
Aphrodisiacs. Yes. A vague memory pops into your head, giggles and secrets shared in Penelope’s technology cave—one you treasured since not a lot of agents are allowed access into her sacred office. Chocolates loaded with aphrodisiacs. Her promise to get you some.
And she pulled through—of course she did, she’s Penelope fucking Garcia—and gave it to you the morning you left.
Oh, you could pass out. This is mortifying.
“What? What is it?” When you don’t answer, Spencer grabs the wrapper with an impatience he doesn’t usually exhibit. He first scans Penelope’s note, then pieces the slightly torn and creased wrapper together to go through the list of ingredients, before speaking in a tone at least two octaves higher than normal. “An aphrodisiac chocolate!?”
“Is it bad?” you mumble, running your hands through your hair.
“Chocolate by itself already contains phenethylamine, which controls our so-called ‘love chemicals’ but the addition of these ingredients means that these will work at a faster pace. Mixed together, they’re optimal—”
Normally, you listen to his tangents with more patience than the other members of the team, but right now, you’re grappling with so many feelings it’s difficult to process his high falutin explanations. He’s rattling off words that mean nothing to you. In fact, they make everything sound so clinical. So much worse.
Your anxiety manifests by way of frustration. “Okay, genius, now translate that to English.” you interrupt, which makes him pause. Immediately, your tone softens, “Sorry, this is already freaking me out, and all that science wasn’t helping.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, more moisture congregating at the hollow of his throat now. Distracting—sinfully so. You want to tongue that spot until the taste of his sweat is somehow absorbed into your bloodstream.
“We’ve essentially just consumed an entire bar of sex drugs.”
“Oh,” your eyes squeeze shut when he confirms your suspicions. That conclusion didn’t require his level of genius, although you had been hoping it hadn’t been the case. That his explanation would somehow point to the opposite—hey we’re actually just really hot because there’s some type of pepper in the chocolate that enhances body heat or something to that effect. Not a confirmation. You groan, “Well yeah, I figured that much. That explains the, um… heat.”
The bed dips beside you as he eases onto it, “Yes, all the symptoms aren’t from poison or disease, it’s—”
“We’re horned up.”
“There’s less crude ways to put it,” he laughs and tosses the crumpled wrapper back into your bag, “But yes. We are, as you very eloquently said, horned up.”
You peek up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to make yourself smaller in the midst of this mortification. “What’s the statistical probability of us being able to wait it out like adults with incredible self control?”
“Factoring in our—”
“Reid, that was rhetorical,” you attempt to conjure enough energy for a glare, but it simply comes across petulant. His smile twists, and something flashes in his expression. Something you recognize. You’re sure you’re looking at him the exact same way—desire reflected back at you from clear amber eyes.
“Is it?” his voice drops and you feel the weight of his gaze prickling your overheated skin, “Forgive me, I quite enjoyed figuring out the math of the age old question: how long will it take for you to initiate something between us.”
This time, you glower. And the bastard laughs, which only serves to heighten your annoyance. “I’m not initiating anything with you.”
“No? But you’re so skilled at it.”
Memories of your previous trysts flood your mind. His room, the list of rules and your punishment, the way you came apart on his lap. A meeting that you had, indeed, initiated.
You huff like a brat, and look away.
“It’s only 22.45%,” he says when the silence stretches long enough to grow uncomfortable and swells until it threatens to suffocate, “If my math is correct.”
Admittedly, the low chances make you curious. You shift slightly to glance at him, “22.45% chances of me initiating? Why is it so low?” In your mind, you’d give it 90% and that’s being modest. You’re barely controlling yourself right now. No way it would be so slim; the number is actually a little insulting to you and how much you want him to jump your bones.
“Well,” he leans in, breath ghosting over your face, close enough you smell the hints of chocolate and coffee and cologne. And yet, still not close enough, “Factoring in the probability of where we are, there’s a 4.94% chance we get called by the team, and 3.88% to us actually being good—that is, not succumbing to these hormonal cocktails in our brains.”
“That doesn’t make sense, those are even lower numbers.”
“Mhm. Because based on my calculations, there’s a 68.73% chance that I initiate something.”
Your breath catches. Math and numbers have never sounded so fucking hot until this moment.
“What are you waiting for?” your voice catches in your throat and comes out a fluttery sigh.
