nsfwreider

[nsfwreider]

Adding to my queue

summer lovin'

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader genre: smut w.c.: 6.7k a/n: shoutout to summer aka prime dbf season. this could technically be seen in the same universe as either of my other dbf!hotch fics but could also be a standalone, whatever you want <3 as always feedback fuels me ily

summary: After your dad thwarts your plan to have a not-date with Aaron at the drive-in movie theatre, you improvise.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, dbf!hotch, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, fingering, finger sucking, interrupted blowjob so hotch gets blue balls <3, one (1) hint of sir kink at the very end, praise kink, dirty talk, kinda fwb kinda dating hotch just needs to DTR already, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re at least 99% sure that summer was your favorite time of the year.

You loved that you were only a short ten-minute drive to the beach and could spend the whole day in your new bikini out by the water. You loved the cookouts that your dad always threw in your backyard, the smoke of the burgers on the grill and fresh chlorine from the pool swirling in the air. You loved staying out too late with your friends, drunk and attempting to quietly stumble through your front door as if you were a high schooler again.

But your favorite part about summer? Coming home and spending time with your dad’s best friend.

You and Hotch have been having a summer fling every time you visited for the past two years. Though, you wonder if it could still be considered a fling anymore if it lasted for more than one summer and the two of you would meet if he had a case in your state, no matter the season.

This summer was no exception. Your dad had been promoted last month, which meant that he was called into the office at least every day, thus leaving the house empty for your lonesome self.

“It’s fine,” you had said, waving him off. He had been worried that you felt like he wasn’t spending enough time together as you were only really able to see each other once a year due to your busy schedule. “If I’m bored, I’ll just drive over to Aaron’s place to bother him.”

He didn’t know that you already had your keys tucked into your purse and nothing underneath your dress, so he rolled his eyes and laughed, telling you to not to bother him too much.

Aaron’s schedule often didn’t allow time for you to spend as much time with him as you wanted, so it wasn’t entirely your fault that you had to jump at any opportunity that presented itself. It’s not like you were able to drop down to your knees and scoot in between his thighs underneath your kitchen table when he was over for dinner like you often did at his apartment, his expensive belt unbuckled and his large hand pushing down at the crown of your head.

You would almost feel bad at occupying all of Aaron’s free time if he didn’t clearly express that he didn’t mind, often accompanied with a half-smile he would try to hide and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

Now, it was the first week of August and you were starting to panic.

Your entire summer flew by you, now nothing but a blur of warm days by the pool and Aaron’s head in between your legs. You seriously don’t think you’ve had this many orgasms since you were a teenager and you went to a Spencer’s to buy a vibrator for the first time.

You’ve been trying to ignore that nagging anxiety that’s been slowly forming since the middle of the summer, but now it was a full-fledged nuisance. Now, you were just that desperate enough to spend as much time with Aaron as possible before you had to go back home to your lonely little apartment to work your lonely little job.

You try to ignore the fact that you were even willing to forgo the mind-blowing orgasms that often followed being in his company. Or the fact that you had started to think about him in non-sexual ways, such as wondering whether he had eaten that day or whether he was able to ask Jack about his science fair project that he wasn’t able to help with.

You’re laying out by the pool and scrolling on your phone, skin warm from the afternoon sun and clad in your cutest bikini, when you get the idea. Or, rather, Instagram gives you the idea in the form of multiple typos and an oversaturated picture.

It’s an ad for a local drive-in movie theatre that you didn’t know even existed announcing what they were featuring for the end of summer. Their last movie was allegedly tonight, a late showing of Grease, and claimed they still had several tickets available.

As if on cue, you hear the telltale crunching of gravel of Aaron pulling up into the driveway. A wicked smile splits your face. It was like a sign from God, or gods, or whatever the hell was out there as they served the perfect date night idea to you in the form of a badly photoshopped ad on your phone.

Your dad was still home, working at the kitchen island, but you knew that Aaron had timed it perfectly where only ten minutes after he showed up, your dad was going to get a call asking for him to come into the office. You’re going to wave him off, saying that you were fine with learning how to occupy yourself, and Aaron would claim to head out a couple minutes after him after dropping something off in his office down the hall. Most times, your dad’s car would have just barely disappeared down the street before Aaron’s spinning you around by the hips to bend over that same kitchen island and shucking your denim cutoffs down your legs.

It was the same routine that you’ve had all summer. It was nearly foolproof.

When you step through the doorway and into the kitchen, you act surprised when you spot Aaron already leaning with his hip against the stove, deliciously toned arms crossed over his sturdy chest as he was already deep in conversation with your dad about something or another.

Your dad looks away to type something painstaking slow on his laptop and Aaron takes the opportunity to raise his eyebrow at you, lazy gaze taking in your and your bright pink bikini. You bite back a smirk when his eyes get stuck on your chest, your nipples undoubtedly stiff and poking through the damp fabric at the superior air conditioning of the house.

“Hey you,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You come to stand by your dad and lean forwards on the kitchen island, inadvertently pushing your breasts up. You smile when you notice Aaron’s jaw clenching as he tries not to let his eyes stray lower than your face. “What are you doing here?”

He clears his throat and your smile grows wider when you spot the vein in his neck pulsing. “Just came to drop some files off for your dad.”

Aaron’s always coming over with papers and files that you know nothing about the contents of. You wonder if they must actually be important since he’s been using that same excuse nearly every single day for the past two months.

“Yeah, yeah,” your dad mutters, still focused on the fluorescent blue screen with his reading glasses precariously hanging on the tip of his nose.

You were nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement; any second now, your dad’s phone was going to ring and he’s going to be swept away to the office. Now was your perfect chance to bring up the movie with him where only a couple of minutes later, he’ll give you an apologetic look and ruffle your hair, telling you next time with a regretful tinge to his voice. He would have no idea that you had plans to drag his best friend with you instead.

“Dad, what are your thoughts on going to this drive-in movie a couple blocks away here in a little bit?” you ask, biting at your bottom lip to prevent breaking out in giggles. “I’ve never been to one.”

Aaron’s shuffling through the files, seemingly lost in thought, but you knew he was watching you out of the corner of his eye, interest piqued. He’s grown familiar with your antics and the way you seemingly always had a plan to appear busy when you knew your dad was going to be out. To not raise suspicion, you had said.

“Never been?” your dad finally raises his head up from that, eyes wide as he glances at you, and then Aaron. “Can you believe that?”

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Somehow, I can.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if the movie’s soon, we should probably get ready and head out,” your dad says, completely ignoring you. You elbow him in the side and he elbows you right back.

He slams his laptop closed and groans when he gets off the bar stool, knees popping in the process. When he’s making his way to his bedroom to get ready, you frown and glance repeatedly at the clock. They should’ve called him about ten minutes ago.

“Hey dad,” you call out. “Are you working today?”

