https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeTkmpNy/ SPENCER MF REID 🙏🙏 can I pretty please request a one shot based on that video ITS SO CUTE
dewey decimal system | S.R.
in which spencer does the most spencer activity first thing in the morning - reorganizing your bookshelves
(tiktok link)
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: fluff
content warnings: i'm fairly certain there aren't any
word count: 619
a/n: the beauty of this being my account is that, even though my requests are closed, i was able to exercise free will and write it anyway. because reorganizing your bookshelves unprompted is so something spencer would do.
The other side of the bed was cold when you woke up. Your desire to roll over into Spencer’s arms before getting ready for the day squashed by his absence. Aimlessly patting your bedside table for your phone, you checked your notifications.
You hadn’t received a text, there was no note left on his pillow.
Sitting up in bed, you frowned before climbing out of bed. Cringing at the cold laminate under your feet, you hugged your arms around yourself and mourned the feeling of your comforter over your skin.
To your surprise, Spencer was wide awake, standing in front of your bookshelf like he was an opponent ready to strike. Padding across the living room, you approached him from behind and wrapped your arms around his waist, depending heavily on his body heat to give you the courage not to run back to bed.
“Good morning love,” he murmured, voice gruff from lack of use. With a morning slowness, he skimmed his palms along your arms, swaying gently to the soft sounds of dawn. “Are you alright?” He asked you when you didn’t respond, too caught up in the feeling of him to speak.
Pressing your cheek to the fabric of his plain white t-shirt, you sighed, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of him, the scent of your laundry detergent on his clothes.
“What’s wrong, angel?” He whispered, softly squeezing your arms before turning himself around while trapped in your arms.
You didn’t let up, forcing him to twist himself within the circumference of your limbs just to see your face. The maneuver was so notably ungraceful that you couldn’t hold back your smile, “Nothing’s wrong,” you mumbled, now pressing your cheek to his chest while he tenderly cupped your head. “What are you doing up?”
Spencer dropped a kiss to the crown of your head, keeping his arms casually slung around you while he nodded at your bookshelves, “I was reorganizing your bookshelves.”
Furrowing your brows, you looked at your previously unruly shelves. They had now been adroitly redone, no longer having books stacked horizontally and being put off for another day, “What do you mean you were reorganizing my bookshelves?”
“Well, initially I had planned on using the Dewey decimal system, which is how my books are organized at home, but you had such an uneven ratio of each category that I ended up doing it alphabetically,” he explained to you, lazily using a hand to gesture to your collection.
Catching a glimpse of the titles, you asked, “By title?”
He shook his head, “Author’s last name,” he responded as if it should’ve been obvious to you. Spencer’s arms tightened around you as he craned his head to nestle his face in the crook of your neck, “Did you sleep well?”
You hummed contentedly at the proximity you had to him, “Right up until I woke up and you weren’t there.”
“I was reorganizing your books,” he emphasized, reminding you what he had spent his morning doing.
Nodding, you shut your eyes, savoring the feeling of his fingers as they now skated their way along your spine, “It looks nice, Spence.”
“Did you want to read a book together?” He asked you, continuing his ministrations on your back.
Pulling away slightly, you rested your palms on his shoulders as you looked up at him, “What?”
He jutted his chin in the direction of your shelves, “There are some books that I shelved, I think we could have a good time reading one together.”
You raised your eyebrows, “You’ll finish way before me though,” you hinted at his reading speed.
“Then I can read aloud to you,” he offered, beaming down at you.
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.
Spencer would love putting you to sleep with his dick
You're either gonna cum or youre gonna doze off, either way youre relaxed and he's happy. Just slow thrusts and kissing your forehead, not even trying to cum, he just wants you to. He might have already, but he's so focused on your soft sighs that he can't remember anything.
And he laughs when he pulls out because you whine as if your eyes aren't shut already, too heavy to open back up
And he'll clean you up and tuck you in before he lays next to you, holding you in whatever position you'd ended up in. And it's all very warm and slow and gentle and he kisses behind your ear before he can doze off, wrapped around you.
Maybe one time you both fell asleep in the middle of it, but the waking up and separating was so uncomfortable and weird that he vowed to never let himself fall asleep before cleaning up.
