g4rvez-r3id

[g4rvez-r3id]

😮‍💨😮‍💨

him in this episode >>>> the actual episode

[g4rvez-r3id]

FUCKKKKKK THIS MADE ME

COMBUST

erika you’ve done it again 👏👏👏

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, cum play, 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 (idk) 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

[g4rvez-r3id]

jesus spencer, my beloved <33

BLACKS AND BLUES — spencer reid

In which Spencer is not letting his injury stop him from putting you in your place

genre smut (18+) cw dom!jesus!reid, bratty!reader, teasing from both sides, fight for control, bdsm relations, established relationship, spanking, caning, rough fingering, deep throating, p in v, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, dacryphilia, pet names, talking you through it, mentions of masturbation wc 4,7k a/n jesus reid + that mf cane have such a hold on me, i knew i had to write about it. this is also the last kinkfest fic, thank you so much for being here and reading. your support truly is the biggest motivation to write, so if you enjoyed this, please let me know! <3

“I’m bored,” Spencer announces.

You’ve lost count of the number of times he has repeated this sentence in the last couple of hours. Days, even. 

Ever since your boyfriend got shot in the leg out on the field — an event that still makes your heart race when you think back on it for too long — he’s been bored. Bored. You’d imagine someone feeling any other way than bored when getting shot, but no, Spencer Reid was bored. Tired of being on bedrest. So tired that he had begged Hotch to join today’s case, which ended up with the both of you stuck in a hotel room.

You had just stepped out of the car, not even close to the destination of the crime scene, when Spencer's limping and whining got the both of you being assigned to the nearest hotel. 

Most of the time, you wouldn’t be one to complain about spending the day with Spencer in a luxurious hotel bedroom. But that’s when you’re not taking into consideration that you’re now on research duty and don’t have the time for a boyfriend-shaped distraction.

Turning your head, you find Spencer in the same position you’d left him in when you had entered the room an hour ago. Looking like an ill Victorian child with his upper body propped against a wall of pillows, his injured leg resting on a bundled-up mess of blankets, and a large pout displayed across his face. 

You give a small shrug of your shoulders and murmur a “Well, I’m not,’’ before turning back to the tower of case files stacked on top of the narrow desk in front of you. With a flick of your finger, you uncap your yellow highlighter and scan the text to see where you were left off.

“I finished my book.”

Your hand halts in its motion. For a second you close your eyes, composing yourself as you take a steady breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “You’ve reread it?” 

“Thrice.”

“Front to back and back to front?” You question him, like you’re a mother wanting confirmation that her son indeed did his homework.

“Yup,” Spencer answers, popping the p. “Why won’t you let me take a look? You know I can go through those files much faster than you can.’’ 

Spencer tries sitting up, stifling a groan when a sharp pain courses through his leg.

“That’s why,” you say, pointing your highlighter at him. “Hotch gave me specific instructions to not let you do anything work-related.”

He huffs. “Hotch isn’t a doctor.”

“Neither are you.”

The defense is ready to fly out of his mouth. “I am a–”

“Nuh uh,” you shush him. “Not a medical one. And Dr. Carter — a medical doctor — has also reminded me, just this morning actually, that you need to take two weeks off from doing anything strenuous.”

“Strenuous meaning activities that will increase my heartrate,” he corrects as he slowly lifts himself up on the bed. “Reading reports will not have that effect on me. Actually, complete rest after an injury like this can delay recovery.” 

“So, if you don’t mind, I’ll…” His hand reaches out beside him, patting the air in search of his cane. You catch the moment his eyes flicker from the bedside table to the wall next to you, the item he’s looking for right in your possession. “You took my cane?”

You unapologetically hum, giving him a single nod. “That’s what happens when you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

Spencer’s mouth falls open, eyebrows raised in indignation. “I get shot in the leg and you’re being this mean to me? You should be taking care of me.”

A scoff escapes your throat, not being able to help the lines of your mouth from curving into a smile. “I’m your girlfriend, not your nurse.”

He seems to ignore your correction altogether, fingers tapping against each other, and you see the wheels turning in his mind. “I think I know what this is.”

Here we go. With a small sigh you click the cap back on the highlighter and let it drop on the table. “Enlighten me, Reid.”

He pulls a long lock behind his ear, his eyes finding yours across the six feet of distance. 

“I think you’re frustrated that I’m the one being taken care of and not you. You miss me taking care of you, and now you’re punishing me for it.” He’s deadpan as he says the words, as confident as he’d be while delivering a profile. 

It takes a second for his words to catch up to you, then you let out a loud cackle. “What?”

“I’m not joking,” he continues, sure of his own theory. “When was the last time we had sex?”

Embarrassingly, it took you a while to come up with an answer. It must’ve been longer than two weeks by now. Despite living together, the cases lately had been so energy consuming that neither of you had it in you to make even the slightest bit of movement when you’d lie in bed at the end of the day. And then the leg thing got in your way, of course. 

“Some time ago,” you silently mutter.

Spencer nods, having made the mental calculations way before you did. “Considering the case will keep everyone busy for some more hours, we might as well not let this time go to waste.” Spencer says, almost purrs, as his voice drops a notch. 

His eyes scan over your figure, unapologetically ogling you. “Do you know how distracting you look when you’re working?”

“Do you know how distracting you are when I’m working?”

The words leave your mouth harsher than they were meant. You open your mouth to soften the blow, but before you could even apologize, Spencer’s expression had shifted. An eyebrow is cocked in surprise, his brown eyes have narrowed shut, and there’s a clear ticking of his jaw.

“Come here.”

Two simple words rolled off his tongue, and you’re already burning up. The heat crawls over your skin, warming your body as it moves up and up until it finds a place to settle on your cheeks. “Spence, I didn’t mean—”

He pats the blankets next to him. The gesture in itself is inviting, gentle, but you’ve known him for long enough to predict what will follow. 

“Take the cane and come over.”

The choice is yours. To obey or disobey? That is the question. 

“Oh, so you think that’s funny?” 

You’re not even aware that the stupid inner thought has caused a small smile to form on your lips until Spencer mentions it. A flicker of anxiety passes through you. You don’t feel as confident in the decision now.

Spencer’s eyes rake over yours, reading your hesitant expression and seeming rather pleased by it.

“Take the cane,” he repeats. “And come over.” 

You grab the cane.

Certain objects carry memories: every time you touch your apartment key, you think back on the day Spencer had handed it to you. Every time you feel the soft fur of your childhood plushie, it takes you back to your hometown. Spencer’s cane carries its own memories. Filthier ones. 

Just a slight trail of your finger against the smooth wooden handle is enough to remember past events. It almost slips out of your grip by the light layer of sweat that has gathered with your nerves. You know exactly what the cold, curved wooden handle feels like when it brushes against your nipples, can vividly remember the stir of goosebumps it causes when it moves down your spine, and you’ll never forget about the sharp stings it leaves on the insides of your thighs or the plump skin of your ass after a couple of spanks. 

Something tells you it’s the latter that you’ll be receiving today.

The creaking of the floorboard goes unnoticed by you, as your heart seems to beat louder with every step that you take toward him. Spencer is seated on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide in a way that would bother you with anyone that isn’t him. With a sense of shame, you hand him the cane. He accepts it by the other end and then pulls it to him so that you come to stand in between his legs.

Your breath stutters at the eye contact he’s making, hazel eyes taking you in and darkening with every second. You’re holding onto the handle of the cane for dear life when Spencer’s hand slides up your outer thigh, making you feel like you’d fall right through your shaky knees if you didn’t. 

His hand slowly travels higher until it pauses at the swell of your ass. He doesn’t take a moment of consideration as he roughly cups the flesh, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“You missed this?” He asks in a low groan. “Missed being manhandled like the dirty little brat you are?”

Your throat grows dry. You meet his gaze with wide eyes, watching him like a deer, curious to know what his next move will be. If he’ll take a slow, cautious step forward, or if the attack is already near.

His palm continuously rubs over your ass in slow circles, warming the skin through your pants. You can feel yourself growing wet, embarrassingly so. You want to rub your thighs together to find relief for the throbbing ache between your folds and the slick that’s uncomfortably gathering behind the thin fabric of your underwear.

Spencer’s gaze flicks from the undeniable wet spot that’s starting to form on your pants to your eyes.

“Did you enjoy your time spent alone?”

He catches on to your confusion and elaborates. “I heard you in the shower. It sounded like you had fun on your own.”

The heat in your face rises. You never realized that he had heard. It’s been ages since you’ve reached for one of your sex toys or were desperate enough to make use of the other functions of a showerhead. Spencer was enough to satisfy you — more than enough — but the last few weeks your boyfriend wasn’t able to help you out like he usually would. And him looking that good with his long hair and light scruff and that damn cane had gotten you needy to find release elsewhere. 

“Don’t be shy now,” Spencer hummed. “I know you liked getting that sweet pussy stimulated, but we both know it doesn’t come close to the way I can make you feel. I could’ve still helped, you know? Still have a mouth you could ride... Still have my fingers to make you feel good.”  

The rasp of his voice leaves a ripple of sparks to your core, which Spencer seems to take notice of, obviously. A cocky smile curves on the edge of his lip,  and he tilts his chin up.

“Lay over my lap.”

His voice is certain, a demand — one he knows you can’t reject.

“Spence-“ 

He tsks. “Come on now, angel. You can’t stand on those shaky legs for much longer.”

It was the truth. There was a magnetic force (or maybe it was just his hand making a “come here” motion that drove you crazy) that pulled you to him, one that you could only fight for so long.

You did as he ordered — your fingers moved to your zipper on instinct. You didn’t make a show out of it, didn’t turn around and slightly bend through your knees to slowly reveal the thin, lacy underwear peeking between your cheeks. Today you didn’t have the patience. With a sharp tug you pull your pants down your legs and find them sticking to your thighs.

It’s not like you didn’t know that you were incredibly turned on, but it always keeps amazing you to find out how wet Spencer can make you just by his words and some slight touches. 

“Good girl, that’s it,” Spencer praises. “Now come sit.”

The position comes naturally to you. You pass him the cane and lay yourself on his lap: you place your arms on the mattress, hovering over it with your chest as your stomach and legs lay over his thighs, ass on display.

Spencer hums. “I’ll never grow tired of this sight.”

Butterflies flutter through your stomach as he whispers the words. They only swarm wilder when you feel heat coming from underneath your lower stomach — not from your own body, but from the growing bulge in your boyfriend’s pants that’s pressing up against you.

He traces slow circles over your skin, playing with you in awe. His hand leaves you momentarily, and then it falls back with a sharp sting. 

You jolt forward, gasping out a “fuck”.

He gently caresses the stricken spot as a form of apology before giving another slap. 

“So sensitive,” he observes. “It’s really been a while if just my hand already has this effect on you.”

You whimper in his grasp, grinding your ass in the air, shamelessly begging him for more. 

“What is it that you want?” 

The faux cluelessness in his voice makes you want to roll your eyes back and cry out in frustration. He knew exactly what you wanted. You dare say he knows your body even better than you. Still, he always asked you. Not only to confirm your consent, but because he revelled in hearing you speak your filthy wishes out loud. There were few things he liked more than you admitting how badly you wanted him. How you needed him to take you. To claim you. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

You glance over your shoulder and catch Spencer smirking down at you. But no matter this cocky exterior,  Spencer stays Spencer — the man who still gets flustered when you kiss him in public. 