He’s in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he turns around, confusion written all over his face. “No, sweetie, I thought I told you that I decided to call out today,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Good thing you brought up that drive-in thing because I had nothing planned. Let me change and we can go.”

You may be a bit dramatic but you swear you thought the walls were caving in, anxiety causing your heartbeat to spike in rhythm as you tried to subtly pick your jaw off the floor and be casual. “Oh? You didn’t have to do that, dad.”

He doesn’t even bother looking back at you. “Of course I had to, we’ve barely seen each other all summer! Now come on, let’s get going.”

And then he’s disappearing into his bedroom with the click of a door and you’re stuck with the realization that not only are you going to be spending the next two and a half hours in the back of a car with Aaron, but also with your father sitting right next to you.

You’re still staring at the polished wood of your dad’s bedroom door, the heavy weight of Aaron’s eyes on the back of your head. You could already see the amused twist of his mouth, the slight worried furrow in his forehead that would ultimately give him away.

This wasn’t the first time your plans were thwarted by your dad and your inability to plan accordingly, such as when you had to spend the afternoon by the pool in your bikini and not nude like you had initially wanted, but you still felt a bit lousy.

When you finally face him, you were surprised to find him wearing a fond, yet exasperated expression. It melts his usual hardened appearance, making him appear younger and like the man you’ve been messing around with all summer.

He pushes himself off the kitchen counter and approaches you. Your heart thumps erratically in your sternum, something that’s been occurring a lot recently, but you chalk it up to the way Aaron’s sleeves stretch over his biceps or the way the dark red shade of his shirt makes his stomach appear softer.

He quickly leans into you and your heart skips, impossibly thinking he was actually going to kiss you with your father in the same room.

You’re not sure whether you were disappointed or relieved when he’s kissing the crown of your head, brief enough for you to get a taste of his cologne before it’s immediately ripped away from you.

“Go get ready,” he mutters, voice low and soft so there wasn’t any chance for your father to hear him. “We’ll make it work.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, you’re strapped into the backseat of Aaron’s Range Rover, since he has more trunk room than either of your cars, a pile of blankets and snacks on the seat next to you, and watching out the window at the bright lights of the streetlamps as you pull into the parking lot of the theatre.

With the sun setting over the horizon, painting the sky in a picturesque orange and purple hue, came the cooler summer breeze blowing through your rolled down window. The tempting aroma of buttery popcorn and fried dough filled the car as Aaron drove between the numerous rows of cars to find the perfect spot.

You felt on edge. You’ve been nearly silent for the entire duration of the ten-minute drive as they continued to talk about work, as if the entire point of this outing was to definitively not talk about work, yet you didn’t mind.

You found Aaron entirely too distracting today. Every time your father was preoccupied, he was meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, silently raising an eyebrow whenever you would smile innocently at him.

He knew you were up to something—he was able to read you as soon as you bounded downstairs in that strappy plain white sundress, the lace hem barely brushing your thighs, and smelling like his favorite perfume. You had smiled him just as innocently then too, ignoring the rush of heat that flooded your veins when his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened.

The spot he had pulled the car into was towards the back, close enough where you got a good view of the screen, but secluded enough where you wouldn’t be bothered by the loud concession stand or the group of teenagers laughing several cars over.

You immediately bounced out of the car as soon as it was set in park, arms filled with the numerous blankets you found laying around the house to set up in the backseat. You let Aaron push the backseats down and watch with a grin as he steps away. As smart as they were, neither your dad or Aaron would have the forethought to set the ugly blankets on the bottom and the fluffy and more comfortable blankets on top.

You clamber up into the trunk, sitting right in the middle with your legs splayed out and your sandaled feet hanging over the edge. Although you were secretly glad that Aaron convinced the two of you to take his car for the extra wiggle room, you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

Aaron climbs in next to you, groaning at the way his knees pop and the way his back isn’t fully supported as much as he would like. Even with how roomy the car’s trunk was, his jean-clad thigh still brushes against your bare one where the hem of your dress has ridden up.

You expect your dad to follow, with similar old man groaning and bones popping, probably even knocking against your shoulder with his hip, yet an exhilarated thrill runs through you when he says, “I’m going to get some popcorn, did you guys want anything?”

You clear your throat and make yourself appear busy by grabbing a spare throw blanket to throw over your bare legs, ducking your head to hide the devilish smile that threatens to form. “Nope, I brought all the salty and sugary snacks I could ever need.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Aaron says, polite as ever, as if he couldn’t sense your desire to jump his bones at that very second.

Your father shrugs before leaving you two, just as the lights in the parking lot cut off and the only way you were even able to see your hand in front of you was from the giant screen and the glow of the bustling concession stands behind you.

You’re tempted to scold him, remind him what his doctor had said about cutting back on butter, but you honestly couldn’t pass up this opportunity to spend a couple minutes alone with Aaron. It didn’t help your case when you saw how long the concession line was, nearly wrapping around the entire carnival-esque building, so you knew you had more than enough time.

You really were initially planning on actually watching the movie, maybe grabbing his hand to hold underneath a blanket, but he just looked so good in a casual setting and not wearing those unfairly tight suits he often wore whenever he would pick you up outside the house, smelling like dried ink and lukewarm coffee.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hotch scoots down a bit in his seat, actually relaxing for once, as the movie starts. You wince at the way the music blares, a bit louder than you were comfortable with, and shuffle a bit closer to the furnace that is Aaron, pressing the length of your body against his.

He stiffens. His breath catches when you throw your blanket over his legs, now concealing both of your laps, and your chest brushes against his arm. He can probably tell by now that you decided to forgo a bra.

“Just making sure I don’t hog the blanket,” you say with a smile when he glances at you.

He seems to believe you, not expecting you to pull any funny business when you were surrounded by so many people, as well as your father in the near vicinity.

Which is absolutely silly on his part, considering how often the two of you had hooked up in his car on the side of the road.

You take a deep breath, the smell of butter and the faintest whiff of Aaron’s cologne filling your lungs, before you pull the corner of the throw blanket over your shoulders and place your right hand onto the meat of Aaron’s thigh.

You have to stifle a giggle when he nearly jumps out of the car, head nearly bumping against the roof. You can sense the stern words threatening to come out when he turns to you, something about how you’re in public and how now wasn’t the time on the very tip of his tongue.

Yet you keep your eyes trained on the screen, pretending to be completely enraptured as the opening credits end and transitions to the front of the high school and definitely not being distracted at how perfectly firm his thigh was even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, maybe assuming that you were just feeling a bit extra touchy-feely like you do when you haven’t seen each other in a couple of days. He would call you needy, but you considered yourself grateful with what you got.

He decidedly does not say anything and turns back to face the screen.

Your heart is racing, blood in your ears nearly drowning out the noises of the people in the parking lot annoyingly reciting each line of the movie one after the other. You shift in your seat, thighs brushing against each other underneath your dress, and you try not to think about why this whole scenario was actually getting you riled up.