And if he really can't fall asleep and he gets restless while you do, he'll get a glass of water for you to have ready in the morning, while telling you how much fluid is lost during intercourse so you should really hydrate.
in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex!
a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!
You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.
How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.
So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for.
He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”
You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.
“Fuck—I said slow.”
You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.
Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”
“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”
“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”
“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more.
Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.
“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.
It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching.
“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”
“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”
By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”
You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.
“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”
Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.
“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”
Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact.
“Please can I go faster?”
Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.
“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”
You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for.
Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—
“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”
“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”
“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon.
“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.
Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.
“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”
“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.
“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”
And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him.
“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.
So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”
“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.
“According to who?”
“According to… I was on top…”
“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”
You whine softly. “No they’re not.”
His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.
“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”
You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”
“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”
“Hm.”
“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”
And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.
Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.
“I’m sleepy.”
“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.
“I can’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”
“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”
“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”
“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”
“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble.
“Tender?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”
“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“Lie down.”
Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.
“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind.
The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him.
Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.
“Was that on purpose?”
“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.
Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair.
“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.
He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”
The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.
And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.
Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long.
The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind.
In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.
You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.
“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.
You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.
“Shaky?”
“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”
“No.”
He sighs good-naturedly.
“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”
“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”
When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”
In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader
Genre: smut (18+)
Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer
Word count: 3,8k
A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...
The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.
What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.
You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.
He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.
With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.
The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.
As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.
Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.
—
Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.
You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”
He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”
“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”
“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”
“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.
“I’ll put them in water, come in.”
You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.
He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.
Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.
He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.
You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.
“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.
Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.
“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.
“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.
“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”
Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.
“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.
“Only if you’d come with me.”
His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.
“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.
You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.
You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.
"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.
Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.
“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.
“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.
“No,” you lied.
“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.
You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”
“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.
His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Tenderly, he placed more kisses to your skin, sending shivers through your entire body. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.
“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.
You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.
“Beautiful,” he stated.
The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh as his warm hands slipped beneath your shirt. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
You playfully raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”
“Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.
“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.
A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.
You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.
“Can you handle more?” His voice husked in desire. You nodded, your body already screaming for more. Goosebumps decorated your skin as his long fingers traced your inner thighs. You squirmed helplessly when his thumb pressed against your covered clit. A moan fell from your lips as you arched against him.
“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.
He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.
“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.
“Please, Spence,” you moaned.
“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.
“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.
“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.
A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.
Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.
His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.
Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.
The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.
You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.
Your breathing turned sharp and shallow, as the pressure built low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared your climax.
“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours.
And then, with a confirming nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.
A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit. You were unable to hold back the cries of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you as the world spun in a blur.
He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.
He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.
“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.
He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.
“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.
You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.
He gripped his length firmly, pumping himself a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth. He teased you for the briefest moment before you slowly sank down on him.
A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.
Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.
“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.
The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.
“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.
Spencer pulled you against him, adjusting your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. He wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.
“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.
As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.
“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.
“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”
“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”
“Will you cum inside of me?”
For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” He swallowed. His cheeks flushed as he hesitated on his next words. “I want to cum on your face.”
Your pupils blew wide. His confession causing a smirk to tug at the corner of your lips.
That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.
Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.
It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger was almost enough to unravel him all over again.
Spencer was unable to leave your side, grabbing his sleeve to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh as you savored the comfortable silence that followed.
His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.
You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”
Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”
genre smut (18+)
cw leggings!reader (gymrat!reader) x perv!spencer, established situation-/relationship, thigh riding, some nipple play, handjob, 69
wc 2,8k
a/n another fic in the leggings!reader universe! but you can read this (and the others) as standalones :)
“Spence, I’m home!”
Your voice echoes through the apartment, feeling like a 1950s housewife as you place the heavy bag of groceries down on the floor and kick off your shoes. With light effort, you lift the bag back up and place it on the kitchen counter. That’s for being a gym rat.
“Spence?” You repeat, voice slightly louder, as you wait for a response.
A muffled groan follows, seeming to come out of the bedroom. “I’m in here!”