A teasing, wicked smile forms on your lips as you find his eyes. “I want you to grab your cane and spank me until I can count every mark.”

His eyes widen comically, and a few coughs follow that he swallows down. 

“I- I can do that.”

His fingers flex around the cane, and he adjusts his grip on it, quickly composing himself. He brings the handle back over your ass and mimics the vexing slow circles of his hand. “Until you see marks,” he mutters to himself.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out in a soft moan.

He lets out a low groan, released from deep in his throat. Then the heavy wood falls sharply onto your skin.

Then again.

And again.

Until a galaxy of stars blurs your vision.

The blows burn deliciously; each spank sends tingles to your core. Your juices are leaking onto his pants at this point, mixing in with Spencer’s arousal where your bodies connect. Proof that this is turning him on just as much, if not more. 

“Fuck, angel. You’ll look so perfect with your ass all painted in blacks and blues,” Spencer praises, using his free hand to trace over the marks he’s created on your ass.

“Please, Spencer,” you whisper. “I need more.”

He takes your beg as a command, the cane falling to the ground with a thud, and his now-free fingers immediately find you. He trails them over your thighs and grazes downwards until he cups your heat. 

“So soaked already,” he says, satisfaction lacing his voice. 

He slips his finger into your underwear, pulling the string. “These don’t have that much use anymore, do they?” He answers himself by pulling it to the side, replacing the fabric with two of his long and slender fingers. 

“Oh god, Spence,” you whine, bucking your hips to grind against his fingers.

“How many can you take?” he asks, his breath heavy as two of his digits press against your entrance. “Two?” 

To test his theory, he enters you and curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot so easily.

“Three’s more like it,” he corrects himself as he pushes another one in.

Your mind is blurred in white, hot fog. You can’t think nor respond back, just gratefully nod and moan, as those three fingers were exactly what you needed.

Spencer switches between curving his fingertips up — repeatedly hitting your g-spot and making you want to roll your eyes to the back of your skull — and moving them swiftly in and out of your heat, as filthy squelches fill the room.

“You feel so good around my fingers, angel,” Spencer whispers, pressing his lips to your hair. “Stretching you out for my cock, hm? Want me to fill you up? You want to be full of my cock, sweetheart?”

Spencer shifts underneath you as he says the words, his arousal twitching against your stomach.

“God, yes, Spence. Want it so bad, but—“

The words escape you as he leans forward and places a kiss on top of the curve of your ass. “But what?” He mutters against your skin.

“But— fuck, but…”

He smirks. “Come on, you can say it.”

“But the doctor says—“

“I only care about what my girl says,” he cuts you off with a shush. “Do you want my cock?”

Strenuous activities. Rest. Don’t get his heart rate up…

“Yes, please.”

Before you know it, you have found yourself in a new position. Still stretched out on your stomach, but now between Spencer’s bare legs. He’s propped against the headrest like before and holding out his stiffened cock for you as he lazily gives the length some tugs.

The image was downright obscene but mouthwatering nonetheless. It was similar to vanilla ice cream on a sunny day, his precum melting down from his reddened tip to his thick shaft.

“I think you need to clean me up before I enter you, angel. Don’t want to make a mess on these fresh sheets, do we?”

He tangles his fingers into your hair, holding your scalp as he guides you closer. Your lips part in anticipation, glossed from the sweep of your tongue.

A moan leaves your mouth as Spencer taps the head of his cock gently across your bottom lip, smearing a sticky layer over it.

“Come on, angel. Open up for me...”

You do, opening your mouth further and letting him rest his heavy cock on top of it. You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft as you take him in. Looking up through your lashes as your eyes slowly start to water. The muscles in his jaw tighten, but the clear relief in his face is undeniable.

“That’s it,” he whimpers in a high-pitched breath as his tip grazes along the roof of your throat. 

“Oh, that’s it.” He repeats when you start working a rhythm, bobbing your head along his length. “Just like that.”

He isn’t able to drive his hips into your mouth like he usually would, so instead he presses your head down each time you’re close to taking him all the way in — helping you until your nose is nuzzled against his happy trail, holding you down for a second before easing you up by your hair to let you catch a breath.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Spencer hisses when you pull off, your swollen lips glistening with saliva from your ministrations.

You giggle, catching your lip teasingly in between your teeth. You run your nails along his thigh, feeling the hairs stand straight in goosebumps, while using your other hand to take hold of his shaft. 

Spencer’s legs flinch up when your tongue goes up and down his slit. A grunt of pain leaves his chest from the sudden movement of his injured leg. You hold him down to prevent him from more pain while continuing to work your tongue in quick, steady licks. 

He’s trying to hold it together, batting away the small moans and groans that force their way out of his throat. But his composure is swiftly slipping with every hollow of your cheeks as you suck harder and faster — taking away his sense of control. 

He hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip on your hair. “That’s enough.”

You hum around him, letting him know you’ve heard loud and clear, but choose to ignore the warning as you keep bobbing your head.

A guttural moan sounds, one that has your chest filling with lust and pride.

“I said that’s enough,” Spencer repeats as he tugs you up.

He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath as he presses his thumb in between your lips. He shakes his head in disbelief as you happily wrap and swirl your tongue around the digit. “Fuck. Such a sweet, horny girl, aren’t you? Always need something in your mouth.”

For a moment (that felt like eternity to you, you simply watched each other. Your eyes speak, reminding each other of the safety and trust that you both feel when being this close. Are you enjoying it? His hazel ones ask. You give a small nod of your head, and Spencer understands.

“Get up.”

Your knees scramble over the mattress as you sit up. With a swish of your arms, strip yourself of your shirt and bra. In the time that the items of clothing have dropped beside you, Spencer is bare too. His chest is flushed in pink and painted with small brown birthmarks that you can’t admire for long, as his warm hands reach out to cup the skin where your hips meet your waist as he draws you closer.

“You want to take control?” He whispers against your lips. 

A moan hugs in between your intertwined lips as you kiss him back in response.

“Ride me then.” 

Keeping your lips on his, you slowly sink down his length. Spencer steadies your hips with his hands, but he doesn’t guide you. Letting you tackle this on your own.

“That’s it,” he murmurs as he watches himself fill you up inch by inch. “Look at you, baby. Such a big girl taking all of my cock all by yourself.” 

Heat spreads low in your belly as he stretches you out. Your thighs are shaking by the time his body meets yours, and you wonder if he’s experiencing the same sweet torture from you putting your weight on his injured leg.

Spencer shifts his hands to your shoulders. Holding you there, and then he —

“Ah, Spencer!”

The whimper gets knocked out of you as Spencer pushes you further down on his cock — making you realize you missed an inch until you could now feel his trimmed pubic hair tickling against your folds.

“Mm, there you go,” he praises, licking his lips. His gaze is intently fixed on your body, connecting with his, as not a single fraction of space is keeping you apart.

You whimper again. You feel so full. And full is good. Full is fucking good. But only for some seconds before you need him to move. But that won’t happen. No, not with his injury. You’re in charge, just like he said. 

With large hands he’s cupping your cheeks, pressing them softly together to get you to pout.

“Come on, honey. You got to work for that cock.”

You tighten your fingers around his shoulders, palms flat on his chest, as you clumsily lift yourself up on your trembling knees that are seated on each side of his body. With uneven moves of your body, you try to roll your hips in a nice pattern, trying to find that sweet spot that Spencer manages to find in a second. But failing.

“Take your time.” He encourages, folding his hands behind his head as he watches you with a smirk.

“Not funny.”

“Not funny, but very entertaining.”

You adjust yourself again, your knees sliding against the white blankets as you try riding him again. This time lifting yourself up and slowly dropping back down. It feels good enough; your wetness makes it easy for his cock to slip in and out of you. Still you weren’t satisfied. Maybe Spencer spoiled you too much, to the point where nothing could satiate the throbbing need in your core but him taking control.

“Spence?”

He lifts his brow ever so slightly. “Hm?”

A small, frustrated noise escapes you as you nod your head to your intertwined bodies.

“Giving up so quickly?” He teases, already knowing the answer. 

It’s too embarrassing to admit out loud, so you just nod. 

Then his hands move. 

You gasp when he grips you by the ass and tilts you over, your body hovering over his as you plant your arms on each side of his head on the pillow. 

Your breath catches as his palms slap against your ass, reigniting the sharp burn from his cane. There’s no warning as he lifts your cheeks up and slams you back down on his cock — using his strength to bounce you on top of him, since he can’t use his legs to pound into you like he usually would.

“Fuck, Spencer!” You cry out in the crook of his neck.

“Nuh uh, no hiding. Let me see you. Let me see how I make you feel.”

You weren’t planning to, not with your eyes all watery and your expression showing a raw, messy need that would stroke his ego way too much (even though he deserved all the praise). 

He squeezes your ass, harshly enough for you to obey his command and face him. 

“Oh, does that hurt?” He pouts. “Is your ass still so sore?”

You whimper a yes. Large, clear tears rolling down your cheeks like they’re a paid actor. 

“God, look at you,” Spencer breathes out in awe, looking like he’s trying to memorize every expression on your face in vivid detail. “Taking me so well, angel.”

It didn’t feel like you were taking it well. You felt like a fucked-out mess as Spencer dragged you up and down his cock at a devastatingly fast speed. 

“Tell yourself, sweetheart. You’re taking my cock so well.”

You lick your lips that have turned dry and nod. “I-I’m taking it.”

“So well, huh?”

Another nod. “Taking your cock so well.”

Spencer lifts you again and drops you as your hips meet in a filthy, wet slap. You bite back a cry, instead letting a just as filthy moan of his name fill the room. 

“That’s my girl, looking so pretty when I’m doing the work,” Spencer groans in pride. One hand slides up your spine as he pulls you flush against him. Hard nipples meeting his sweat-slicked chest. 

“Oh, I can come like this, baby.”

The way he whispers it into your ear and instantly presses his lips to the side of your face has you exploding in both pleasure and adoration.

“Let me feel it, angel. Come around my cock like this.” He urged you on as you clenched around him. Your climax tears through you in hot, sharp waves, taking you under and making you feel as light as a feather. Spencer’s deep and slowing thrusts almost lulling you to sleep.

“Oh, oh, oh.” 

Spencer’s cock slips out of you, and he paints the sensitive flesh of your lower back. 

“So good, sweetheart. So good.” He whispers against your temple, marking the words with a kiss. And another, as he kisses his way from your cheek to your plump-kissed lips. 

Orgasm-stricken and exhausted, you decide to stay where you are — comfortable with your head on his chest, gratefully accepting your boyfriend’s soft kisses.

You don’t need a blanket with the way he’s keeping you warm. His hands roaming from your ass to the other parts of your body, rubbing your skin up and down and working like your own personal heater. 

“I don’t wanna get up,” you mutter in a disappointed groan as you hear the ticking of Spencer’s watch and are reminded of the unfinished stack of papers on the desk.

“I think I’ve proven to you I feel good enough to read some files.”

“God,” you groan against his neck. “We shouldn’t have done that, I probably have ruined all of your progress.”