You wait a couple more minutes, enough to where you felt Aaron’s thigh slowly relax underneath your palm, before you begin to slowly trail it upwards.

The rough fabric of his jeans against your hand was strangely soothing, warm from the heat of his skin seeping through. The pads of your fingers slide along the inner seam and you allow a manicured nail to scratch against it before gently squeezing your hand around his entire thigh.

You keep your eyes fixed straight ahead; however you’re no longer taking in the movie as you’re too aware of the way Aaron’s breath deepens or the way he imperceptible spreads his thighs apart underneath the blanket.

When your hand reaches his crotch and you feel the very sizable bulge of his half-hard cock straining against his jeans, heat crackles down your spine, adamantly pooling in between your legs. You felt a strange surge of power and experimentally squeeze your hand around the length of him, coaxing a groan that Aaron tries to bite back. Your mouth waters.

He leans down until his lips were barely brushing against the shell of your ear, the low timbre of his velvet voice causing another flare of desire to burst in your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you say, giving him one final squeeze, your thumb briefly brushing against the very tip of his cock. You lay your palm flat against the bulge and wonder if precum has stared leaking through his boxers yet.

“Nothing?” And then it’s his turn to snake his arm underneath the protective guise of the blanket, over your chest, and away from prying eyes to place his own hand on your bare thigh.

Your heart rate kicks up, face suddenly feeling heated in a way you couldn’t blame the summer heat for. Aaron’s hands have always been ridiculously large, with thick fingers and rough skin mottled with endearing age spots. They were one of your favorite things about him, especially when he put them to good use.

Like he is now.

He’s squeezing the flesh of your thigh, causing you to grip the fabric of his jeans at the inseam, breath growing heavier. He doesn’t bother teasing, completely aware of the time restraint and the fact that you were surrounded by a third of the town, and when his fingertips brush against your pussy, he expects to find your favorite pair of light blue lace panties.

When he brushes against your skin instead, he pauses. You inadvertently hold your breath, not so subtly spreading your thighs apart underneath the blanket. Your left knee pokes out from the edge.

“It doesn’t look like nothing since you’re not wearing anything underneath that dress of yours.” And then he’s yanking your thighs further apart and dragging his fingertips along the seam of your pussy. He avoids your throbbing clit and takes his time to barely dip into your dripping entrance before he’s spreading your wetness in between your folds.

You have to bite back a gasp, your grip tightening where you still have a handful of denim. You resist the urge to arch your back into his touch, instead scooting down in your seat so Aaron would be able to effortlessly thrust one of those deliciously thick fingers inside of you. Your sandal dangles precariously off your foot as it hangs over the edge of the trunk.

“It’s hot out…” Your voice sounds weak even to you, your breaths coming out ragged as you attempt to cant your hips up in an effort to get Aaron to touch you where you’re nearly throbbing for him.

He hums before he’s sliding his middle finger inside of you, causing your entire body to jolt and your jaw to fall open. You bring your legs up, planting your feet onto the truck and allowing the blanket still on your lap to shield your… activities from anyone if they decided to stroll by. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your head loll onto Aaron’s sturdy shoulder.

If anyone decided to look over at the two of you, they would assume that you were a couple, albeit an odd one, casually cozying up during a date night at the drive-in movies. There were plenty of couples in the parking lot, the singing and lines being repeated back quieting down as the crowd became enthralled with a movie they’ve seen a hundred of times.

The next song in the movie plays, effectively drowning out the filthy sounds of your pussy as Aaron effortlessly slides another finger inside of you, still narrowly avoiding your clit. You let out a low moan under your breath and Aaron has to shush you.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he mutters, as if it was the easiest thing in the world and not like you were living out your horniest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father.

That thought, dirty and sinful, causes you to clench around his fingers and for you to bury your face in Aaron’s neck to quiet the wet gasps that threaten to come out of you.

You think Aaron chuckles at your reaction but you can’t even bother to be mad because his pace increases, and the indecent sound of you somehow getting wetter, his palm slapping against your clit and just barely giving you enough stimulation has your thighs trembling.

You thank every God that ever existed that Aaron was left-handed as he steadily thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers just so to hit that spot that makes you nearly cry out, but it’s not enough.

You have to muffle your noises against the skin of Aaron’s throat, the strong clean smell of his cologne mixing in with sweat had your mind spinning, stoking at the arousal that was building faster and stronger with each second that passed.

“Aaron…” you whimper, abandoning where you were pathetically attempting to rub his cock through his jeans to take a hold of forearm.

He doesn’t stop. In fact, your grip on him seems to make him go faster, deeper. He tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead and then quietly asks “Are you going to come for me, honey? In front of all these people?”

You whine, shaking your head and burying your face further into him, words catching in your throat and desperately hoping he would know exactly what you needed. 

He makes a faux sympathetic noise. “Your pussy needs a little bit more, doesn’t she?”

To your absolute horror, he slowly takes his fingers out of your pussy and you make a pitiful noise, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes at the utter confusion and annoyance swirling in your chest as you lift your head up from his shoulder.

“Wha—”

He brings his free hand up to your face, glowing with an array of flashing colors from the screen. You’re barely able to discern the dark glint in his eyes, pupils wide and his lips parted as he breathes heavily. “Suck.”

Before you could even think, realize that you’re only a couple feet away from strangers and that any of the people walking back from the concession stand could pass by you, one of them possibly even being your own fucking father, you’re meeting his gaze and obediently parting your lips to let him slide two fingers into your mouth.

You can feel the corners of your lips stretch, accommodating the girth of his fingers, his skin tasting clean with a faint hint of your lavender soap he used before you left and his rough callouses brushing against your tongue. You make sure to swirl your tongue over his fingers sloppily despite knowing you wouldn’t need it, have never needed it, because Aaron was able to have you dripping down your thighs with just one word.

You hollow your cheeks, peering up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and your clit throbs painfully when he wordlessly slides his fingers deeper into your mouth.

When he pulls his hand away, a trail of your saliva follows, connecting your spit-slick mouth to him. The vulgar sight causes your face to heat up.

“Good girl.”

The praise nearly lights you from the inside out, your thighs instinctively parting wider as his wet hand dips underneath the blanket to caress your folds again.

You’re completely drenched, your inner thighs sticky with your arousal, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were leaving a wet spot on the blankets underneath you.

You pay that no mind, completely unable to, as Aaron easily slides the two fingers that was just in your mouth into your aching pussy with a wet noise. He immediately starts fucking into you, his thumb circling your throbbing clit at a maddeningly steady pace, now focused on pushing you over the edge as soon as possible.

A strangled moan erupts from you, caught off guard at the onslaught of pleasure running hot through your body, and Aaron is immediately tilting down to capture your lips in a kiss.

You’re distantly aware that he hasn’t kissed you at all today, not even while he’s been fingering you in public underneath a blanket, and the revelation nearly causes a rise in unseated annoyance to spark in your chest if it weren’t for the fact that you felt your muscles tensing and your lower belly coiling with your impending orgasm.