“Your consent.”
A smile splits across your face, and you decide that tonight, your 22% chances trump his 68%.
Your soft lips press upon him, eager, open, and tasting faintly of chocolate. Spencer has never been more happy to be proven wrong.
He has always kissed with intention—slow, deep, as though he's trying to meld himself with the velvety warmth of your mouth. But this kiss is different. This kiss has edge. Teeth. The same unhurried pace but marked by a molten need that makes your toes curl and your thighs clench. He leans forward and you follow like you're wired for submission. Like laying down beneath him is simply part of the natural order, the same way planets orbit around the sun.
Sweaty palms find their way beneath your shirt, pressing into equally slick skin, the surface of which immediately breaks out in goosebumps.
"Spencer," You groan into the kiss, hands wandering up his shoulders, "Should we be doing this?"
"That sounds like another one of your rhetoricals."
You laugh, breathless, muffled, "I suppose it is."
"Then there’s no point in answering," He dips his head, lips latching on your neck and, because he’s Spencer Reid, he offers some form of answer anyway, “For the record, I don’t think it’s a question of should.”
"We're debating semantics now?"
"No." A bite. Hands squeezing around your waist before they traverse the softness of your breasts. "The point is we're not debating anything. We both know this is happening regardless of whether or not we should."
He punctuates the statement with a decisive snap that unhooks your bra. "Arms up." Spencer whispers.
You do as he says without another second thought. He tosses your sweaty clothes to the ground. It’s careful. Your bottoms ease off next, and then it’s his turn, stripping down to his boxers with shaky hands. As more clothes join the floor, the room spins and the heat swells.
You’ve both figured there’s no running from it, so instead, you hurtle headfirst and off balance, hands squeezing and tongues dragging across sweat-sodden skin. Spencer settles between your legs with ease, his body slotting with a familiarity that should unsettle you. He moves like he belongs there, and you’re afraid that you want this to be true.
“Fuck—so hot.” he groans against your chest, lips closing around a nipple.
Your back arches, urging him deeper, “Thanks.” You giggle, taking credit for an adjective you’re not even sure is intended for you.
“I—you know what, yeah,” he rasps, lifting himself up on his elbows. The loss of his lips on your chest is alleviated by the look in his eyes. Intense, pupils blown wide as they survey the sight of you beneath him. Glistening and heaving, eyes already out of focus as if a few simple kisses from him is enough to throw you completely off your equilibrium. It’s a sight he’ll keep for as long as he’s alive, no eidetic memory needed. “Yeah, you are. Hot. So hot, so beautiful.” his mouth captures yours again, and you swear you’re melting straight into the sheets.
Your hands fumble uselessly at the waistband of his boxers, pushing the fabric as he attempts to shimmy out of them on top of you. Unfortunately, that simply drives his obvious bulge against your already needy core. With a whine, a prayer, and enough determination to possibly put you through law school, his boxers finally drag down his thighs, just enough for him to kick them off.
Spencer pauses then, looking down at you with gooey brown eyes, every bit of his attention now on you and the sensation burns deep in your gut, a soft kind of heat, one you wish to kindle.
His voice is soft when he asks, “You remember your safe word?”
“Yes—Jupiter,” the next teasing word - nerd - is immediately swallowed by a kiss. You moan, the burning in your belly spreading white hot just beneath your skin, tinging at every point of contact.
“And you remember what instances to use it?”
Leave it to him to still be concerned about his rules while you're both nearly consumed by such a ruinous chemical reaction. Still, this attentiveness makes something curl in your chest, and you find yourself breathless for an entirely different reason.
“Yes, I do.”
“Yeah? Tell me.” His teeth sink into the softness of your shoulder, hips grinding down onto your core, both of which effectively eliminates any and all ability to form coherent thought, let alone his goddamned rules.
“Uh - it's - I -”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he pulls back to look down at you, voice raspy but tinged with amusement. Smugness glimmers beneath the desire in his amber irises, “Have you already lost your ability to speak? Do I need to remind you?”
“Y-yes.” you gasp, not really sure what you're replying to.