Spencer chuckles, moving you as his chest shakes in warm laughter. “I think this was the best motivation I could get to get better as soon as possible.”

[g4rvez-r3id]

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH AND GNAWING ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE ‼️‼️‼️‼️

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Masterlist; 18+ MDNI Spencer Reid has a secret. You never know when to stop prying. Or, I headcanon early seasons Reid as a secret dom, and you're a bratty BAU reader who likes to fuck around and find out. Arranged in a way that works both as a series and also as one-shots. Some fics might also overlap into the BUD masterlist because in my heart, this skinny nerd is hung.

In the Secrecy of his Room

↪ You have several (stereotypical) assumptions about your nerdy coworker; he proves how wrong you are about them.

Surreptitious (blurb)

He really likes your thighs (blurb)

A/N: If you don't see him as a dom, that's fine! Just scroll away or visit the aforementioned BUD masterlist in which he's an inexperienced dork with a loving and always horny gf.

[g4rvez-r3id]

he’s so pretty

s8 spencer is so underrated

[g4rvez-r3id]

YES YES YES

UNTOUCHED ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer’s never done this before, and you’re more than happy to teach him how — slowly, thoroughly, and with plenty of praise. he’s always been an eager learner, but you weren’t expecting him to enjoy it this much.

genre: smut | w/c: 2.3k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI!! virgin!spencer, experienced!reader, heavy praise, reader calls spencer good boy & other pet names, subtle sub!spencer vibes, making out, breast/nipple play, brief masturbation (f), fingering, finger sucking, oral (f receiving), reader talks him through it, spencer cums in his pants, glasses!s2!reid, no use of y/n

a/n: yeah so this is probably the filthiest thing I have ever written (but still somehow so soft??). nobody look at me idk what came over me. it just happened, ok? lmao enjoy BYE. tbh not my most eloquently written fic but I haddd to get this out of my system

Your relationship with Spencer, although wonderful, is still very new. There’s been a few slow, tentative makeouts on this very couch, but nothing more. It always stops before things escalate too far — he pulls back, or gets called into work, or a TV commercial ruins the moment, or some other force of the universe steps in to keep all the orgasms you know you could be having behind lock and key.

Tonight, you have plans to change that once & for all.

You’re not sure who leaned in first. It might’ve been you — let’s be honest, it usually is — but by the time you’re in Spencer’s lap, one knee on either side of his thighs and your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, it doesn’t really matter. His lips part against yours, pink and already a little swollen. His glasses are fogged at the edges, and his hands hover uselessly at your waist like he can’t decide what to do next.

So you make the decision for him.

You rock forward, slow and deliberate — just enough to drag your body against his — and his breath catches on a quiet sound he probably doesn’t even realize he making.

The cushions dip under your knees, and everything smells like him: old paper, bergamot soap, something faintly spicy underneath. He tastes like a heavenly mix of breath mints and the honey tea you made for him earlier.

Spencer always kisses like he’s studying you — memorizing pressure points, cataloging every hitch of breath, every soft sound. The drag of your bottom lip. The little touches that make your spine arch.

But there’s tension in him, too.

You feel it in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his hands, the twitch of his thighs when you shift your weight. Something’s holding him back.

You slow the kiss, draw away just enough to trace the line of his cheekbone with your nose, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.

“Spence,” you murmur, breath warm against his skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He stills.

“I—” His voice falters, eyes wide behind his crooked glasses. “I haven’t really, um… done this before.”

You blink.

“You haven’t…” you echo, tilting your head.

His ears flush deep red as he shakes his head.

“I mean— some stuff, yeah,” he says quickly. “Kissing. A little touching. But… not much more than that.”

There’s something raw in his expression, like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

Instead, you kiss him. Soft and steady, nothing showy — just the kind of kiss that says I want you anyway.

When you pull back, his eyes are still closed.

“Spencer,” you whisper.

He opens them slowly.

“You being a virgin isn’t gonna scare me off.”

You thread your fingers into his hair, pushing it back gently from his forehead. His curls are soft, and he shivers when your thumb grazes his ear.

“I kind of like the idea of it, actually,” you murmur.

“You do?”

You smile. “I think I’d like being the first person to show you how good you can feel.”

He goes quiet again, clearly overthinking.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” you ask softly, brushing your nose against his.

He swallows. “No, no. I just… I don’t want to do something wrong. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby,” you whisper against his mouth. “You’re not going to mess anything up.”

You kiss him once more — slow, deep — and feel the hitch in his breath when your tongue brushes his.

“I’ll teach you,” you murmur with a smirk.

You shift to straddle him more fully, your skirt hiking higher around your hips as you settle across his lap. You can feel him under you, hard and twitching through his pants, and he gasps when your hips press down.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He nods too fast.

You raise an eyebrow. “Use your words, Spencer.”

“Yes,” he breathes. “I-I’m okay.”

You smile and roll your hips again, dragging the lace between your legs over the firm outline of his cock. You kiss along his jaw, down the column of his throat, mouthing at a spot above his collarbone until he shivers.

“You like that, don’t you?” you murmur against his skin.

“Yes,” he chokes, hips jerking upward. “Fuck—yes.”

You laugh softly as your hands slip under the hem of your top, peeling it off slowly and tossing it aside.

Spencer stares like a baby deer caught in headlights.

Your black lace bra is sheer, nipples already peaked beneath the fabric. You reach behind you, unclasp it with one practiced motion, and let the straps fall from your shoulders.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

“Touch me,” you murmur.

His hands are shaking when they rise — gentle at first, tentative. He cups your breasts like he’s sure he might be dreaming. His thumbs brush over your nipples and you let out a soft moan, pressing forward into the touch.

“Harder, baby,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back.”

He obeys. His touch deepens, massaging one breast as he catches the nipple of the other between his thumb and forefinger, upping the pressure as he rolls and twists. His confidence grows.

And then his mouth replaces his hands.

His tongue is hesitant at first, then deliberate, then filthy. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and his teeth scrape, just barely, as you grind down against him in response.

“That mouth,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his hair. “God, Spencer. You’re doing so well already, sweet boy.”

He groans into your skin, and you feel every twitch of his hips beneath you, the desperation in every movement.

“So good for me,” you murmur, letting your thumb trace the flush on his cheek. “Such a fast learner.”

He whines — helpless and sweet — and you cradle his jaw, bringing his face back up to meet yours to kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, before guiding his hand between your thighs. Your skirt slips higher, lace panties exposed, already damp.

You press his fingers down against the wet spot.

“Feel what you do to me,” you whisper. “I’ve been wet since the first time you kissed me tonight.”

You move his hand against the lace, helping him slide two fingers along your covered folds. He gasps when he feels how wet you are — not just damp, not just eager — soaked.

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

“Not God,” you murmur cheekily, smirking as you kiss the corner of his mouth. “Just me.”

You draw his fingers upward to circle your clit once — slow, precise — and then pull his hand away.

Spencer watches, dazed, as you slide off his lap and lay down against the couch cushions, hiking your skirt up higher and moving your panties to the side. His breath shudders out in a long, low exhale, his eyes fixed on your bare core.

Then you touch yourself for him — slow, deliberate strokes, dragging through your slick and back up again to circle your clit. Your eyes never leave his.

“This is how I want you to touch me,” you murmur. “Not too fast. Just enough pressure. Like this, okay?”

He nods, transfixed.

You slide two fingers inside yourself, moaning softly, then draw them out again. You hold them up to him with a smirk.

“Want a taste?” you ask, voice thick.

He nods greedily.

“Say please, baby.”

“Please,” he whimpers.

You press your fingers to his mouth, and he sucks them in without hesitation. His tongue curls, eyes fluttering shut as he moans, licking you clean like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“Good boy,” you breathe, pulse skipping. “Taste how much I want you.”

He sucks harder. You see the way his hips shift — searching for something to rut into and failing. He’s panting now, tension coiled so tight you can feel it.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, slide your hand down, and curl your fingers around his wrist again.

“You try now,” you murmur.

You guide his hand back between your thighs and help him find your clit. His fingers are a little shaky, but you hold him there and let him feel the way your body responds beneath his touch.

“That’s it,” you whisper. “Just like I showed you. You can go slow.”

He moves carefully, eyes flicking between your face and your core, trying to memorize every twitch and sound.

You sigh, low and breathless. “Good job, baby. Feels s’good.”

Your praise lands like a spark — his shoulders straighten, his strokes grow bolder, more confident. He draws tight little circles over your clit, then dips down, gathering more slick before coming back up again, mirroring your earlier actions.

“Jesus,” he breathes, staring at you. “You’re so wet.”

“For you, Spence,” you pant, arching into his touch. “I’m like this because of you.”

He groans, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to keep his hips still, to stay focused on you instead of chasing the heat building in his own body.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “You’re gonna make me come like this if you keep going.”

“I want to,” he says eagerly. “I want to make you feel good. Please let me make you come. Please.”

God, does he sound desperate for it. You lean up just enough to kiss him messily before gently easing his hand away.

“And you will,” you murmur, shifting your legs open wider. “But not like this. Want you to do it with your mouth.”

His breath hitches. His pupils dilate. And within a few seconds, he’s nodding with excitement.

You smirk and hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties, peeling them down slowly and letting them fall to the floor.

He’s between your thighs in a heartbeat — laid out on his stomach, elbows braced on the couch, arms wrapped around your thighs, chin tilted up and eyes locked on your cunt.

You run your fingers through his hair and smile down at him softly as you guide him closer. His warm, shaky breath ghosts over your skin.

“Start slow,” you whisper. “Use your tongue and lips together. Don’t overthink it. Just feel.”

He nods, then leans in.

The first lick is cautious — a single drag of his tongue from bottom to top — and he pauses at the end, waiting. When you shiver, he breathes out like he’s been given permission.

“Good,” you murmur. “So good, baby. Keep going.”

He does.

The second lick is more confident. By the third, he’s circling your clit with shaky precision — steadier each time.

“That’s it,” you breathe. “Such a fast learner, aren’t you, Spence?”

He groans — low and hungry — the sound vibrating through your deepest parts as he nods against your core.

And then he devours you.

There’s nothing careful about it now. His tongue moves in messy circles, his lips parting, mouth opening wider. He sucks at your clit and moans like a man possessed.

Your thighs clamp around his shoulders and his rhythm falters — gets sloppier, wetter, better. He’s all-in now, relentless, eating you out like he’s starving, like this is what he was made for. Like he’s been waiting his whole life to make you fall apart. He’s taking cues from your reactions — repeating his movements when you moan, experimenting with his tongue as your hand tightens in his hair, reading every twitch of your hips as if it’s an answer key.

“Oh, fuck—Spencer, YES. Good boy. My good boy.”

The words land heavy, and he whimpers loudly in response. His hands grip your thighs hard, and that’s when you feel it — the tension in his body, the way he’s moving. Subtle at first, then more desperate. You glance down and catch the flex of his hips as they grind into the couch cushion beneath him.

“Don’t stop,” you pant. “Don’t you fucking stop, Spence. You’re doing so good for me. ‘M so close.”

He groans — guttural — as his lips close around your clit once more, and your orgasm rips through you like heat lightning. It hits all at once, spine arching, thighs locking tight around his head as you cry out his name, shuddering through it.