His mouth is hungry against yours, tongue sliding into yours as he easily swallows the steady stream of your moans as he fingers you faster, rubs your clit a bit rougher.

When you pull away, chest feeling tight at the lack of oxygen, you manage to let out a high-pitched whine against his lips that you hope understands as your hips roll up to meet his thrusts, not even caring if the lewd wet noises of your pussy was audible over the movie.

“You better come before your dad gets back.”

The low tone of his voice simmers through you as he’s curling his fingers, nearly grinding them into you, and you’re biting your bottom lip to muffle your moan. Your pussy clenches around him, hips stuttering into his thrusts as you come so hard you swear your vision blurs around the edges.

He continues to fuck into you, letting you ride it out, and you have to push his wrist away while your ears were still ringing as your oversensitive clit begins to throb. You felt sluggish and like you’re one second away from melting through the floor of the car, your entire body limp and sated.

You barely wince when he slides his fingers out of you and discreetly wipes your leftover slick onto the blanket you both were sitting on. You lean your head back onto the headrest, tilting slightly away from the warmth of Aaron’s body as you desperately hoped a cool breeze would pick up and magically blow into the trunk of the car and onto your heated face.

Aaron reaches over your body for the forgotten bag of food, rummaging for the bag of salted pretzels he knows you packed because he knows you’re seconds away from begging for a snack. However, him straightening up and twisting his body into yours reminds you of the very sizeable shape of his hard cock visible through the crotch of his jeans.

Embarrassment floods through you as you remember that, despite your initial plan to pay attention to Aaron and tease him, it had totally backfired and you were the one who still got off. Despite him always assuring you not to worry about him, it just didn’t feel right, and plus, you wanted to.

Just like you expected, when you grab the bag of pretzels to toss aside to place your palm on his crotch where he’s still hard, he puts his hand over yours to stop you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You roll your eyes and knock his hand aside. “I want to.”

And then you tuck your legs primly underneath yourself and duck underneath the blanket, situating yourself until you were essentially kneeling over him and your face was merely inches away from the bulge in his jeans.

Aaron makes a strangled noise that you can barely hear over the sound of the movie still playing, but he doesn’t stop you as you’re expertly popping the button of his jeans open and dragging the zipper down. With some shuffling and maneuvering, his jeans and boxers are bunched around his thick thighs and his cock is out, curving against his stomach and flushed an angry red.

The heat of him is palpable, his heady musk stronger now thanks to the blanket over his lap, and you lick your lips, your cunt pulsing from arousal again. When you wrap your hand around him, his cock twitches and you can see Aaron’s hand fisting the edge of the blanket.

You could tell he was on edge, probably surprisingly closer than to he expected from just fingering you until you bit your lip raw and surrounded by a crowd of people. You smile wickedly at the thought that he was getting off to this just as much as you before you’re tilting your chin up and parting your lips over the head of his leaking cock.

You hear a muffled noise, most likely Aaron refraining from groaning out loud, as you open your mouth further to accommodate the girth of him as he slides deeper into you. You squeeze your hand around the base of him as you lower and lower until the head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, your lips meeting your fist.

Aaron curses quietly, his breathing turning ragged as he tries to keep his hips still so he doesn’t make you gag, letting you take your time despite his own judgements.

You know he was expecting your usual teasing—kitten licks at the head to savor his precum or the flat of your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. But it must have been over 15 minutes already and, as much as you want to leisurely lick and suck him until you were dripping wet again and your jaw got sore, you’re running out of time.

You unfurl your fist around the base of his cock to place on the bare skin of his thigh and begin to bob your head, rivulets of your drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth and coating him.

He seems to understand because he’s sneaking a hand underneath the blanket to cradle the back of your head, keeping you steady, before he’s lifting his hips up to start fucking into your mouth.

Something simmers at the base of your skull, your eyes fluttering shut, as you let him take control in that seamless way he always does. Submitting to him was always exhilarating, making you feel drunk and like you were a second away from floating out of your body with just one look, one large hand wrapped around your throat.

It happens now as you concentrate on making sure you didn’t gag, trying to open your jaw further so he could continue using your mouth whichever way he wants. The sounds of the movie and the audience singing along filters through your brain and out your ears, the only thing you’re aware of being your harsh breaths and the filthy crude noises of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron grunts, barely audible over the movie, and his hips begin to stutter, his fist clenching and unclenching where he still has a grip on the back of your neck. You swallow around him as best as you could, mentally preparing yourself for the first spurt of his come hitting the back of your throat and wondering if you could get away from sitting on his lap and angling his cock inside of your aching pussy for a little bit.

You don’t hear the sound of the car door opening until Aaron’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, essentially stilling you with your lips still wrapped around his cock.

“Shit, can you believe I got to the front of the line and I forgot my wallet?”

Aaron hums in response, though it sounds strained to you. His muscled thighs are tense, as if anticipating this was the moment that your father would discover his daughter was sleeping around with his best friend by his cock in your mouth.

Your ears burn as you slowly lift yourself off of him, making sure you swallow to refrain from any lewd noises from your mouth. You and Aaron seem to have the same idea as you stay hunched over his lap, hiding out of your dad’s eyeline, the thick blanket covering you.

There are sounds of him rummaging around the seats, even checking the middle console, and then he’s making a triumphant noise and closing the console shut. You’re not exactly sure why his wallet was in the console of Aaron’s car, but there were evidently more important matters as you watched his cock, right in front of your face, soften with each passing second.

“Where’d that girl get to now?”

Aaron clears his throat and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile when his cock twitches. “She had to go to the restroom.”

A sigh. “Well, I better go back and get in line. You sure you don’t want anything, Hotch?”

There’s a tinge of frustration when he speaks again “I’m good, thanks.”

You could almost imagine the noncommittal shrug your dad gives before you hear the slam of the car door being shut and his whistling along to the song on the screen that gradually fades away.

Aaron’s hand finally leaves your neck, silently telling you that the coast was clear. You’re not sure if you’re wanting it back or not, but one glance at his cock, nearly completely soft, has you holding back a sigh.

When you finally sit up, you’re sure you look like a mess. The neckline of your dress was probably pulled down a little too low still, your hair frizzy and tangled from his hands, and your lips swollen and puffy.

However, when Aaron glances at you with a soft expression, the start of a smile tugging at his lips and his thumb coming to swipe at the corner of your mouth, you felt like the prettiest woman in the city.

“I guess we’re done for tonight, huh?” you ask, attempting to pass it off as a joke but your voice sounds weak even to you.

“I’m okay with that,” he says, voice gentle and not like he was trying to hold back his moans merely two minutes ago. He tucks himself back into his jeans and you have to lift the edge of the blanket up to make sure that he had gone fully soft. When he’s done, he studies you, an unreadable glint in his eyes that causes your heart to flip in your chest.