“Yes what?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good girl. God, you’re so wet for me.” He takes your lower lip between his teeth, sucks until it's tender and numb, before letting go. You feel his tongue push past your teeth, and once again, pure jelly replaces your gray matter. Nothing is real except for him and all the sensations he's giving you. Your hips cant up for any relief. “Be patient,” he cooes, “You need to remember the rules. Safe word if it gets too much, yes? Even if you just want me to slow down. Do you remember now?”
“Yes sir.” you're nodding desperately, and the moment the words leave your lips, you feel the stretch at your core, “Oh god!” You tense around his girth, the broad tip spreading you open. There’s a slight sting, as there always is when he first breaches your entrance with his large cock. It’s familiar. It’s welcome—it means he’s here, he’s with you.
“Angel, you gotta relax,” he says through gritted teeth, his breaths shallow as he pauses, “You're—ugh—too tight like this.”
The most pathetic whine trembles from your lips. He chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours, “Relax, or we'll be stuck like this all night.” He says it like that's somehow a threat, as if you wouldn't be content having him buried inside you. “I don't want to hurt you.”
Against all odds, you manage to relax, walls fluttering delicately as he slides his hard length deeper. Excruciatingly slow. Part of you wonders if it's still because he doesn't want to hurt you, or if he's deliberately torturing you by inching his way in like this. You'd think that after the broadest part of his head pushes past your entrance, it would be an easier fit, but you still find yourself gasping as the rest of his cock slides in and you're still being stretched taut.
“Fuck!”
“I know, I know, god, you're so tight. Should’ve stretched you out with my fingers first, baby, I’m sorry.”
You laugh, “Don’t apologize, I’ll live.”
“You’re in pain.”
“Just a little bit,” you whisper, “Trust me, it’s fine. Please move or I’ll combust.”
Spencer laughs, his forehead pressed to yours. “Okay. You’re lucky I can’t help myself right now, otherwise that would count as an infraction.”
“Not fair, I said please.” you’re pouting as you say it, but the expression immediately dissolves into a slack jawed, glazed over scream of silence as he drags his length nearly all the way out and thrusts back in. Holy fuck.
“Too much?” he pauses, fingers pushing back the strands of your hair that cling at your forehead.
“No, god no, that was perfect.”
“Yeah?” he grins. Does it again. Slow, deep thrusts that make your spine arch in a way you weren’t even aware you could do. Every time he sheathes himself in your warmth, he deliberately grinds his pelvis into yours, the wiry hairs giving your sensitive folds just the right amount of friction. Drag out. Thrust in. Grind, repeat.
Whatever aphrodisiacs were in those chocolate must be working overtime, because everything feels sensitive. You could feel every ridge of his cock as he drags it in and out of your sodden cunt. By some miracle, you’re wetter than normal, slickness dripping around your thighs, into your ass, soaking into the sheets.
Your hands curl into his biceps, fingers clawing his flesh, as gasps are torn from your throat. He’s building up a rhythm now. Black dots dapple your vision, “Oh, god, yes! Just like that!”
“Mhm, you feel so good,” he groans, one hand finding your chest, “So soft and hot for me.” His thumb circles your nipple, then pinches it right as he buries himself balls-deep.
You’re undone within moments. Teeth clamping around the soft part of his shoulder until the skin blooms berry red and are marred by indentations of your teeth.
“Already?” he tuts, letting go of your nipple to grip your waist with both hands, “I didn’t even give you permission yet.”
You sob, “Too good. Please, again.”
“Think you can handle more?” he asks, as if he’s not continuously rutting into you with scientific precision.
“Mhm, please, sir.”
That word seems to make him lose any modicum of restraint and he slams into you so roughly your body rocks forward. Again and again, only his hold on your waist grows more firm, keeping you in place to take this rougher pace. Your skin is prickling with goosebumps and tacky with sweat, and, when he takes one of your legs and hooks it up over his shoulder, you scream.
“Angel!” he halts in an instant, brown eyes wide with concern.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, I’ve been so good, I can take it.”
His skin flushes as the realization dawns upon him. It wasn’t from pain; no, the complete opposite. Spencer slams his hips into you again, eliciting a more subdued response—a low, keening whimper. The new angle allows him to burrow deeper, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix, but every time he does, your walls clench tighter, an indication that tells him you’re enjoying it.
Now certain that you can, indeed, take it, he resumes his steady pace, all while nibbling at the leg slung over his shoulder.
