he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosmic Funnies
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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ellievsbear
KIROKAZE
tannertan36
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
titsay
Origami Around
Peter Solarz
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
Claire Keane
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@wonderlanderings
𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐄𝐦, she/her, twenty-five, sporadic writer, international and European law student, the Netherlands.
𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬: ✦ Criminal Minds ✦ Marvel ✦ Stranger Things ✦ The Hunger Games ✦ The Last of Us
: ̗̀➛ through the looking glass.
: ̗̀➛ art and fan art I like.
: ̗̀➛ my ko-fi [if you want to support my work <3]
: ̗̀➛ this is where I hoard my favourite dividers.
nobody else doing it like me. particularly because the way i’m doing it is needlessly difficult
PROJECT HAIL MARY + Ilyukhina's dress 2026, dir. Phil Lord & Christopher Miller
wow! I'm hungry.. hmm.. what should I eat? *does nothing and goes nowhere in life*
I should rewatch pitch perfect
Women in the garden (1866) by Claude Monet
Gravity Falls 2x06
i block ppl all the time so my blocklist ranges from "actual fucking asshole fascist" n "post that mildly annoyed me because im petty" and if i went thru my blocklist rn i probably would have no idea why i blocked each of them but whatever
HEADLOCK : ch. 2
chapter two : you know you're better than this
chapter one my ao3!
pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, dom/sub stuff, bondage, roleplay(ish), big dick spencer things
authors note : things heat up!! im a hardcore switch!spencer truther but for the sake of this fic he's domming it up rn
★
You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation.
Spencer made some choices yesterday.
Choices that make you want to throttle him.
Calling you sweetheart.
Kissing you.
Whispering so sweetly to you.
Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever.
The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found.
The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.
You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them.
You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you.
Of course they’ll find you.
Hopefully.
When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday.
“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken.
When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile.
“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep.
“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.
“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”
“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn.
”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say.
“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?
Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you.
He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed.
“I’m fine.”
”Are you absolutely sure?”
”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them.
“Promise you feel fine?”
”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.
“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side.
“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath.
After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement.
“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament.
”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying.
Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile.
“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.
“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless.
“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction.
”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.
”I mean physically.”
”Sore.” Just a little.
”I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario.
”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”
”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent.
“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you.
“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.
When did he get so close to you?
“What you had to do.” You correct him.
He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight.
“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.”
Gross.
“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.”
Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on?
“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find.
There’s nothing.
No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor.
“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”
You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check.
“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.”
You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer.
“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig.
You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing.
“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well.
You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out.
You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry.
Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing.
The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours.
Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties.
When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground.
“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards.
“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle.
You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.
When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk.
“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.”
“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks.
“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”
You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after.
“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.
“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his.
“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.
“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy.
“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?”
He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?
“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”
“Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought.
“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”
“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself.
“You wish?”
“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.
That’s not what he wants to say.
”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.”
“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”
”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”
”Definietly not healthy.”
”Do you have a better idea?”
”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head.
“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face.
”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”
You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.
”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes.
“It’s not funny.”
“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.”
He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric.
”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion.
”I know Reid.”
”Spencer.”
”What?”
”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.”
“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.
“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.
”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back.
“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down.
“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow.
“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
God you’re sick.
“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight.
“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare.
“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”
”Well that’s not fair-”
”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?”
“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.
”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job.
And all you want to do right now is call him Reid.
Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest.
At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.
”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”
”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”
God, yes.
“No.”
“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.”
He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script.
“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.
”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.”
He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else.
“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you.
At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug.
Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur.
You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too.
You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole.
“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.
”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game.
You’ve never beat him.
But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty.
You chew on your lip, frowning in the process.
“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him.
“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.
“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?”
The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.
Almost.
“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees.
Asked for it, wanted it, needed it.
He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.
He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable.
And then you wait.
His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly.
Son of a bitch.
He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse.
“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”
Oh, you could kill him.
Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly.
You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan.
“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?”
Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.
And his eyes just light up.
You’re never gonna live this down.
With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you.
Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you?
He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you.
And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this.
Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this.
So you give him one.
Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth.
His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open.
You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear.
“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.
And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself.
Oh he’s got a perfect dick.
You’re gonna need so much therapy after this.
You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn.
He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’
Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.
You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth.
You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan.
All you want to hear is make him make that sound.
You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.
”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip.
He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.
”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence.
When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned.
“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.
”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you.
You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face.
“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning.
The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip.
“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears.
You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans.
“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.”
Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.
One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke.
The look on his face makes it worth it.
Intoxicated.
Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time.
“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.
As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.
You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm.
Not that you mind all that much.
When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though.
“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.”
Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs.
His eyes practically sparkle.
Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs.
“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself.
He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.
”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it.
“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan.
”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head.
“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass.
“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him.
“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less.
“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head.
“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much.
Almost as much as you do.
”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place.
“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head.
“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop.
Probably.
”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips.
What do you want?
What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real.
You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.
You want to know what he thinks about all of this.
You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.
You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.
You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this.
”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.
There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.
“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet.
You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this.
“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock.
You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious.
You feel a sense of pride.
You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows.
“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now.
And all you can do is nod.
When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him.
He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision.
You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up.
He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach.
“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.
“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you.
“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full.
“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch.
Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix.
And then he fucking whimpers your name.
Out of breath and desperate.
“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”
And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?
With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.
“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose.
Closer, and closer, and closer.
Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back.
His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty.
“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue.
God, you’re a goner.
He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips.
“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.
“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.
You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.
“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck
“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.”
Does he want you to state the obvious?
“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there.
“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.”
He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him.
“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles.
“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.
”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.”
“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on.
“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration.
“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns.
It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you.
You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth.
“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention.
There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion.
“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you.
“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting.
You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there.
You’re definitely going to be sore for a while.
You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror.
Yikes.
No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out.
“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay.
Are you okay?
Sort of.
You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that.
If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship.
You’re okay, mostly.
You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay.
You just have to hope he’s okay too.
When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey.
That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.
He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever.
Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept.
It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.
You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks.
“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.
That’s it?
That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it.
“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes.
“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.
“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through.
He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush.
Tell him.
Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong.
“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.
“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.
a/n : probs one more chapter after this, maybe a short epilouge after that
BROOKLYN NINE-NINE (2013–2021) S06E04 | Four Movements
I love dandelions!
*puts a dandelion in your hair*
Reblog to put a dandelion in prev's hair
I've got an exam in an hour wish me luck
I've changed that was four reblogs ago
I've been having thoughts on the discussion of Stratt's diplomatic immunity.
Diplomatic immunity refers to the lack of jurisdiction by other states; international waters have very little to do with this. (The high seas are complicated when it comes to jurisdiction, and I won't get too deep into that, but as a general rule of thumb, a ship will fall under the jurisdiction of the flag it carries.)
It seems more likely that the UN has granted her immunity. Based on my understanding of her role as the leader of the international task force, it's probably immunity ratione materiae (functional immunity), which covers only official acts, as opposed to personal immunity, which protects both private and official acts.
So I guess the real question is whether her decision to send Grace has personal grounds.
For all its faults Tumblr has truly ruined all other social media for me because my friends all have Instagram and are all trying to get me on Instagram more but every time I open Instagram there are like fifteen things screaming for my attention and when I get over myself long enough to start scrolling it's like. Where is my chronological dash. Where is the following-only option. Who are these people. Why are there so many videos. Everyone is screaming at me. And then before I know it I'm thirty minutes into scrolling and I haven't seen a single thing that I actually care about. At least on Tumblr when I see stuff I don't care about I know someone I follow has found a new interest.
𝐥𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
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