Before you could say something idiotic, something that would disrupt the easygoing nature of your undefined relationship, he raises his arm to rest on the back of the seat. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the slight flex of his bicep and the shine of his fancy watch against his wrist, shamelessly admiring the way it glints underneath the light.

When you tear your gaze away from the sudden filthy thoughts revolving that specific watch, he’s raising an eyebrow at you, and then, “Come here.”

A giddy smile erupts on your face before you could help it. You try to suppress a squeal as you shuffle closer into Aaron’s embrace, letting the warmth of him bleed through his shirt as you press your cheek into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his middle to intertwine your fingers with your arm that you have curled around his back.

He’s so soft, with his belly rising and falling with each breath and the way he brings his arm down from the back of the seat to rest around your shoulders, pulling you further into him. You’re not sure if the sense of calmness that overcomes you was from the comforting scent of his cologne or the orgasm his fingers just brought you to.

A girly type of excitement fills your chest at the fact that you were cuddling him so publicly, such a rare event that has only happened when he’s come to visit you when out on a case. You know he can see your smile out of the corner of his eye, the way you try to wiggle further into him as if you’re trying to crawl into his skin, but he stays silent. 

The two of you sit in silence and, surprisingly, watch the movie, with you singing along and Aaron shaking his head at you. You know he’s mouthing along to the lyrics, you just can’t quite prove it.

You hear the distinct off-tune whistling from your dad and scramble to put a respectable distance between you and Aaron.

His hand shoots out to grab at your wrist and you ignore the way arousal licks up your spine at the way his fingers easily dwarf yours and how unbearably attractive he is when he leans in to whisper into your ear.

“Maybe you can come over tonight after the movie to finish what you started.”

You bite back a smile, noticing how it wasn’t exactly a question, but rather a concise demand. You also knew that Aaron can be impatient, especially after he didn’t get a chance to finish in your mouth like he wanted to, and that you were most definitely going to pay for it later.

“Yes, sir.”

taglist <3: @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna @ssa-writerminds 

[nsfwreider]

Reblogging because I thought I lost it and was RELIEVED to find it

sanctified - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: lets pretend maeve lived and her and spencer were together and lets pretend this isnt super out of character for him and lets pretend that i domt feel immensely horrible for maeve in this :(

You don’t remember when it started—only that by the time you noticed, it was already too late. It was never sudden. It crept in, like a fog rolling over familiar streets. You were still walking the same path but something about it had shifted. A heaviness in the air. A quiet that made every breath feel like it might shatter something sacred. Maybe it was the way he always lingered when the rest of the team moved on—how Spencer would wait behind just a few seconds longer than necessary after a debriefing, watching you tuck your tablet away, his eyes soft but unreadable. Or maybe it was the nights. That’s probably the better place to start. Not the cases or the fleeting glances but the spaces in between—the moments no one saw.

The first night he came over, it was innocent. You’d both been exhausted. A draining case with three children in the hospital and a mountain of paperwork left to climb. He offered to drive you home, and you accepted. Somewhere between the tired conversation and the thrum of music low in the background, you’d asked him to come in for a drink.

“Tea,” you clarified quickly, suddenly nervous at your own offer.

But he just nodded, his smile almost amused. “I’d like that.”

It turned into hours. Tea became a shared bag of chips. Then laughter softly spilled into the cracks of the night until you were both blinking at the clock in disbelief.

“Shit,” you’d muttered, rubbing your eyes. “It’s almost two.”

“I should go,” he said but didn’t move.

You watched him over the rim of your mug. “You don’t have to.”

He stayed another hour. You pretended not to notice how close he sat. That night became the first of many. Too many. Nights where it was just easier to keep talking. Easier to let time slip away than say goodbye. It wasn’t always your place either. Sometimes he invited you over instead—books stacked like precarious towers around his living room, a quiet documentary playing on mute in the background.

You learned things about him you weren’t supposed to know. That he listens to jazz when he can’t sleep. That he prefers cloudy days to sunny ones because he doesn’t feel the pressure to be happy. That when he was twelve, he made his own flashcards out of index paper and color-coded every subject, not because he had to but because it made the world feel smaller. Manageable. You stored those pieces like smuggled treasure, unsure what to do with them and only knowing they mattered because they came from him.

It was around that time the sadness started to settle in your chest. Not because of anything he did. Not because of how he’d lean toward you without thinking or how his voice softened when he said your name. But because of the things he didn’t do. The lines he didn’t cross. The fact that when he left your apartment at three a.m., he always made sure to say, “Thanks for the tea.” Like that’s all it was. Like you hadn’t just handed him pieces of yourself and watched him tuck them carefully into the folds of his heart.

And of course, there was Maeve. He didn’t say her name often but it didn’t have to be said. You weren’t stupid. You could tell when he was distracted, when his phone would light up and his whole posture would shift. Sometimes he’d smile, distant and private and you’d excuse yourself to the kitchen for no reason at all—just to keep your back to him long enough to breathe through it.

He never saw that it hurt but the team did. It wasn’t all at once. It was in pieces, like puzzle edges lining up before anyone could name the picture. JJ was the first. She didn’t say anything at first but you caught her watching you sometimes during briefings, her gaze flicking between you and Spencer with that quiet, knowing look she wore when things were unraveling. Emily took longer. She teased you once in the bullpen, called you “Reid’s favorite” after he brought you coffee without asking how you took it. Morgan used to rib you all the time. “Someone’s got a crush,” he’d say with a grin and you’d roll your eyes, push him off and make some dry comment about fraternization rules. But then he stopped saying it. Stopped looking amused. Sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to ask if you were okay. No one ever said it out loud. They didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was louder than any conversation could be.

And now tonight, his name lights up your phone at nearly one in the morning. You stare at it like it might disappear. You don’t answer right away. Your thumb hovers. You bite your lip and close your eyes and think of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. But you answer anyway.

“Hey.” The line is quiet. You can hear his breathing, uneven. Something shifting in the background. You wait. “It’s late,” you say softly, voice caught somewhere between concern and something you can’t name. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

Your chest caves in. That’s not a no. That’s not I’m fine. That’s I’m unraveling.

“What happened?” you ask.

There’s a long pause and then a soft, “We had a fight.”

Your throat tightens. “Maeve?”

A bitter laugh. “Yeah.”

You sit up straighter, pushing the covers back from your legs as if you might need to move, as if this could become something more urgent at any moment.

“What about?”

He hesitates, “She thinks I’m not… fully there. With her. That my head’s somewhere else. That I’m always halfway gone.” He exhales sharply. “And she’s not wrong.”

You close your eyes.

“She said there’s someone else,” he adds, quieter now. “I told her she was being paranoid. That I would never do that to her. But…” He stops. The silence stretches.

“But?” you whisper.

Another breath. “But I didn’t deny it the way I should have.”