He doesn’t let up. His tongue keeps moving, soft but focused, even as you writhe under him. The aftershocks roll through you, deep and dizzying.

Somewhere in the haze you hear it — a quiet, choked sound. A sharp inhale. A low groan.

You don’t register what it means until you feel him go still. His arms lock. His mouth freezes.

When he finally lifts his head, his face is flushed and slick, lips swollen, and his eyes…

His eyes are wide. Embarrassed. Almost guilty.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, voice wrecked. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t— I just—”

You blink, confused for a moment before it hits you:

Spencer Reid, your perfect, sweet boyfriend, just came in his pants, completely untouched.

Came. In. His. Pants.

Untouched.

Your heart stutters.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Spence.”

He flinches. “I’m so sorry—”

“Hey.” You sit up a bit, still breathless, and reach down to cradle his face between your palms. His skin is hot — not just blushing, but burning.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, voice low but sure. “Please look at me.”

He does, barely.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

He blinks. “What?”

You smile. “That mouth of yours just gave me an orgasm that made me see stars. And then you came in your pants just from eating me out? That’s so hot, Spence.”

He swallows, stunned. His gaze softens. The worry’s still there, but it’s quieter now. His eyes shine.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, straightening his glasses and smoothing his hair. “You’re more than okay.”

You guide him up, help him collapse against your chest, your fingers still threading through his hair as his breath slows. He’s quiet, pliant, curled into you like a lazy puppy.

Eventually he shifts, wincing a little at the sticky mess in his pants.

You giggle.

“C’mon,” you murmur, kissing his temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tug him gently off the couch and take his hand, leading him toward the bathroom. He hesitates, glancing down at the wet stain on his slacks, embarrassment rising again, but you squeeze his fingers and smile.

“Don’t look so ashamed,” you whisper. “You made a mess because you were too turned on by me to stop. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.”

You lean in, lips brushing his neck.

"It's incredibly sexy.”

He groans softly — part laugh, part surrender.

“We’re not done, you know,” you add as you push open the bathroom door. “That was just your first lesson.”

He swallows hard. “N-not done?”

You shake your head as you step closer, fingers unfastening his belt with ease, and press a wet kiss just below his ear.

Your lips curve.

“You’ve still got so much to learn.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

masterlist

[g4rvez-r3id]

Hey loved all your work just finished reading it all. I really love your most recent one Would you even want me, looking like a zombie? No pressure at all are you going to work another part for you sliver springs series? No pressure I just really love it so far and I really love the idea of it and can’t wait to see where it goes. Again so no pressure at all. Sending so much love 💛

hey!!

i’ll probably start working on it soon, i’ve just had so much going on recently and i have a lot of works to catch up on but i’m always working and stuff- we’ll see!!

:)

[g4rvez-r3id]

this is gonna be me in the future bro

[g4rvez-r3id]

💳💥💳💥💳💥

needy! (spencer reid)

this might be crazy, might be a mess but im sleep deprived and haven't written in so long so please bare with me, not proofread either so forgive that 😭

MDNI!!

warnings; sub!spencer dom!femreader, blowjobs, one mention of face slapping (light and brief), edging (m), riding, unprotected pinv (please don't do that), mommy kink, hands around necks but no choking

if i missed anything, please let me know. i'm currently taking blurb requests!

------------------------------

a warm, spring day. early afternoon errands while your boyfriend finished up some paperwork in his office at home. spencer had helped you pick out your skirt and shirt this morning, when you had no idea what to wear. he argued that if you continued being so indecisive you'll never get anything done, everywhere would be closed by the time you left.

he laid out on your shared bed, still in plaid pajama pants and some geeky science shirt you got him. the one that you gave him for christmas - you didn't get the reference but he just had to explain everything until his words jumbled in your ears. back to now, galavanting around the room by your mixed wardrobe in a black pair of underwear and one of his old shirts.

your bed hair sticking up everywhere, face bare and eyes still bleary with sleep. to him you looked stunning, perfect even... so much that when you'd leant over to check how you looked in the vanity by the wardrobe, he slowly pulled the covers over his lap. he prayed you wouldn't turn around, to see his pitiful attempt of hiding his erection. luckily you didn't turn, standing up straight to find an outfit. when he had finally helped you (after a painful few minutes of discussing colours and patterns) he left the room to make breakfast for the two of you. it was a ruse, of course. he didn't want you to know of the painfully hard situation your "granny panties" had given him. spencer imagined you scoffing in his face, telling him they're not the most flattering pair you own.

honest, you could be wearing a potato sack and he'd instantly fluster.

thankfully, his 'situation' had calmed down as he was too busy focusing on the pancakes slowly turning golden in the pan. you ate across the table from eachother, he complimented your outfit and you smiled wide. god he loved your smile, he felt his cock twitch again but he brushed it off as nothing.. his imagination or something. and when you stood - yes you were wearing shorts - but the curve of your ass looked amazing, he couldn't look away from it.

you grabbed your jacket, spencer walked you to the door as a goodbye. he lingered by the step after you left, fighting to push the crude thoughts from his head. he needed to work. focus. he made his way up the stairs, closing the office door behind him. he finished the first page, and then another when his brain suddenly blanked. he leant back, the image of you in that skirt came back to him. spencer groaned, coughing over the sound and tried his best to continue. he got so far in, time blurred together, he was almost done and then his brain redirected itself for the millionth time. your ass, your braless breasts that morning, nipples barely covered by the thin fabric of his shirt on your frame. the cloth stretched over your chest, free, no support from some stupid undergarment. his hands could do so much better.

the twitch under his plaid pants caught his attention again, he couldn't ignore it anymore. you were gone anyway, and he needed this.

he lifts his hips from the office chair, slipping the soft material off of his hips, boxers just below his aching length. one hand wrapped around himself, veins pulsing, other hand gripping the front of the black armrest of his office chair. it didn't take long for spencer to get close but he'd held on, gritting his teeth. he did that twice, before your soft voice called out.

"baby, are you okay?" you sounded concerned to him, you must've thought he was upset. his small whines, shoulders shaking slightly. so as you got closer, and his chair turned, you almost couldn't breathe. pajamas pushed down, flushed pink tip leaking precum, curls stuck to his face. your mouth dropped open, sighing out gently, he only ever flushed that much if you were edging him. his eyes rake over your body, hand stilling at the base as he lets out a throaty groan.

"fuck-" he clears his throat as you approach him, standing by the side of his chair your hand unsticks a few damp curls from his forehead. his soft, brown doe eyes meeting yours.

"get needy while im gone?" almost a coo, you of course have to question him, because why didn't he wait for you? his shoulders tense a slight bit, and he nods, cheeks flushing a deeper colour. spencers hand begins moving slowly, his chest stutters with a sharp intake of air, your lips curl into a smile. his voice is low as he mumbles something about missing you, your heart aches for him.

"oh, sweetheart.." he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth at your words, stomach tensing under his shirt. you don't want him to hurt himself, thumb brushing his skin gently, pulling it from between them.

"thought you forgot about me, took so long." his brows furrow, peering up at you through his lashes. he's so needy sometimes.. but you can't let him believe he's easy to forget.

"i could never, you should know that baby." you tut, frowning, eyes trailing down his covered chest to his cock. your hand comes up to his face again, this time your thumb traces his cheek, lightly. he whimpers, his hips rolling slightly to push himself through his clenched fist. he spreads his legs wider, giving you a better view. he's loving that you're watching him get himself off. you whisper instructions, telling him to keep going, hand stroking his scalp gently. his breath hitches at your touch, the demands spoken so delicately.

spencers thighs tense, your hand lingers on his chin, middle and ring finger meeting his bottom lip. he parts them obediently, taking your fingers into his mouth. he hums around them, the short puffs of breath from his nose hitting your fingers. his cheeks hollow, eyes rolling back.

"beg for me sweetie, come on.." demanding, but still caring. your hand falls back down to the side of your hip, brushing against the skirt fabric.

"mmm- please? wanna cum." his brows furrow again, up into the centre, he's close to tears. he's also beginning to rethink edging himself twice before you came home.

"y/n.." he whines, breathing heavy, face contorting with desperation. you almost feel bad, but he knows the rules.

"wrong name, honey, come on. try again, think about it." you're just prolonging it, a hint of desire sparks in his eyes when he realises this'll last longer than he expected.

"i- mommy? mommy, mommy please.. i wann' cum so bad." tears prick his waterline, lip trembling gently with the tears coming along. following with, "i'll be good, already been so good while you're gone." nothing is convincing you though. no matter how good he say's he's been.

a thought crosses your mind, you drop to your knees without hesitation. his grip loosens, and his hand goes back to his thigh, eyes widening as he stares down at you. instructing him not to cum, you take him into your hand, kitten licking his flushed tip. he gasps loudly, fingers tangling in your hair immediately. his hips buck upward, trying to gain more contact, he's shaking. he whines, incoherent, no actual words but hes close. that isn't going to happen.

not yet anyway.

"no baby- not happening.." pulling off, making direct eye contact, you swallow before leaning back down to him again. your arm rests over his pelvis to stop him from bucking up into your mouth, you guide his hand back to your hair. this time you take him deep into your throat, he cries out, no hesitation. this feels like heaven to him, trying to milk him with your mouth, your throat. when you try pull off as he bucks his hips up again, his slender fingers get caught in a knot at the end of your hair. despite it being accidental, it makes you whine out loud. you would've told him off, if it hadn't had been for that happy accident.

"gotta wait longer, until i say.." manicured fingers trace circles into his thigh below his free hand, grounding him. you clear your throat and stand, reaching under your skirt to pull down your shorts and underwear in one. you can't imagine the amount of cum pent up inside of him right now. on the centre of your panties, a damp patch of your arousal. just from watching him, having your mouth around him.

now fully exposed underneath your skirt, you straddle him gently. you're bare, wet and warm, so fucking warm. you rub up against spencer's still extremely hard cock, he's so oversensitive that it hurts.

"don't cum yet, don't wanna waste any.." you kiss his cheek, hands on his shoulders, you need him to understand. he nods frantically, eyes squeezing shut so he can concentrate on anything but your pretty face. you have to give him credit, he's trying so hard. his next whimper is a plea for you to do something, anything.

"im gonna ride you, you're gonna hold on for me, okay?" the palm, warm on his cheek moves to his hair, stroking through messy, untamed curls. your hand ends at the base of his neck, his breaths come in short gasps. cock throbbing between your legs, his head falls to your shoulder, blocking your view slightly.

you position yourself, slick dripping down his cock the way his own precum had earlier that day. pushing down, there's the familiar stretch you were waiting for, both of you almost whining in unison, loudly. the adrenaline doesn't help, you can't relax, tight around him.

he continues to fight the urge, he can't waste this, not after hes waited, its been building up.

"ah-! oh, god.." he yelps, nails digging into your hips tightly, he reaches for the bottom of your skirt. lifting the fabric, he reveals the new sight to himself, your hole dripping around him as you begin to move. spencers eyes glaze over, you frown.

"stay with me, wait for me." your words repeat in his head.

"please, relax- or i'll cum too soon.." he pleads with you, every inch of him sheathed in your familiar heat. better than your mouth, tighter, warmer, wetter. it wouldn't take you long, which is good because you knew he was in that boat too.

his body trembles, hands shaking like a broken dishwasher. his whole body tenses, head back, you think he's about to let you down.