A chuckle passes your lips, and curiously you make your way to the bedroom, following the sound. The door is slightly ajar, and peeking through it, you see Spencer lying on his back on top of the bedsheets. He’s wearing his gym wear: blue shorts that stop mid-thigh, and his red hoodie sits next to him on the covers, revealing his chest that glimmers in a light layer of sweat.
“This is a nice way to come home,” you teasingly grin, walking in and taking place on the edge of the mattress.
Spencer tries sitting up but quickly gives up, his hand reaching to the sting in his spleen and lying back down. “I did that routine you texted me,” he says, and the situation instantly gets clear.
“You hated it, huh?” You chuckle.
“You said it was ‘light’,” he whines, acting like you forced him into doing something torturous, while the workout was still on beginner’s level.
“It was light!” You say as you playfully squeeze his calf, making him flinch in pain. You pull your hand away. “It was a leg routine. We established that those are the easiest.”
“Sometimes statistics can lie.”
You fake a gasp, placing your hand on your heart. “Statistics? Lying? Good heavens, it can’t be possible.”
He laughs, the warm sound interrupted by a string of ouch’s.
“Not a peep when you get shot in the leg, but you draw the line at a thirty-minute workout,” you state with a raised eyebrow.
His puppy dog eyes hold your gaze, pink lips pouting up to you.
“Fine,” you sigh, standing up from your spot. “I have some massage oil. It might help.”
A sneaky smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, looking way too smug for someone who was sulking just a second ago. With a snort and shake of your head, you make your way to the bathroom. Opening the cabinet, you spot the transparent purple liquid, a sticker placed on it that reads Natural Lavender Massage Oil, meant to relax.
“Tada!” You showcase the bottle of oil before playfully throwing it to him, Spencer having a habit of wanting to check the ingredients himself.
“Sounds good,” he concludes, throwing the bottle back to you after having read the tiny letters at record speed.
“What do I do?” He asks as you take your place on your knees next to his figure.
“Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
He hummed. “Okay.”
The bottle opens with a flick of your thumb, the pleasant aroma filling the room instantly. Carefully, you let the liquid drop onto your palm, closing the lid, and rubbing the oil between your hands.
“Can be a bit cold,” you warn before placing your hands on his thighs.
He makes a satisfied sound as your skin makes contact with his. “Cold is just what I need.”
You aren’t an expert at massages, but you know enough about muscles to know where to apply pressure and where to be more gentle. Spencer wasn’t lying; the flesh of his upper thighs feels tense as you gently dig the tips of your fingers in.
“Is this okay?”
“Mhm,” he answers in a soft breath.
Slowly, you’re starting to form a nice rhythm. Thumbs pressing circles into the plush skin, while your fingers squeeze around the rest of his thigh, then letting go, and repeating the same motion.
“You have pretty thick thighs,” you murmur in observation.
“Is that a good thing?”
You think about it for a moment and come to the conclusion that it is a good thing. Yes, a really good thing.
Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip before catching it in between your teeth. In a single second your previous thoughts have hazed up with ones of his thighs. You’re suddenly very aware of the proximity. Very aware of how he feels beneath your hands and how his shorts have ridden up, and how you could just place a leg over his and have his thigh right where you’re starting to ache for him.
“Is it?”
Your head whips toward him, blinking a few times until your brain finally translates his words.
“Uh, yeah. It’s great. Makes it seem like you’ve gymmed longer than you have.”
He seems satisfied with that answer, nodding and placing his head back onto the pillow.
“I get people’s fascination with thighs. I like yours.”
You swallow, voice pitching. “Yeah?”
He hums in acknowledgment. His lips part and he releases a small moan when you massage a particularly tight spot.
“Shit, right there.”
The room is growing warmer around you, almost forgetting that you’re in the middle of giving a massage as he flutters his eyes shut, a breathy sigh escaping his lips. You move your fingers in the same manner, igniting another moan. You’re starting to see the appeal of this now.
His hand reaches out to your hip, holding you for extra support. “That’s it. A little harder, baby.”
Your skin prickles in heat, his words sending sparks straight to your core.
You let out a breathy laugh. “I know I can never send you to a real masseuse if you keep moaning like that.”
His brows furrow, the wheels in his mind turning until he puts one and two together. “You’re getting turned on by this?”