You don’t know what to say. Your heart cracks in slow, aching silence. “I’m sorry,” you say and mean it. You’re sorry for a thousand things. Sorry for her. Sorry for yourself. Sorry for every second you let this become what it is.

“I just… I didn’t know who else to call,” he says again, and you realize he’s been crying.

“Hmm,” you whisper. “Come over?”

“Okay.”

The line clicks dead and you’re already climbing out of bed, wrapping a sweater around yourself like it might keep you from burning alive. Because you know what you’re doing. You know what this is. And you know that tonight, something is going to change. You don’t bother turning the lights on. When he knocks, it’s soft. Like he doesn’t want to wake something—or someone that shouldn’t know he’s here. You open the door. He’s standing there in a hoodie and jeans, damp from the mist in the air, hair curling at the ends, eyes rimmed red. Not from crying. But you can tell he tried to hold it in and you’re not sure that’s better.

You step aside wordlessly. He walks in. The door shuts behind him with a quiet click. You stay near it for a moment, your hand still on the knob, like part of you could pretend there’s a version of this where you don’t follow him in. Where he doesn’t come to you like this. Where you’re not both complicit in something you can’t even name yet. But you turn anyway. He hasn’t moved far. Just stands in the middle of your living room, his hands tucked into his sleeves like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says again, voice rough.

“You said that already,” you reply gently, crossing the room to him. “But I think you did.”

His eyes meet yours. And for a moment, you see everything you’ve been trying not to admit reflected back at you—longing, guilt, something mournful threaded through it all like a prayer left unanswered.

“Did you walk?” you ask because the silence is starting to drown you both.

He nods. “Needed air.”

You motion toward the couch. “Sit.”

He does. You disappear into the kitchen for a moment, just long enough to fill the kettle and set it on the stove. Tea is a routine. A safety net. It gives your hands something to do besides reaching for him. It gives your voice somewhere to land besides the hollow space between confessions. When you come back, he’s staring at his hands.

“She was crying,” he says, not looking up.

You sit beside him, careful to leave just enough space between you. Just enough to say I know. Just enough to say I’m sorry. Not enough to say stay.

“She said she doesn’t know who I am anymore,” he continues. “That I’m quieter. Distant. That I’ve been coming home but not really being there.”

You swallow hard. “And… do you think she’s right?”

“I keep trying to be everything she needs. I do. But it’s like—” He breaks off, frustrated. “It’s like I’m performing it now. Like I’m going through the motions and waiting for the part where I finally feel the way I used to.”

You breathe out slowly. “Love isn’t always a constant. It shifts. Flows. People change.”

“I don’t want it to be her fault. Or my fault.”

“It’s not.”

He finally looks at you. “Then whose is it?”

You want to say mine. Want to take the weight from him and claim it because maybe you deserve it. But you can’t. Because it’s not that simple and he’s not here for answers. He’s here because he’s tired. Because something inside him is unraveling and you’ve always made space for the frayed parts of him.

“You’ve been carrying too much alone,” you murmur. “That changes people.”

The kettle whistles, soft and shrill. Neither of you moves. His voice lowers. “Sometimes I think I come here because it’s the only place I can breathe.”

Your eyes sting.

“And I hate myself for it,” he adds, voice breaking. “Because she deserves that. She deserves to be the place I run to.”

You rise slowly, go to pour the tea so your shaking hands have purpose. When you return, you offer him a mug. He takes it, holding it like it might warm more than just his fingers. You sip yours quietly. Watch the steam curl. It’s minutes before either of you speaks again.

“She said there was someone else,” he says, not looking at you. “Not because she knew. Just… a feeling. I told her she was wrong.”

You hold your breath.

“I didn’t lie,” he adds. “Not exactly. But I didn’t argue the way I should’ve.”

You finally ask the question that’s been sitting in your throat for months. “Is there?”

The silence is deafening.

“There shouldn’t be.”

That’s not a no. He puts the tea down. And you both sit there, saying nothing. Letting the weight of that answer settle between you like dust on a forgotten shelf. It feels sacred. It feels sickening.

“You should go back to her,” you say, even though you don’t mean it. “Talk to her. Try.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “She ended it.”

Your eyes widen and you shift, turning toward him. “I’m sorry. What do you need, Spence?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just… I couldn’t be alone. And with you it’s—”

“Easier?” you offer.

“Real.”

That breaks something open in you. He finally looks at you and his eyes are glassy. “Do you remember that night after the Boston case?” he asks. “You couldn’t sleep and we watched that terrible movie about the haunted mirror.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. You fell asleep halfway through.”

“I didn’t. I pretended.”

Your heart skips. He reaches up, touches the back of his neck like it burns. “I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d say something I couldn’t take back.”

You place your mug down beside his. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer but you know. The space between you shrinks. He’s still not touching you. But you can feel the pull, a trembling current strung between his fingers and your skin. It’s unbearable. And still you don’t move closer because this is the line and neither of you wants to be the first to cross it. But God you’re so close to giving in. You don’t remember leaning into him. Only that when your shoulder brushes his, neither of you moves away. There’s no flicker of surprise in his eyes. No startled flinch. Just the quiet exhale of someone who’s been holding their breath too long. The tea has gone cold. The clock ticks louder than it should. Spencer’s hand is resting on his knee, unmoving. Yours is close enough that if you just shifted your fingers slightly they’d touch. You don’t. You can’t. But your pinkie twitches once. A silent confession.

“I hate that I’m doing this,” he says suddenly, voice low and rough. “That I came here. That I made this your burden too.”

You want to say it’s not a burden. That you’d carry the weight of his hurt every day if it meant he’d never feel it alone. But you know how that would sound. Know how easily it could crack the silence wide open. So instead you whisper, “You didn’t make me feel anything I wasn’t already carrying.”

His jaw clenches. He stares at the bookshelf across the room like it might rescue him. You think he’s counting the spines. You think he’s building a wall in his head. You speak again, barely audible: “What are we doing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

But he does and so do you. This isn’t a beginning. It’s not a betrayal. It’s not a confession. It’s the moment just before the fall, when you can still lie to yourself and pretend you haven’t already jumped.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he says. “She’s—she’s kind. Brilliant. Gentle. She deserves—”

“Someone who chooses her without hesitation,” you finish for him.

His face crumples. You reach for him without thinking. Your hand wraps around his forearm, warm and solid beneath your touch. He looks down at it like it’s something sacred. Like it’s the first real thing he’s felt all day.

“You need to sleep,” you say softly.

He nods, eyes still fixed on your fingers. You move and eventually you’re both in your bed. The lamp still on. The sheets a little messy. Neither of you speaks as you lie back against the pillows, still in the clothes you wore all day. He doesn’t reach for you. But he doesn’t turn away either. He lies there like someone waiting for absolution. Eyes open. Breath even. And you lie next to him like someone already damned. Minutes pass.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” he asks.