"no, baby- wait, i'm almost there.. been so good, little bit longer." you were struggling to get the words out, when his mouth dropped open and nothing came out you knew he was doing worse. your hands gently tighten around the base of his throat, not cutting off air but trying to ground him with the touch.

"you've been so patient, such a good boy.." you're hesitant to say it, the praise might just make him blow it early.

"i'll do anything, just let me cum- please mommy." he's basically crying again, your poor boy, in pain, waiting for your permission to release.

"hey-" you slap his cheek lightly, his head snaps to the side, letting out a low groan. his orgasm builds but the light sting on his cheek helps him focus, he meets your movements with his hips.

and you? you have no energy to tell him off anymore..

"spencer- sweet boy, im gonna-" you choke on the words, your knuckles brushing over the slightly reddened mark on his left cheek. he can't warn you before he lets out a loud, broken scream. he feels you clench around him, milking his orgasm. you feel it painting your walls, your own sound dragging out. he had no chance to muffle anything as you buried your head into his neck. the chair felt unsteady as he pumped into you for the last time, but his hips settled and you both stilled.

a small sob cuts the silence, you stay on top of him, but lift your head. he's practically on cloud-9 still coming down, he can't take any more, neither can you.

"did so good, such a good boy for me.." you weren't sure where he'd gained that level of self-control from, yes he was always good for you.. but that was another level. he just hummed.

"takeout tonight..?" you whisper, he lets out a breathy laugh, nodding against your neck.

[g4rvez-r3id]

Mya I’m crying at you using the hand pic in your posts 😭 (in the best way)

why not, i’m FERAL over these man’s handsssss

LIKE CMONNNNNN

[g4rvez-r3id]

mine’s so bad but oh well

no pressure tags : @beenreidingaboutyou @thegloryofliterature @alsofoundinpeas <3

I was tagged by @jasper-unofficial <3

RULES - describe yourself ONLY with pictures you have, you CANNOT search for or download new pictures

tagging @tengirl @nong-ceri @scrumptiousstuffs @rainkissed-lunatic @ifvwasix @anynameisbetterthanmyfirstone @jamiemccrimmon

[g4rvez-r3id]

HOLY FUCK.

teach me how to scream - s reid x fem!reader

spencer saw how nervous you were to truly express yourself during sex... so he taught you a thing or two

genre: smut wc: 400 warnings: unprotected piv, clit pinching, established relationship, boyfriend!spencer, reader embarrassed to be heard, spencer forcing her to be loud a/n: little blurb while i write something actually good<3 inspired by this edit LOL

Your mouth was sewn shut by embarrassment. You feared being too loud and having the entire building learn Spencer’s name.

Your hand came up to cover your parted lips as your boyfriend’s cock rammed into your cervix. Small whimpers were the only sounds you allowed yourself to spill. Something about your guy was that he liked hearing what you were feeling.

His fingers pulled your hand away from your face and pushed it against the sheets. “Spencer—”

“What?” he panted.

“It feels too good, I can’t—”

“Let it out. Please.” You didn’t think you’d ever heard him so desperate.

You whined, “I can’t.”

His fingers moved to your clit in an instant, pulling a moan from you. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip so hard it hurt.

His other hand grabbed your chin to force your jaw open. Heavy sighs filled the room.

When he started to get impatient, he pinched your clit between his thumb and index finger to force a scream from you. And then came a frustrated huff. “Spencer, please!” you grumbled with your jaw still held open.

He brought his head down to yours and kissed you deep. His tongue pressed against yours while his tip repeatedly found your cervix.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes fogged over as you murmured a dead, “what?”

“Tell me how it feels.”

If you had a better working brain you’d have rolled your eyes.

“You know,” you slapped his bare shoulder.

“I don’t,” Spencer breathed, “tell me.”

“Good,” you whined. “Fuck, it feels good.”

He nodded as heavy pants forced their way out of his lungs. “Show me.”

With frustration, you groaned. 

Again, he roughly toyed with your sensitive clit. And once again, you yelped. You cried out his name loud enough for his neighbors to hear.

“That’s it, good job.” His words were mostly air at that point. His body ached from the exertion and holding back.

“Spencer, please, I’m gonna cum.”

As if uttering, “I know,” he nodded and switched to far gentler passes on your throbbing cunt.

Embarrassingly quick, your orgasm hit you. Your legs shook around his waist as his own cum started to drip from your hole.

He crashed against you, lips pressed to your shoulder. “Not so bad, right?”

You softly smacked the top of his head. 

“Shut up.”

[g4rvez-r3id]

Would You Even Want Me, Looking Like A Zombie?

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Undercover!Reader

Synopsis: You’re going undercover at a prison and the team is beginning to question your sanity and at this point— so are you. The one person you’ve wanted to visit hasn’t shown… until now at the time where you may need him the most.

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: angst, post prison spencer, my love, reader is on an unexplained undercover mission in a prison, prison arc mentioned, Season 12 of Criminal Minds spoilers, mentions of fighting and someone being beaten but no further details, spencer and reader lowkey fighting, fluffy towards the end

Author’s Note: so i was inspired because i was as staying at my parents’ place for a few days and they were watching 60 Days In and i thought “hmmm🤔 fic idea😃” the title comes from my current favorite song by yungblud called “zombie” because i am wayyyy too obsessed with this song atm but hope y’all enjoy overall RAHHHH 💋

You knew what you were doing. Going undercover in a prison to see where were narcotics were being distributed within the jail and who was responsible for sneaking them in. Apparently, you were picture perfect for the role in your unit.

Emily had asked you numerous times if you were sure about this. If you really wanted to go through with this. You were sure and everyone knew you could hold your own. Despite one person in your unit that was very against you going in there to begin with.

And despite Spencer being very soft spoken, he was very loud with expressing his opinion on the fact that you were chosen for this position. He’d have much rather do it since he’d already dealt with prison time in the past but because it was a woman’s pod that was involved in the undercover mission.

You’d volunteered to go because Emily was unit chief, Tara would be your mental guide as a psychologist, JJ had a husband and children waiting on her at home and Penelope, of course, you knew couldn’t handle being in an environment like that. So, the only option left had been you. You had no close family or relatives, you were always independent and the only thing you were ever dedicated to was your job. You knew you could handle it.

You’d already been here longer than necessary, six months and you were getting somewhere with it. Everyone on the team had come to see you, everyone except for Spencer. You had to admit, it hurt because he hasn’t come to see you. Maybe things would be better understood if he had.

When he was arrested, falsely convicted and sentenced to the Millburn Correctional Facility for three months, you had a hard time figuring out why it happened to him. He was always so kind, so thoughtful, he always grabbed your coffee order and made sure you were okay after cases. You weren’t gonna lie, you developed a bit of a crush on him in the years that you’ve known him. So you found it upsetting that he hasn’t shown since you’ve been in here.

But you always jump at the opportunity to ask your other co-workers how he’s doing and if he’ll be in to visit you soon. You know it sounds pathetic but you couldn’t help but wonder about him. What he was doing, how he was coping, if he was thinking about you. Again, pathetic.

And of course, being here longer than intended, things were starting to get to you. The other female inmates were watching you like a hawk, whispering about you and leaving you truly wondering if you blew your cover.

You gained a few friends in here, neither of them wondering where you came from— seeming to be genuine as far as you knew it and luckily, they had a lot of respect in here. And because of that, you were untouchable. But another girl you’d become friends with hadn’t been.

One night, a fight broke out. You and that girl had been separated together and one of the inmates looked between both of you and targeted the other girl instead. You began to blame yourself because that girl ended up severely injured.

And after the fight broke out, the girls that you were friends with there ended up going into protective custody, leaving you as a target once more. You’d honestly never felt more alone. But you knew you couldn’t pull away when you were getting too close to why you were here to begin with.

You refused to see visitors for a while after that. You knew they’d only worry, try and comment that you could still choose to leave. But how could you leave when you were so close? You believed that they wouldn’t understand. So as much as it pained you, you decided to stop going to see your visitors. You knew they’d only try and talk you out of this. You couldn’t afford to be weak in front of them. And you weren’t gonna turn your back now.

And then one day, you’d been careful with watching your back in the courtyard when a guard had come up and said you’d had a visitor. You told him you didn’t want any visitors but the guard had then mentioned it had deemed the visit was of importance and that “some doctor” had come and see you.

You froze in your tracks.

Some doctor?

It couldn’t have been—?

So, after a minute of thinking, you’d gone with the guard. You wanted your brain to revert to Tara, that it was her coming to visit you. Spencer wouldn’t just come and visit you after all this time. Randomly, to add on. It couldn’t have been him.

The guard had led you to a room towards the front of the prison and you waited for the buzz to indicate to walk in. The minute that door opened, your heart stopped. Because there was Spencer Reid, in the flesh and standing there— hands on either of his sides, hazel eyes wide and glistening as he looked at you in your state. He was wearing a blazer paired with a red cardigan underneath and black slacks. You could memorize every inch of him forever and ever if you had the time. And looking at him made you feel like you had all the time in the world.

Here he was, looking like he sculpted by Casanova himself and you were in your prison scrubs, hair frizzy from the shampoo that was given to you there and smelling like a porta-potty in the hot sun.

The guard left you two alone and you suddenly felt small as he stares down at you. You’re intimidated, even if his stares aren’t meant to be. Your first instinct is to hug him, hold him and never let him go. But you’re hesitant. You don’t know why you are, you guess it’s because he has come and visit you until now and you do hold grudges over small things like that.

“What are you doing here?” You find your words, stable yet unsteady. “I… I came to see you.” Spencer said, in that soft voice that always had you swooning.

You walked towards him but you still keep your distance. You stare into his eyes— something glistens and you can tell he’s not being as truthful to you. “They sent you here… didn’t they?” Spencer opens his mouth and closes it once more— like he’s trying to come up with a lie. “They thought you were the next best thing.”

The team knew Spencer was your weak spot. He always would be. Maybe them sending him here would make you change your mind and leave the prison. He didn’t come here because he wanted to. He came because he was obligated to. You nod in disbelief and scoff as you turn towards the doors. “Guard?” You call, banging on the door.

Spencer calls your name and tries to grab you gently but you immediately flinch away from him. Spencer backs up carefully and holds his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. His heart breaks when he sees you backed up against the door like you were afraid of him.

You decide to change the subject as you step away from the wall and turn towards the door. Spencer says your name again, “Can we please just talk?”

“Look, I don’t want you to come in here because someone else tells you you have to.” You spin around to face him. “I want you to come here with it being your choice, not anybody else’s.”

“It is my choice to come here.” Spencer told.

“Then where were you when I needed you?” You snap back. “Clearly not here.” You swallow the lump in your throat. You hated confrontation, but with Spencer— you were so angry at him. You just wanted him to be here and he never came. Not until now. And not until it was convenient to. He always thought this mission was a bad idea from the start.

“Yes, the team told me to come here and talk to you. But I wanted to be here for you, too.” Spencer explained and you scoff as you cross your arms, “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

Something in Spencer breaks softly. He knows you didn’t deserve this. Him seeing you because someone else told him to. Especially when you visited him nearly everyday when he was in prison. It wasn’t fair.