“Well, you know,” you shrug.
He raises his eyebrows.
“You know your voice turns me on,” you finish sheepishly.
He manages to lift himself up by his lower arms, looking at you. “Just my voice? Or does it also have to do with my thick thighs?”
You chuckle against your will, wishing you could wipe that cocky grin off of his face. “Maybe,” you mutter, keeping your focus on his legs, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how worked up he’s getting you.
This dynamic is new to you. Him teasing you. And although it’s having a clear effect on you, you can’t give him the upper hand. You won’t let him. So why not play into his games?
“There are more ways for me to massage your legs without using my hands.”
This seems to intrigue him. “Is that so?”
You hum, finally turning toward him. “There are ways for me to apply some more pressure. More weight.”
It’s his turn to bite his lip now, catching on to your plans. “How are you planning on doing that?”
“I think you know,” you sensually purr. Then lift yourself up on your knees, holding onto his leg to not fall over. While keeping your eyes on Spencer, you slowly undo the button of your jeans. His grip on your hip tightens, and you have to call out his name for him to let go so you can pull the rest of the fabric down.
“Yeah, I really like your thighs,” he confirms, his eyes dreamily scanning the nude curves that are on full display.
You give him a feline smile and place your hands on his abdomen, feeling his skin burn underneath your touch. You hold yourself steady as you throw a leg over his, his thigh situated in between both of yours.
His hands ghost to your ass, giving an experimental squeeze. “I like this plan.”
“I thought so,” you cheekily responded.
The plan was there, but now it’s time for the most important part, the execution. Taking your time, you lower yourself down until your pussy makes contact with his thigh. It feels pleasant. He’s just the right body temperature, and the hairs on his leg tickle you softly, but not in a way that’s bothering. Feeling the need for more, you spread your legs a little wider and sit down again.
That’s it, you think as you inhale a sharp breath. His words and looks always have a huge effect on you, and it now shows: your clit is swollen and your lips are puffy, feeling sensitive enough for his thigh to apply the perfect amount of pleasure.
“That feels good, Spence,” you moan.
“Yeah? Does it feel good, Angel?”
He’s staring up at you with a look of pure lust and interest. It felt so intimate to see you get yourself off. And he wasn’t even a fly on the wall. He was here. With you. Being used as your personal toy, and he felt like there was no bigger honor.
You nod your head, gripping onto the softness of his stomach as you start to grind your hips. With each move, you rub your folds against him. The heat against your pussy accumulates, and every slide of your hips is getting easier as you spread your wetness around.
“You’re so good at this, baby. So wet already,” Spencer whispers in awe, moving his hands soothingly over your backside.
It’s silly how he can turn a moment this naughty into something so sweet and romantic. The more time you spend together, the more moments you have like this. Growing comfortable around each other’s presence, taking it slow instead of the rushed, hormone-filled encounters you had before.
With every rock of your body, your rhythm grows steadier. Getting the hang of it. Little moans turn louder each time your swollen clit makes contact with him, shooting stars to your core and electrifying every part of your body.
Like Spencer noticed this, he props himself up onto the pillows and reaches out to cup your tits through your shirt. Grateful that your bra is made out of thin lace and not the thick polyester of your sports bras, you can feel his fingertips lock onto your nipples and pinch the hardening buds.
You tilt your head back with a groan, upping your speed and reveling in the wet sounds your pussy is making.
Trying to find a new spot to hold onto, you tap your hands over his body, eyes still fluttering shut in pleasure, until your hand lands on the heavy bulge in Spencer’s shorts. You palm him through the fabric. His cock stands hard and ready, and you thumb the prominent vein that runs along his length.
“Oh, fuck!”
You don’t have it in you to be a tease. Not when the warmth in your stomach is building and all you want is to see the physical proof of how turned on your act got him. You curve your fingers into the elastic band and pull the shorts down, freeing his throbbing length.
“No underwear?” You ask breathlessly, not stopping the motions of your hips. “What wouldn’t the people in the gym think?”
A quiet groan escapes his lips. He feels flustered by the discovery you’ve made but can’t deny how the risk turned him on.
He hisses when you wrap your palm around his shaft, flicking your wrist upward, matching the pace of your hips.