“You’re so pretty like this, but you gotta be quiet.” he murmurs, sinking his teeth into your flesh and sucking.
“Or what?” you groan, somehow still managing to find a sliver of insolence even while he’s balls deep in your cunt. “You’ll stop?”
He can’t. You both know that. Not while those aphrodisiacs are still coursing through your systems.
A dangerous glimmer passes through his eyes. “No,” his free hand finds your clit and soothes quick halos over the slick bud, “I’ll be even louder. Let everyone know exactly what we’re doing.”
From those words, your eyes snap to focus.
He’s grinning and something in his expression reminds you of a triumphant and mocking devil. “Is that what you want? For everyone to know how good you are for me? Quite frankly, I’d prefer to keep it between ourselves, angel, but if that’s what you want, then—”
“No, no, no,” you’re mortified at the very idea, something resembling shame curling in your chest. You push it away; this shouldn’t be shameful, you do not want your memories with Spencer to be tinged with something so negative. “Please, I’ll be quiet, I swear.”
Your clit throbs between his index finger and thumb as he pinches it lightly, “You promise?”
“Yes sir.” you whine.
He nods, though there’s no relief for your poor clit. He keeps it pressed between his fingers, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the exposed top, and you begin to seriously consider if there’s a limit to how much pleasure a body can feel before it spontaneously combusts. If there is, you’re dangerously close to that point.
You’d gladly face it, if that’s the case. What did the French call it—la petite mort? You’re not sure. Right now all you can feel is an all consuming, syrupy sort of bliss. Besides, whatever you can muster of your brain power goes directly to making sure you don’t make a sound. His threat might seem extreme, but Spencer rarely bluffs with his punishments. Either way, you have no intention of finding out.
When it all gets too overwhelming—the fullness that settles in your fluttering channel, the consistent pressure on your clit—you decide this isn’t such a bad way to go.
Only, the pleasure simply splits the world, and suddenly you’re gushing around his cock, and the meeting of your flesh is chased by soft, squelchy sounds.
“My god,” Spencer groans, slowing his pace to marvel at the massive wet spot beneath your bodies, “Did you just?”
“Mhm,” your head tilts in a barely perceptible nod, too exhausted and cock-drunk to reply with words. Never mind that the word in question contains only a syllable—yes. Yes, you just squirted around him.
The world whirls into smudges and colors as he continues fucking into you, his soft grunts echoing in your mind like a favorite song you refuse to unlearn. He finds your hand, cradles it to his chest and, despite everything, you manage to smile up at him. He returns it, a gentleness to the feral creatures that seem to have taken over the two of you.
“God, you’re so lovely. My good girl. Do you need a break?” he cooes, slowly bringing your leg down so that it rests on the bed. You’re limp as a ragdoll beneath him, eyes fluttering and barely kept open, but your walls are squeezing around him so tightly.
“No,” you shake your head.
“Are you sure? You look out of it.” he says, attempting to pull out.
You whine and squeeze your walls to keep him inside.
Spencer laughs, “Let’s turn you over, huh? So your back isn’t all bent all night.” he says, gently pulling out of your heat.
You’re dead weight as he rolls you over, unable to do anything but follow his gentle manhandling. A pillow slides under your hips, elevating the area for easier access. And he’s right, the position does take pressure off your back, but you’re sure that’s temporary, since his entire body weight is going to be above you at any moment.
Palms squeeze and spread your ass playfully, “So pretty. Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss at the small of your back.
Your answer comes in the form of a low, needy moan. Spencer chuckles, his tip nudging at your entrance once again.
“You know your safe word, right?”
“Jupiter.” the answer slips from your mouth on instinct.
“Good girl. Remember it, because otherwise, I don’t think I'll stop any time soon.”
He shouldn’t. He should stay buried in you forever, or until the aphrodisiacs wear off, or until you die. Whichever of the three comes first.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing the safe word.” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow.
Spencer laughs and slides in, deep and gentle, and doesn’t stop until the clock reads 3am, and neither of you have any energy to do anything but sleep in each other’s arms.
i feel insane. more early season dom content here. thank you for reading! tagging ppl who specifically asked for part two @cherrycemeterry @ana-stasssiaaa @spencerreidwannabe @appledressing @rafayelsheart @aliteralsemicolon