“Just leave,” You encourage him. “It’s not like you want to be here anyways.”

And now Spencer had enough at that. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn’t want to see you like this in here? Caged like an animal? Losing all hope?” He questions but you’re quick to spit back. “Oh, and me seeing you in prison like that wasn’t any different?” You had him there. You seeing him like that wasn’t easy on you and he knew that.

Spencer bites back from continuing and shakes his head, “Look, I didn’t come here to argue. Okay? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He tells. But you’re having none of it. “Too little, too late, Spencer. It’s been six months.”

Six months and you haven’t seen his face. Six months and you’ve dealt with being more alone than ever. Six months and the one person you wanted to see and who understood what you were going through wasn’t there. Six months and he finally shows up now?

“I’m not leaving. Not when I’m getting this close to getting answers.” You finish and turn back to the door to just leave it at that. But Spencer won’t let this go.

Before you can call for the guard again, he speaks. “Do you remember when I was in prison?” He begins. “And I was giving up on getting my name cleared and didn’t want to see anyone?” You pause. And you know where he’s going with this. “You came and see me. And you fought like hell to come and see me. Even when I didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I never told you but you were the reason I started fighting for myself again. Why I continued that cognitive interview with Tara, why I was able to look Cat Adams in the eye and get my mother back to safety. All of it was because of you.” You don’t want to look him the eye. You might cry. Because what did he mean you brought him back to believing he was innocent again?

“I know you’re mad at me. You deserve to be. I couldn’t come here to see you because it reminded me too much of myself. You always wondered what I went through, why I couldn’t talk about it. And I just… I can’t see you going through what I went through for some reason. My brain… it can’t contain it.” The memory of you in those scrubs would forever scorch his brain. It was something he never wanted to see so he just didn’t see you. And that wasn’t fair to you.

“I… I love you too much to see you like this, okay? That’s why I couldn’t come and see you.” Spencer said it. He loved you. You were so stuck on that part. He loved you? You gasped as he confessed. You definitely weren’t expecting that. And by the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting to blurt it out either.

He parted his lips and looked anywhere but you but you both laid in the silence of his confession. Spencer clearly didn’t want to say that to you, here and now. But he did.

Part of you wonders if maybe he said it to get you to leave the prison, another part of you knows he didn’t. He usually speaks before he thinks on his words when it came to the women species.

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain literally can’t comprehend his sentence. “You…” You pause for a moment. “Love… me?” Spencer looks at you and he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. He’s already answered your question.

“I’m not trying to… dissuade you from anything. I just… I guess if I didn’t say it now, I wouldn’t have said it ever.” Spencer stated and you swallow the lump in your throat. What did he mean? How could he love you? And how could he admit that with you standing here in front of him in prison scrubs? Clearly, he was in over his head, not in the right state of mind.

“You cant be saying that here and now… to me. I mean, look at me. I look like a mess—“ He cuts you off as he strides closer than you. “I’d want you however you’d look. Whether you’re dressed in a ball gown or you’re a zombie who just dug through the dirt. I’d want you in any way possible.”

Spencer tilts your chin up towards him and you look into his eyes and you can tell he means every word. His gaze says so much yet so little. You just want to bottle up this feeling forever. The way your stomach feels whenever you’re around him, how you suddenly smile when you think of him, how he’s always able to make you feel better. Please let him mean every word. Please tell me he’s not saying this just because he wants me to get out of here. Please don’t let this be too good to be true.

“I believe you,” You say and you feel content that you actually do. “I just…” Spencer puts his hand down, wondering what you would continue with. “I made a vow. I can’t leave. Not now. And I know you’re not saying it to get me to leave… but I need to stay. I have to.”

Spencer nods at this. He knew he couldn’t persuade you to leave the prison. It just wasn’t going to happen. He knew you too well. When you make a promise or a decision, you don’t break it or stray from it. You keep your word. As much as he would like you to leave the prison and never come back here as an inmate, he can’t make that decision for you.

Before you can walk away, he pulls you back by your hand and you look at him. He doesn’t want you to go but he knows you can’t stay. Part of you wants to call this whole thing off, to leave with him. But another part of you is on a mission. Because you two still have a moment to yourselves, you take in the moment and decide to lean into his touch and you hold him. You hold him like you’ve been wanting to for a long time now. And when he finally cages you in his arms, he holds you tightly and doesn’t want to let you go. He holds you like he can’t live without you.

“Maybe when this is all over… maybe we can, I don’t know… go to dinner or something?” You suggest shyly and he ponders for a moment playfully before answering, “It’s a date.”

Your cheeks heat up and for the first time since you’ve been in here, you’re walking out with a smile and hopefully, when you get to the bottom of the case— you’ll finally get your date with Spencer Reid.

[g4rvez-r3id]

Would You Even Want Me, Looking Like A Zombie?

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Undercover!Reader

Synopsis: You’re going undercover at a prison and the team is beginning to question your sanity and at this point— so are you. The one person you’ve wanted to visit hasn’t shown… until now at the time where you may need him the most.

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: angst, post prison spencer, my love, reader is on an unexplained undercover mission in a prison, prison arc mentioned, Season 12 of Criminal Minds spoilers, mentions of fighting and someone being beaten but no further details, spencer and reader lowkey fighting, fluffy towards the end

Author’s Note: so i was inspired because i was as staying at my parents’ place for a few days and they were watching 60 Days In and i thought “hmmm🤔 fic idea😃” the title comes from my current favorite song by yungblud called “zombie” because i am wayyyy too obsessed with this song atm but hope y’all enjoy overall RAHHHH 💋

You knew what you were doing. Going undercover in a prison to see where were narcotics were being distributed within the jail and who was responsible for sneaking them in. Apparently, you were picture perfect for the role in your unit.

Emily had asked you numerous times if you were sure about this. If you really wanted to go through with this. You were sure and everyone knew you could hold your own. Despite one person in your unit that was very against you going in there to begin with.

And despite Spencer being very soft spoken, he was very loud with expressing his opinion on the fact that you were chosen for this position. He’d have much rather do it since he’d already dealt with prison time in the past but because it was a woman’s pod that was involved in the undercover mission.

You’d volunteered to go because Emily was unit chief, Tara would be your mental guide as a psychologist, JJ had a husband and children waiting on her at home and Penelope, of course, you knew couldn’t handle being in an environment like that. So, the only option left had been you. You had no close family or relatives, you were always independent and the only thing you were ever dedicated to was your job. You knew you could handle it.

You’d already been here longer than necessary, six months and you were getting somewhere with it. Everyone on the team had come to see you, everyone except for Spencer. You had to admit, it hurt because he hasn’t come to see you. Maybe things would be better understood if he had.

When he was arrested, falsely convicted and sentenced to the Millburn Correctional Facility for three months, you had a hard time figuring out why it happened to him. He was always so kind, so thoughtful, he always grabbed your coffee order and made sure you were okay after cases. You weren’t gonna lie, you developed a bit of a crush on him in the years that you’ve known him. So you found it upsetting that he hasn’t shown since you’ve been in here.

But you always jump at the opportunity to ask your other co-workers how he’s doing and if he’ll be in to visit you soon. You know it sounds pathetic but you couldn’t help but wonder about him. What he was doing, how he was coping, if he was thinking about you. Again, pathetic.

And of course, being here longer than intended, things were starting to get to you. The other female inmates were watching you like a hawk, whispering about you and leaving you truly wondering if you blew your cover.

You gained a few friends in here, neither of them wondering where you came from— seeming to be genuine as far as you knew it and luckily, they had a lot of respect in here. And because of that, you were untouchable. But another girl you’d become friends with hadn’t been.

One night, a fight broke out. You and that girl had been separated together and one of the inmates looked between both of you and targeted the other girl instead. You began to blame yourself because that girl ended up severely injured.

And after the fight broke out, the girls that you were friends with there ended up going into protective custody, leaving you as a target once more. You’d honestly never felt more alone. But you knew you couldn’t pull away when you were getting too close to why you were here to begin with.

You refused to see visitors for a while after that. You knew they’d only worry, try and comment that you could still choose to leave. But how could you leave when you were so close? You believed that they wouldn’t understand. So as much as it pained you, you decided to stop going to see your visitors. You knew they’d only try and talk you out of this. You couldn’t afford to be weak in front of them. And you weren’t gonna turn your back now.

And then one day, you’d been careful with watching your back in the courtyard when a guard had come up and said you’d had a visitor. You told him you didn’t want any visitors but the guard had then mentioned it had deemed the visit was of importance and that “some doctor” had come and see you.

You froze in your tracks.

Some doctor?

It couldn’t have been—?

So, after a minute of thinking, you’d gone with the guard. You wanted your brain to revert to Tara, that it was her coming to visit you. Spencer wouldn’t just come and visit you after all this time. Randomly, to add on. It couldn’t have been him.

The guard had led you to a room towards the front of the prison and you waited for the buzz to indicate to walk in. The minute that door opened, your heart stopped. Because there was Spencer Reid, in the flesh and standing there— hands on either of his sides, hazel eyes wide and glistening as he looked at you in your state. He was wearing a blazer paired with a red cardigan underneath and black slacks. You could memorize every inch of him forever and ever if you had the time. And looking at him made you feel like you had all the time in the world.

Here he was, looking like he sculpted by Casanova himself and you were in your prison scrubs, hair frizzy from the shampoo that was given to you there and smelling like a porta-potty in the hot sun.

The guard left you two alone and you suddenly felt small as he stares down at you. You’re intimidated, even if his stares aren’t meant to be. Your first instinct is to hug him, hold him and never let him go. But you’re hesitant. You don’t know why you are, you guess it’s because he has come and visit you until now and you do hold grudges over small things like that.

“What are you doing here?” You find your words, stable yet unsteady. “I… I came to see you.” Spencer said, in that soft voice that always had you swooning.

You walked towards him but you still keep your distance. You stare into his eyes— something glistens and you can tell he’s not being as truthful to you. “They sent you here… didn’t they?” Spencer opens his mouth and closes it once more— like he’s trying to come up with a lie. “They thought you were the next best thing.”

The team knew Spencer was your weak spot. He always would be. Maybe them sending him here would make you change your mind and leave the prison. He didn’t come here because he wanted to. He came because he was obligated to. You nod in disbelief and scoff as you turn towards the doors. “Guard?” You call, banging on the door.

Spencer calls your name and tries to grab you gently but you immediately flinch away from him. Spencer backs up carefully and holds his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. His heart breaks when he sees you backed up against the door like you were afraid of him.

You decide to change the subject as you step away from the wall and turn towards the door. Spencer says your name again, “Can we please just talk?”

“Look, I don’t want you to come in here because someone else tells you you have to.” You spin around to face him. “I want you to come here with it being your choice, not anybody else’s.”

“It is my choice to come here.” Spencer told.

“Then where were you when I needed you?” You snap back. “Clearly not here.” You swallow the lump in your throat. You hated confrontation, but with Spencer— you were so angry at him. You just wanted him to be here and he never came. Not until now. And not until it was convenient to. He always thought this mission was a bad idea from the start.

“Yes, the team told me to come here and talk to you. But I wanted to be here for you, too.” Spencer explained and you scoff as you cross your arms, “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

Something in Spencer breaks softly. He knows you didn’t deserve this. Him seeing you because someone else told him to. Especially when you visited him nearly everyday when he was in prison. It wasn’t fair.