“I get— Jesus—“
“You get Jesus?” You ask in a teasing faux confusion.
He squeezes your breasts, shutting you up, before he continues. “I get sweaty with underwear on.”
You hum. “Well, that’s the whole point of working out. Isn’t it?”
“I prefer a workout like this,” he moans, bucking his hips up.
“This is not a workout, Spence.” Not for you at least, you think, as it clearly is a workout for you. A pleasurable one at that. “You’re just lying there.”
His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist. “That’s because I thought you wanted to use me. Just say the word, and I’ll flip you over.”
There was a challenge in his voice, and who were you to deny? You circle the tip of his cock, and though it’s not really a word, it translates to him that you need him. Now.
In a swift motion, he lifts you from his lap. You let out a squeal when he indeed flips you around, then pulls you up by your thighs and drags you to him until your cunt is perfectly placed above his mouth.
“So you do have arm muscles?”
He hums in agreement, and the warmth of his breath tingles your pussy that is oh so close.
“Just keeping my strength for moments like these.”
There is no time to respond with a smart remark. He gently pulls your hips down, and in a heartbeat, his tongue has found your cunt. Lapping a firm stripe up your lips, drinking in the juices that you’ve just spilled.
You arch your back, elongating your body over his frame. You spot the glistening spot on his thigh, not being able to help yourself as you slide a finger through the slick.
“We don’t even need massage oil next time.”
Spencer hums against your clit in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body. His tongue taps against the small pearl, and then he wraps his lips around it. Humming even harder, knowing its effect.
“God, Spence… Feels so good,” you gasp.
His cock rests against his happy trail, translucent precum dripping out of the tip. You grab him by his shaft, pulling his length back and licking a stripe down his stomach. Spencer shudders at the touch, pumping his hips and moaning against you as his cock slides perfectly through your fist.
“Just like that, baby. Work for it. Move your hips for me.”
Spencer fucks himself into the sleeve you’ve created out of your hand. His tongue flicks hard against your clit, hot hands spreading you open to give you all he can.
In a reward, you scoot a bit forward, just enough so that you can wrap your lips around the head of his cock.
You bob your head, sucking on the tip and collecting his precum with your tongue. You don’t need to see his face to know that you’re doing a good job. Every squeeze of his fingers and every hitch of his breath indicate how much he’s enjoying this.
And so are you.
He licks your labia, gently suckling on it, before his tongue moves on to your needy hole. The tip of his tongue circles the entrance to your cunt, and then he dives in.
You gasp, automatically swallowing him deeper. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you scratch your nails against his thigh before you come back up for breath.
You lay your head onto his thigh, jerking him off as you’re getting too distracted by the traces of his tongue against your inner walls.
Swiping your hand over the mess you’ve previously made on his thigh, you use the wetness as lube and go back to pumping his length.
His tip flushes an angry red, signaling to you how much he needs you. Adrenaline courses in your veins, and with a newfound energy, you sit back up.
Your hands cup his balls, gently using your massage techniques as you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. Tasting him before taking him back in your mouth.
Using a slower approach, you inhale through your nose and take him in inch by inch.
“Stay like that,” Spencer instructs, and you loosen your jaw, letting Spencer take control as he pumps himself into your wet mouth.
It gives you the opportunity to focus on the way his tongue feels on you. And you realize that you’re very close to reaching your high.
His tongue moves relentlessly, flicking over the spot where your labia meet your clit, stimulating both areas that are most sensitive to you. You arch your back, forgetting all about pleasuring him as you sit up, grinding yourself onto his mouth.
“Spencer.”
To let you know he understood, he adds more force. His tongue presses deeper against you, but never stopping the rhythm that he’s found.
“Spencer, Spencer! I’m—“
Your sentence ends in a sharp cry as your orgasm hits you. Waves of pleasure crash through your entire body, the feeling rushing through you from head to toe.
Overwhelmed by your climax, his cock twitches and he finishes with a loud groan. Thick ropes of white release shoot up your upper body and coat his stomach.
Spencer kisses your clit, the action making you shake. He repeats some kisses to the rest of your pussy, then eagerly moves to your hole, ready to catch your dripping sweetness.