The question slices right through you.“No,” you say immediately, turning toward him. “Spencer. God, no.”

“I feel like one.”

You don’t say I do too. You don’t say Maybe we are. Instead you reach out and brush his knuckles with yours. A touch so faint it barely qualifies.

“I think we’ve both been trying so hard to do the right thing, we forgot what it feels like to want something.”

His breath stutters. “Do you?” he asks.

“Do I what?”

“Want something. Right now.”

You don’t answer because you do. You want the impossible. You want him to roll toward you and press his forehead to yours. You want him to say your name like it’s the only one he knows. You want to forget that there’s a woman crying in an empty apartment across the city, waiting for a call that won’t come. You want to pretend this moment exists in a vacuum, untouched by reality. You want to be selfish. Instead you whisper, “Goodnight, Spence.”

He turns his head slightly. Looks at you,“Goodnight.”

And for a while, the only sound is the quiet hum of the city outside and the steady, unbearable echo of everything that could have been—shouldn’t be but is. You don’t sleep. You don’t think he does either. But when the sun starts to rise, casting gold across the sheets, you’re still there. Still side by side. Still pretending this was nothing. You don’t know how long you lie there, eyes shut, heart thudding loud in your chest. You can feel him beside you—too close, too still. The air is thick with things unspoken, the room unbearably quiet. The sheets rustle once like the bed itself is reacting to the tension strung between you both.

He speaks first. “Are you awake?”

Your eyes open. You don’t answer. Just shift slightly, enough that your shoulder brushes his. It’s an answer on its own.

“I keep thinking I should leave,” he says, voice so low it barely disturbs the silence.

You turn your head toward him. “Then why haven’t you?”

He doesn’t respond. Outside, the city moves. A siren in the distance. The faint hiss of wind against the windows. But in here, it’s still just the two of you—suspended in a moment that should’ve passed long ago. When he rolls onto his side to face you, your breath catches. You mirror him, barely a foot apart now. You can see the sharp line of his jaw in the low light. The mess of curls at his temple. The way his eyes search yours like he’s hoping you’ll make this decision for him.

“We’re not doing anything,” you whisper. A lie that tastes bitter on your tongue.

“I know.”

But neither of you moves away. His fingers twitch against the mattress between you. Yours do too. You don’t touch yet. You feel it in the way your breath syncs. The way your mouth parts just slightly, like his name is resting there. The way he keeps looking at your lips.

“This isn’t fair,” he says.

“To who?”

“To her. To you. To me.”

You nod slowly. “No. It’s not.”

His voice tightens. “Then why does it feel like I’ve been waiting for this for months?”

That breaks you. You reach for him. Your hand finds his cheek, tentative and trembling. He doesn’t flinch. Just leans into it—barely but enough. His eyes flutter closed. Your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

He exhales shakily. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. Instead, your hand slides down slowly to rest against the side of his neck. His pulse pounds beneath your fingertips. And then he kisses you. It’s soft at first. Barely a kiss at all. Just a brush of mouths, more breath than contact. But it’s enough to shatter whatever self-control either of you had left. He groans against you. It’s a sound of defeat, of hunger and pulls you closer. His hand grips your waist, dragging you across the sheets until your body is pressed to his, chest to chest, knees tangled, breath shared. Your fingers curl into his shirt. His mouth moves over yours again, slower this time. Reverent. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s apologizing with every press of his lips. You gasp when his hand finds the small of your back. When his thumb slides beneath the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t go further. Just touches skin like he needs the confirmation that you’re real.

You break the kiss, breathless. “Spence.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “Please. Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to ruin everything.”

“I think we already did.” His hand tightens at your waist.

You both freeze. For a second, there’s a chance to stop. And then it slips away. He kisses you again, harder now. More desperate. Like everything he’s buried is clawing to the surface all at once. Your hand slips into his hair and he groans into your mouth, deep and broken. You roll together in the sheets. He ends up on top of you, elbow braced beside your head, thigh pressing between yours. His hips settle low and you both gasp at the contact.

His voice is ragged. “We can’t. I—fuck, we can’t.”

“I know,” you whisper but your nails are digging into his back, your body arching into him like it doesn’t know.

“I can’t,” he says. “I love her.”

“I know,” you whisper again. “But you’re here.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you like it’s killing him. Like you’re killing him. His hand slips under your shirt, up your ribs, slow and reverent. He doesn’t touch your breasts. Doesn’t grope or grab or take. He just lays his palm flat against your skin, over your heart, and breathes like he needs to remember what this feels like before it’s gone. You press your thigh up into him. He gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder. His hips jerk instinctually.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, like a prayer. “What are we doing?”

You don’t know. All you know is that his mouth is on your neck now, open and hot and desperate. That your shirt is halfway off. That his hand is trailing down your stomach like he wants to stop, but he won’t. You clutch at him. Breathe his name again. Softer this time. His fingers slide down. Under and between. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your underwear, his touch unsteady. You bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut.

“This isn’t happening,” he says.

But it is and you don’t stop him. You lift your hips slightly when his fingers push beneath the waistband of your underwear. His touch is tentative at first—like he’s afraid of what it means. Of what it confirms but you gasp when his knuckles brush your clit and it makes him curse softly into your skin. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.

“God, I shouldn’t be doing this.” But his fingers slide lower. Part you gently. Find you wet and hot and aching. You choke out a sound you can’t contain and he swears again—this time more broken, more desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he says but he doesn’t pull away. His hand just trembles there, cupping you like you’re something fragile and holy.

“Don’t,” you whisper, barely audible. “Please… don’t stop.”

You feel the shudder roll through him as he starts moving. One finger slipping inside you with a careful drag that makes your breath catch and your back arch. His lips brush your neck, the curve of your jaw then your collarbone. He kisses you like an apology. His other hand grips your hip to steady himself, to keep from shaking apart.

“You’re so—” He cuts himself off. Groans. “Jesus, you’re soft.”

You don’t know what to say. You’re too busy trying not to fall apart. Too consumed by the way his fingers move inside you—shallow at first, then deeper, curling just slightly. Like he’s learning you. Like he’s wanted to know this forever. You cling to his shoulders. He moans when your nails dig in, when your hips stutter up into his hand. He adds a second finger and legs tremble. You don’t speak. Neither does he. The silence is thicker now—hot with breath and tension and restraint. The only sounds are the wet, sinful drag of his fingers inside you and the soft whimper you bite back when his thumb brushes your clit.

“Don’t be quiet,” he whispers. “Not with me.”

Your throat works. “Spence—”

He kisses you, slow and deep while his fingers fuck you. You moan into his mouth, helpless and shaking and he groans in response like he can feel it all over.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You feel—fuck—you feel like everything I’ve been missing.”

You don’t ask if he means her. You don’t ask if he’ll leave after this. You just spread your legs wider and let him break you open. His pace stays slow. Intentional. Like he’s making himself memorize every reaction—every twitch of your thighs, every gasp you make, every time your breath stutters when his thumb circles just right.