“Just leave,” You encourage him. “It’s not like you want to be here anyways.”

And now Spencer had enough at that. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn’t want to see you like this in here? Caged like an animal? Losing all hope?” He questions but you’re quick to spit back. “Oh, and me seeing you in prison like that wasn’t any different?” You had him there. You seeing him like that wasn’t easy on you and he knew that.

Spencer bites back from continuing and shakes his head, “Look, I didn’t come here to argue. Okay? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He tells. But you’re having none of it. “Too little, too late, Spencer. It’s been six months.”

Six months and you haven’t seen his face. Six months and you’ve dealt with being more alone than ever. Six months and the one person you wanted to see and who understood what you were going through wasn’t there. Six months and he finally shows up now?

“I’m not leaving. Not when I’m getting this close to getting answers.” You finish and turn back to the door to just leave it at that. But Spencer won’t let this go.

Before you can call for the guard again, he speaks. “Do you remember when I was in prison?” He begins. “And I was giving up on getting my name cleared and didn’t want to see anyone?” You pause. And you know where he’s going with this. “You came and see me. And you fought like hell to come and see me. Even when I didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I never told you but you were the reason I started fighting for myself again. Why I continued that cognitive interview with Tara, why I was able to look Cat Adams in the eye and get my mother back to safety. All of it was because of you.” You don’t want to look him the eye. You might cry. Because what did he mean you brought him back to believing he was innocent again?

“I know you’re mad at me. You deserve to be. I couldn’t come here to see you because it reminded me too much of myself. You always wondered what I went through, why I couldn’t talk about it. And I just… I can’t see you going through what I went through for some reason. My brain… it can’t contain it.” The memory of you in those scrubs would forever scorch his brain. It was something he never wanted to see so he just didn’t see you. And that wasn’t fair to you.

“I… I love you too much to see you like this, okay? That’s why I couldn’t come and see you.” Spencer said it. He loved you. You were so stuck on that part. He loved you? You gasped as he confessed. You definitely weren’t expecting that. And by the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting to blurt it out either.

He parted his lips and looked anywhere but you but you both laid in the silence of his confession. Spencer clearly didn’t want to say that to you, here and now. But he did.

Part of you wonders if maybe he said it to get you to leave the prison, another part of you knows he didn’t. He usually speaks before he thinks on his words when it came to the women species.

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain literally can’t comprehend his sentence. “You…” You pause for a moment. “Love… me?” Spencer looks at you and he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. He’s already answered your question.

“I’m not trying to… dissuade you from anything. I just… I guess if I didn’t say it now, I wouldn’t have said it ever.” Spencer stated and you swallow the lump in your throat. What did he mean? How could he love you? And how could he admit that with you standing here in front of him in prison scrubs? Clearly, he was in over his head, not in the right state of mind.

“You cant be saying that here and now… to me. I mean, look at me. I look like a mess—“ He cuts you off as he strides closer than you. “I’d want you however you’d look. Whether you’re dressed in a ball gown or you’re a zombie who just dug through the dirt. I’d want you in any way possible.”

Spencer tilts your chin up towards him and you look into his eyes and you can tell he means every word. His gaze says so much yet so little. You just want to bottle up this feeling forever. The way your stomach feels whenever you’re around him, how you suddenly smile when you think of him, how he’s always able to make you feel better. Please let him mean every word. Please tell me he’s not saying this just because he wants me to get out of here. Please don’t let this be too good to be true.

“I believe you,” You say and you feel content that you actually do. “I just…” Spencer puts his hand down, wondering what you would continue with. “I made a vow. I can’t leave. Not now. And I know you’re not saying it to get me to leave… but I need to stay. I have to.”

Spencer nods at this. He knew he couldn’t persuade you to leave the prison. It just wasn’t going to happen. He knew you too well. When you make a promise or a decision, you don’t break it or stray from it. You keep your word. As much as he would like you to leave the prison and never come back here as an inmate, he can’t make that decision for you.

Before you can walk away, he pulls you back by your hand and you look at him. He doesn’t want you to go but he knows you can’t stay. Part of you wants to call this whole thing off, to leave with him. But another part of you is on a mission. Because you two still have a moment to yourselves, you take in the moment and decide to lean into his touch and you hold him. You hold him like you’ve been wanting to for a long time now. And when he finally cages you in his arms, he holds you tightly and doesn’t want to let you go. He holds you like he can’t live without you.

“Maybe when this is all over… maybe we can, I don’t know… go to dinner or something?” You suggest shyly and he ponders for a moment playfully before answering, “It’s a date.”

Your cheeks heat up and for the first time since you’ve been in here, you’re walking out with a smile and hopefully, when you get to the bottom of the case— you’ll finally get your date with Spencer Reid.

[g4rvez-r3id]

“i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” ALASKA 💳💥💳💥 THIS ISNT HELPING THE FACT THAT ALL I WANT IS TO BE FUCKED BY THIS MAN

IM LITERALLY FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

biiiig mean stretch!

spencer reid x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…

from this request.

@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋

you were actually exhausted. whole body aching, the last thing you needed was to talk to him, but as always, there he was. your asshole of a flatmate. with his stupid glasses on as his amber eyes strolled through the pages of his book miles per hour.

“well, look who it is. past midnight. seems like cinderella by how fucked up you look.”

you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his tone, kicking off your heels. “fuck off reid, i’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

your relationship had been strained from the start… you two were like oil and water. always had been, since the two of you were five and had the sufficient conscience to choose if you liked each other or not. and believe me, if you had had another choice… you wouldn’t have even taken up the offer to live with him. but your mother, diana’s best friend, as soon as she had learnt that you had been given a promotion and needed to move to quantico? had told the blonde, who excitedly told her that spencer was looking for a flatmate. that sealed your destiny. and now there you were. sharing space with the person you loathed most in the entire world.

“hell, okay, you’re not fucked up at all, ‘cause getting some dick wouldn’t have left you like that.”

you groaned, your head throbbing, full body tense. “well at least i get to fuck, not like you, you only get off to letters on paper.”

and he dared to chuckle, fucking chuckle. he closed his book and put it aside, tall frame leaving its seat at the sofa to slowly stroll over you.

“well isn’t your vocabulary a delight?” he crooked his head. “now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you all bothered, princess. ‘cause i’m sure my incredible presence cannot be it.” he said sarcastically, but he seemed intrigued to know what had happened. “hard day at work? did starbucks ran out of caramel drizzle? or is your rose toy dead?”

“you little…” your hands were reaching for his throat, but he was faster, his tongue clicking as his strong long fingers surrounded your wrists, stopping you centimeters away from his warm skin.

“really, doll? trying to choke an fbi agent? such a bad girl…” you gasped as he pinned you against the wall. “you could get in a lot of trouble for that. maybe i should use my cuffs on you. or maybe not, i’m sure you’d end up enjoying it.” he muttered that last part against your ear, your cheeks reddish in both anger and embarrassment.

“fuck you.” you spat, and he chuckled, dark and teasingly against the skin if your neck. you were not done. he wanted to play dirty? two could do that. “and what do you say about extortion of people by your power, huh? an fbi agent trying to make me kneel under him for his status? i could easily get you fired. you should be ashamed, reid… but… it seems like you are more like… excited, huh?” and with a roll of your hips against him you confirm what you had suspected: he was hard. rock hard at that.

he smirked at you, ignoring your jab as he leaned over you. “are you threatening me?” he muttered against your lips, his tongue wetting his bottom one.

your eyes followed the movement, and your throat dried up. you squinted at him. “are you?”

“you know… all this brattiness of yours is really getting on my nerves.”

“really? by how hard you are… i would believe you’re enjoying it.” you muttered back. your breaths were mingling. there was heat pooling down on your lower stomach. and the tension exuding from your bodies could be cut with a knife.

“you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” he growled, eyes dangerous.

“but wouldn’t you like it wide open…, reid?”

you could feel the moment he said “fuck it”, his brown eyes now completely pitch black. “yeah? then open the fuck up.”

and next thing you knew? his tongue was deep into your mouth, which had willingly fallen open for him. the two of you groaned, and the tight hold he had on your wrists turned bruising. it was as if he hated the idea that he desired you so much. maybe he did. maybe you did. but right now the only thing you could focus on was on his hard cock pushing against your belly, and how soaked your panties felt stuck against your throbbing clit. when had you gotten so wet?

a moan left you as his plush lips surrounded your tongue and sucked, a hum leaving his chest when he then moved to your neck, sucking some more on the skin there.

“i think i ought to teach you a lesson, don’t you?” you whined as he bit down on your pulse point. “answer me.” a choked gasp left your lips when one of his hands, the one that wasn’t holding now both your wrists up, came down harsh against the side of your thigh on a smack.

“yes.”

“that’s what i thought.” he purred, and your eyes almost rolled back at the sound of his deep voice. “on your knees.” he ordered as he let go of you, and busied his now free hands on unbuttoning his slacks. you got lost for a minute there as you caught sight of the wet patch decorating his boxers, but he was quick to get you back on page. your eyes widened when his hand took harshly your face. “do i need to repeat myself?” he hissed and you shook your head. “then. get. on. your. fucking. knees.” you complied, knees on the hardwood floor, puppy eyes staring right onto his. “that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let’s hope you suck cock better than you follow orders.”

your pussy fluttered. fuck. why was this turning you on so much?

“show me that tongue.” you stuck it out to him. pink. salivating. ready. he hummed and pushed down his boxers and pants down his thighs. your eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock. “let’s keep that dirty mouth of yours busy, yeah?” and before you could even react, you were gagging around him. it hurt. your lips were fully stretched around him, and your jaw was about to give up by the uncomfortable stuffiness. but god… it felt so good… he tasted so good… reid groaned, fingers winding into your hair and tugging as his hips snapped and his cock hit down your throat. “fuck. so that mouth is actually good for something, huh?”

your eyes couldn’t help but water, your nails scratching at his thighs as he didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before starting to fuck your face. you couldn’t help but moan, eyes rolling as the air in your lungs thinned. he was literally fucking you dumb. and you couldn’t love it more.

“such a fucking slut. look at you. you act harsh but as soon as a dick is shoved into your throat you start to act like a good girl, hm?“ you whined, thighs squeezing against the other, throat swallowing around him and making him grunt. “jesus, you’re tight. wonder how your pussy will be. probably will have to stretch it open first, break it in since you haven’t brought anyone home to fuck since you moved in, huh?” he chuckled. “the walls are thin, you know? you think i don’t hear you pumping your fingers into your little cunt every night? poor thing. you’re so desperate for cock you would take anyone’s, huh? even mine. but, actually… i’m starting to believe it’s the one you’ve been wanting the most, isn’t it?” you whimpered. “hm? what’d you think about while fucking your pussy, doll? did you think about me listening to you? that the reason why you’d moan louder? for me to hear? wanted me to come into your room and show you what a good orgasm is supposed to feel like?” you nodded, too lost to actually try and hide how the idea of him listening to you masturbating just a few doors away made you squirt all over your sheets. he chuckled. low. mockingly. “of course you did.” he pushed down your throat even harder. “all that time acting as though you hated me and you just liked me, huh?” you gasped and coughed as he pulled out of your mouth, smacking his wet leaking cock against your flushed cheek.