You do the same for him, giving his cock a few more tugs, getting every drop out of him.
With trembling, fawn legs, you move from his face, collapsing onto the cushions next to him. Spencer wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in and placing a kiss to your head.
“God, my legs hurt from shaking,” you say breathlessly.
“I asked ChatGPT. I asked Grok” well I asked Spencer Reid and he answered my question immediately but then he started talking about like six other related things. He looked so happy that I didn’t want to interrupt him but I’ve been sitting here for like 45 minutes…
in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.
18+ (fluff, suggestive)
warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing
a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D
Spencer is reading.
He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway.
Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...
And... that's enough.
Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior.
“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg.
“Hi.”
For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”
“Mhm.”
His brow darts up.
“With what, baby?”
Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy.
Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly.
“Um…”
Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—
You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp.
It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out.
“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout.
“I was.”
Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”
“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin.
“Don’t make it about me.”
You allow a minute to pass in silence.
Fine.
“I liked it,” you say shyly.
Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”
Like he couldn’t tell.
“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”
His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you.
“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”
You make a face. “Shut up.”
“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”
“Is that the saying?”
“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”
“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”
Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck.
“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”
His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”
It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”
“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”
“It was mean.”
“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“So you’ll let me do it again?”
Spencer pulls you back into another kiss.
“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?”
When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly.
“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”
You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward.
“You’re so nice, Spence.”
“I thought I was mean.”
“Now you’re nice.”
“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”
But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again.
[stoppppp, can you imagine how stinkin' cute this would be!!??] fem!reader
i had American Girls by HS on repeat and it was raining outside whilst i made this. it was pure vibes.
getting ready:
when Spence nervously asked reader out on a date, he said "wear whatever makes you feel comfortable. you're beautiful in everything." which was very sweet, but left reader with a pile of clothes on her floor and no idea what to wear. she spent a stereotypically long amount of time getting ready for when he picks her up. wanting to look as perfect as possible.
picking her up:
As Spencer made his way up the steps of your apartment complex, his palms began to sweat around the bouquet of flowers he bought for you. He paused for a moment outside of your door, catching his breath and rehearsing what he'd say when you opened it. He took a deep breath and knocked. How stupid he was to be nervous for this date because as soon as he looked into your eyes, his heart skipped a beat and then settled into a calm and love-struck rhythm. "You look perfect." he murmured as he handed you the flowers.
transport:
you both walked hand in hand to the train station, blush dusting over each of your noses and happy smiles plastered on your faces. as you sat down, you saw that there was an abandoned newspaper next to you. so for the duration of your ride, you both completed the crossword.
location one:
as you entered the museum, your eyes lit up when you saw the Greek mythology section. once inside, you realised no one was in there. with furrowed brows, you turned to Spence. "where is everyone?" you asked him. "i had just enough connections to get this section to ourselves for an hour. i know Greek mythology is an interest of yours." he explained in the most gentle and shy voice you've ever heard. jumping with glee, you wrap your warms around his neck, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Spencer knew you left a lipstick mark on his cheek, but didn't dare wipe it off. you roamed around the section hand in hand, explaining the different myths to him as if he didn't already know every single one.
location two:
when it hit eight o'clock, he whisked you out of the museum and up the street to an underground jazz club, one that wasn't too empty and not too full. the perfect atmosphere with smooth jazz and a constant level of chatter. you were actually surprised that he brought you here as it's not really his brand. but you do have a small recollection of once saying that you have always wanted to go to a jazz club after watching Round Midnight. you ordered food, sipped on mocktails, laughed and hummed along with the music. it was a perfect meal.
the stroll back home:
despite it being half ten at night when you finished dinner and having work tomorrow, neither of you wanted the night to end. so instead of getting the train, you both decided to walk home. full from dinner and laughing until you got giddy, you both wandered through the dimly lit streets. at one point laying down on a quiet street to gaze up at the stars. reluctantly, you ended up at home at midnight. with a perfect kiss goodnight, you let go of spencer's hand and made your way into your apartment, a smile tattooed on your face as his promise for another date lingered on your lips.
thank you so much for reading!! this is one of my fave fics i've done, hehe.