“i hate you.” you swore and his eyes glinted.

“yeah? well, for someone who hates me, you really love sucking my cock.” he chuckled when, while gliding his tip along your bottom lip, your mouth subconsciously opened. “you want it?”

you kept silent. what could you say? you couldn’t say no. that would be a lie. but you also couldn’t say yes, that’d would make it too easy for him. but before you could catch yourself you were…

“please.”

begging.

his smile was that of the cheshire cat. “atta girl.” you moaned when he fed it back to you, pumping it down your throat over and over again. you relished on the musky scent, on the tuffs of hair of his base kissing your nose, on his tip making you gag over and over again until you became so messy and sloppy that trails of spit dribbled down past your lips and chin onto your thighs. “thaaaat’s it. so messy. can’t help but want to…” and then you’re gasping as hot spurts of cum hit your face, making you even more messier. spencer moans as he strokes every last drop out of his breeding tightening balls. “fuck. look at you. so pretty like this…” your mouth stays open for the dripping of it, the salty release hitting your tongue and making you hum.

when you open your eyes, your cunt throbs. he looks gone. wild in pleasure. and starving.

“get up.” your legs shake and you almost trip by how fast you complied. “i’m not done with you yet.”

not even 10 seconds go by before you’re being thrown onto his bed —his bedroom being the nearest one of the two—, and another 10 is what it takes him to get you bare before his eyes. his eyes appreciatively took the sight of your heaving chest and rosy nipples in, the smoothness of your tummy, the plush of your thighs…

he pumps his still rock hard cock. how does he manage to have that much stamina? it hadn’t even gone down —not in the slightest— after making a mess of your face with his cum.

“it’s not gonna-” you try and say, but his words cut you off quickly enough.

“mouth shut. eyes on me. legs open. i’ll make it fit. even if i have to break apart your pussy for it.” you swallow, and god, if you hadn’t you’d have died of embarrassment by the whimper that tried to leave your throat.

you open your legs for him. pussy lips spread, soaking wet just for him, hole twitching in need of being fucked and clit puffy and sensitive pleading to be touched.

“knew she’d be pretty…” he groans, licking at his lips, hand tightening around his dick. his fingers come to your sticky cheek and gathers ropes of his cum, and before you could inquire him about it, he’s stuffing them into your needy little cunt. “jesus, she’s tight. can’t wait to break her open…” your eyes roll as he sinks them to the knuckle and curls up up up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you sing the prettiest moans late at night when you know he can hear you.

“spencer…!” you whimper, your legs falling further apart, hips twitching for more.

“that’s it. open up for me.” he smirked, pushing a third finger inside that has you choking on a scream, walks tightening down hard around his digits he grunts. “trynna milk me so soon, baby? i haven’t even put it in.”

he fucks you open with harsh strokes, but he’s diligent, he makes sure you’re slicked up and ready, loose enough for his puffy head.

but when he aligns it up with your entrance, his jaw ticks. “it’s gonna be a tight fit. now, say ‘biiiiig stretch’ for me, mh?”

“biiiig—ngh!!!!” you can’t even comply, not when he’s basically splitting you in half. your nails dig on his back as he pants and tries to fit in past the first ring of muscles.

“jesus.fuck.” with a ‘pop!’ his tip presses in, and you two moan in unison. your lungs feel like you’re on fire, and your eyes sting. but fuck if it doesn’t feel good being so full. “good girl…” he praises. and at first you think it’s directed towards you. but no. his thumb sweetly circles your clit and you cry. “taking me so good… you’re doing so good for me… now, open a little bit more for me, hm?”

he’s talking. to your pussy.

but it’s not “little” how much it has to open to accommodate him. every fucking inch is devastating. and by the time his balls hit your ass, his tip —if it could be possible— would have breached your cervix and fucked itself into your womb.

he falls onto you the moment you clench, and groans against your neck. “if only i had known you’d feel this good… i would have fucked you much sooner.” he then looks at your dizzy eyes and faded face. you’re half brain dead on his cock. he can’t help but chuckle. “so this was the fastest way to make you behave and shut up, huh? good to know.” he slaps at your cheek, and you blink, breathing ragged and heavy, his hips grinding deep against your cervix, making you whimper. “don’t you dare tap out on me. i haven’t had my way with you yet.”

and then he’s fucking you. reeeeeally fucking you.

your back arches, your nails draw blood down his back, and your cunt gushes in lewd wet sounds that resonate around his room by how hard and deep he plunges into you.

“fuck. so good… best pussy i’ve ever had. made for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he murmurs, and you are so lost… he’s mean. his hands are rough as they grip your hips in a way you know will bruise, and his cock is so harshly fucking you open that you believe he’ll leave the imprint of himself permanently molded to your walls.

you can feel every vein, every ridge.

“spencer, spencer, spencer…!” you cry and he chuckles in between grunts.

“so now it’s ‘spencer’, huh? what happened to ‘reid’? you’re so happy to get dicked down that you’re calling me by my name now?” one of his hands surrounds your neck, and when it tightens… your pussy does as well. “fuck! and here i thought you couldn’t get tighter…”your legs cage him, making your back arch and his dick reach deeper in places no one ever had. “needy little girl… feels good, huh?” you moan, mouth open and he takes the chance to spit on it. and when you quickly and obediently swallow what he gives you? he speeds up. “fucking slut. you love this, don’t you? love the fact that i’m breaking you apart. fuck. you even let me go in raw, bet you’ll even let me breed you if i wanted, huh?” your cunt flutters and his head hangs for a second as a strangled moan leaves him. just for a moment there, he almost lost control and busted. “you want it, honey? want my cum deep into this pretty little womb of yours?” you moan and he lets go of your neck to slap your cheek again, softly, but harsh enough to make your clit twitch. “answer me.”

“yes, yes, plea-“

“not you.” he grunts, going harsher, deeper, faster. “i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” your breath leaves your lungs once two of his fingers meet your puffy clit, rolling it, pinching it. your pussy squelches. and he hums. “yeah? you want it that much?” another squeeeelch!, you’re dripping down to his sheets. “then take it, pretty. it’s all yours.” and you scream, ‘cause the way in which you’re coming when his thick warm ropes of cum fill you is insane. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your ears ring, your vision darkens at the corners, your brain seems to melt, and your pussy squirts in little unstopping spurts that soak his cock, balls, sheets… your juices are everywhere, and fuck if it doesn’t make spencer come even harder…

by the time his balls are drained and his hips halt, his cock up to the base inside you to keep you plugged in with his cum, you’re basically passed out, eyes crossed as you try to focus back onto the present. you can’t even remember your name. fuck, you can’t even remember how to breath.

and your legs shake like crazy when in a flip he’s got you on all fours —well not all, since one of his hands has your face smudged against one of his pillows—. “again.” he says, breathless as he pushes in his still hard cock into your abused and stuffed cunt. “show me how you squirt again. i wanna see it again.”

you were not getting out of this alive.

[g4rvez-r3id]

he looks like a wet dog but i love it

spencer reid + being wet

[g4rvez-r3id]

so so so cute

Golden Hour- S.R.

Summary- In which Spencer goes to the farmer's market with his favorite girls.

Pairing- dad!Spencer x mom!reader

Contains- just a bunch of dad!Spencer fluff, divider from @kodaswrld !

RSVP

Birthday Event

The sun beats down on Spencer, his bucket hat shielding his scalp from the harsh rays. His left hand pushes the stroller they brought, his right gripping Diana's small hand, all while balancing Francesca in her baby bjorn. They stroll past rows of tents at the farmer’s market, vendors selling anything from fresh vegetables to homemade jewelry.

"Daddy, look!" Diana squeals, running off towards a stand bursting with flowers. She grabs a bouquet of fresh yellow peonies, the pure volume of their bloom nearly covering her face entirely. "Mommy's favorite!" She holds them up, a toothy grin to display her pride.

"Wow, Diana!" Spencer exclaims, taking the flowers from her. “These are perfect, she’ll love them!”

Spencer pays the vendor, placing them gently in the tote bag slung over his shoulder. Having kids has turned him into a one man circus.

Diana smiles proudly, her hand reaching up to find Francesca’s chubby leg sticking out of the baby bjorn. Her small hands fiddle with Chessy’s even smaller toes, eliciting high pitched giggles from the latter as they walk to the next stand.

It’s not long until Diana spots something else, running towards a stand of clay earrings.

“Daaaad, come on!” She drawls out, annoyed at his lack of speed. “These would be perfect for Mommy too!”

She holds a pair of pink rainbow earrings in his face, which, admittedly, would be perfect for Mommy. Spencer pays the vendor.

“Diana,” he says after the transaction. “Do you want anything for yourself? We don’t have to buy stuff for just mommy.”

She just shrugs, toddling along with one hand in his, the other playing with her poised lip. He’s noticed she does that whenever she’s concentrating, making a decision, just like her mom.

“We can get something for Chessy?” Is her first question, and Spencer can’t help but chuckle.

“No, sweet girl. What about you? Do you want anything?” His heart breaks slightly at her natural ability to care about everyone else before herself. It takes him back to his own childhood, the general reality of taking care of her namesake wired him to put others first. He didn’t realize it’d be nearly genetic.

She shrugs again. Spencer peeks down to see her leaning into his forearm, like she does when she’s shy. Seeking protection in his warm, comforting hold. She’s had a lot of change since Francesca has been born, and she’s handling it like a champ.

So, Spencer makes a decision. He rids himself of the bjorn, relegating Chessy to the stroller. She happily snuggles in, clutching her blanket and stuffed bunny while she munches on Goldfish.

His lower back only gets a moment’s reprieve until he’s bending down, scooping Diana up in his arms. She squeals at the surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around Spencer’s shoulders. He kisses her forehead as she nestles into him, clinging for dear life.

“What does Diana want, hm?” He murmurs against her temple, pressing another small kiss to her head.

“I want…” she trails off, studying her surroundings to ensure she makes the right choice. “That!” She jumps up from his shoulder, pointing at a homemade chocolate stand.

Spencer chuckles, giving his very first baby exactly what she wants, even if it means she gets chocolate stains on his favorite linen button down.

Many hours and a lot of chocolate later, Spencer finally hauls his two girls in the front door of their house. His feet ache, his nose is sunburnt, his heart is so full of love.

“Mommy!” Diana takes off, her tiny feet padding across the wooden floor to you, the love of Spencer’s life.

You sit comfortably on the couch, feet propped up, still in pajamas. Spencer smiles. This is exactly what farmer’s market days are for- to give you a well deserved break.

“Look what we found for you, Mommy!” Diana squeals, placing the flowers, earrings, and multiple other trinkets down on the couch next to you.

“Wow!” You coo, going for the flowers first. “My favorite!” You gush over the peonies, and Spencer’s heart swells.

You kiss Diana’s chubby cheeks and she preens at the attention. Your rested eyes then flit to Spencer’s, and he falls in love all over again. You reach your arms up to grab Chessy, who’s been asleep for the past 20 minutes.

You pucker up to give him a kiss as he leans down to pass her to you, pressing his lips gently to yours.

Spencer joins his family on the couch, still in disbelief that his life could look like this. He is so lucky.