“I didn’t come here for this,” he says, barely a whisper.

“I know.”

“I just wanted to talk.” He whispers, “Tell you I’m falling apart.” His fingers push deeper. Your eyes roll back. “And now I’m ruining you,” he breathes.

“You’re not.”

His mouth hovers over yours. “I will.”

But he slows. Slows until he’s barely moving, just the weight of his hand between your legs, his fingers resting inside you like a promise he can’t keep. You try to move your hips. He holds you still. Your breath hitches.

“Don’t,” he whispers, brushing your cheek. “Not yet.”

You stare up at him, eyes wide. Needy. Confused.

“I can’t let you come yet.” he says, voice breaking. Your heart punches your ribs. You nod but it feels like dying. He kisses your temple. Then your lips. Then slowly he eases his fingers out of you. You shudder, clenching around nothing, slick and aching and empty.

He groans when he sees it. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip to keep from begging. His fingers are wet when he pulls his hand away. He stares at them for a moment like he’s not sure if he’s horrified or in awe. You lie there, panting. Legs spread. Still trembling. He looks down at you—your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the way your underwear’s been tugged halfway down your thighs. Then he moves beside you again. Not touching. Not speaking. Just watching you. You feel his stare like a weight. Like heat. You don’t close your legs. You don’t pull your underwear back up. You just breathe. And he does too. Two bodies on the edge of ruin, still pretending there’s a way back. You lie there in the dark, still breathing hard. You can feel him thinking beside you. Like the thoughts are crawling over his skin. The weight of them. The shame. The wanting. You close your eyes. You feel him move—just slightly, just a shift of sheets and then his hand touches your hip again, light as breath. You open your eyes. He’s staring at you. There’s something in his face now—devastated or hollowed out. Like he’s already grieving something that hasn’t happened yet.

���I can’t stop thinking about how warm you were,” he says, voice low and raw. “Around my fingers.”

You don’t breathe.

“You clenched like you didn’t want to let me go.”

Your throat goes tight. You whisper, “I didn’t.”

He swallows. Then his hand moves. Trails down. Tugs your underwear the rest of the way off. You don’t stop him. You lift your hips silently and let him take it. He lets the fabric fall to the floor. Then he’s over you again, slow and tentative like he’s giving you time to push him away. You reach for his shirt instead, pushing it up. He helps you. You watch the lines of his chest appear in the dark—pale skin, lean muscle, a faint tremble in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours.

His mouth brushes yours, softer now. Less hungry. Like he’s afraid of what comes next. Then he shifts back. You hear the metal sound of his belt buckle. The slow drag of his zipper. Your breath catches. When you look down, his pants are halfway down his thighs and his boxers pushed low enough to free him. He’s hard and aching and when he moves over you again, you feel the weight of it drag across your thigh.

He groans, low in his throat. “Fuck. Are you sure?”

You nod, your hand finding his face.

“I should’ve stopped this hours ago,” he says.

You nod again. And then he’s kissing you, slow and deep, while his hand drags up your thigh to part your legs again. You let them fall open beneath him, your chest rising as his hips settle between yours. His cock nudges against you, not pressing in and the feel of it makes your entire body tense.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Your hands grip his waist. He reaches between you, guiding himself. The head of his cock brushes your entrance and you both suck in a breath. He hesitates.

“Last chance,” he whispers.

You whisper, “Please.”

And then he pushes in. Slowly. Carefully. Your body stretches around him, and you feel it in every nerve, every inch of skin. He groans when he bottoms out, burying his face in your neck like he can’t stand the feeling of being inside you without breaking. You gasp. It’s overwhelming—everything. The weight of him. The heat. The stretch. The knowledge that this is him—Spencer. Your best friend. The man you shouldn’t have let through the door. The man you’ve wanted for months. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. He starts to move. Not fast. Not rough. Just steady, dragging his hips back and pressing forward again, slow enough that you feel every inch. You moan—quiet and wrecked and he kisses your cheek like he can’t stand to hear it.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper.

“Do what?”

“Look sorry.”

He breathes hard.

“Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

His hips falter. He looks at you—really looks—and for a second, you see everything in his face. Pain. Longing. Guilt. And something like love. He kisses you again. This time, it’s nothing like sorry. He kisses you again. Slower now. Less careful. His mouth parts yours like he’s tasting a secret he’s wanted for months. There’s no more hesitation. No more apologies. Just his cock buried deep inside you, his hand cupping your jaw, and the slick drag of his hips as he starts to move again. It’s devastating. The first few thrusts are slow but heavier than before—like he’s finally stopped pretending he can hold back. You feel the rhythm build, the heat spreading low in your belly again, the quiet desperation in the way your name catches on his tongue. Your hands roam his back, nails dragging down the curve of his spine. He moans into your mouth, fucking you deeper, and you swear the bed shifts with every grind of his hips. You feel full. Stretched. Claimed.

You breathe his name. “Spencer—”

He shudders. “Say it again,” he whispers.

“Spencer.”

He kisses you harder, hips stuttering like it does something to him—like hearing it out loud pulls him apart. “I’ve thought about this,” he pants. “Every time you looked at me like that—God, I wanted to know what your pussy felt like.”

Your breath catches.

“Say something,” he groans. “Tell me you wanted it too.”

“I did.” You drag your nails along his side. “I wanted it so bad I couldn’t sleep.”

He groans low in his throat. His hand slides under your thigh, hitching your leg up to his waist and the new angle makes you gasp—his cock presses deeper, perfect, right against the place that makes you see stars.

“There,” you whimper. “Right there—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He grinds into you with that exact pressure, again and again, his pace slow but relentless. You can hear how wet you are now, how every thrust sounds obscene in the quiet room. His skin is hot against yours, flushed and damp, and when he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, mouth dragging hot over your chest. “You’re so tight. I can feel you squeezing me.”

You whine, overwhelmed. He fucks you deeper in response, his rhythm just a little faster now, his teeth grazing the swell of your breast as he sucks a bruise into your skin. You’re close again. You know it. And this time, you’re not going to stop.

“Please,” you gasp. “I need—Spencer—please—”

“Shhh.” He kisses your cheek, your mouth, your throat. “I’ve got you. You gonna come for me?”

You nod, nearly sobbing. “Yes—please.”

“Rub your clit,” he whispers. “I want to feel you while you do it.”

Your hand moves between you, fingers finding the slick bundle of nerves he left aching. You circle it fast, the way you know you need, and when he thrusts in again, your whole body clenches. The orgasm hits like a wave—sudden and devastating—your legs shaking, your cunt spasming around his cock. You cry out, half his name and half something wordless, and Spencer groans like he’s the one falling apart.

“Jesus—fuck—fuck—” His voice breaks. “That’s it. That’s it, baby. Squeeze me just like that—”

You barely come down before he’s slamming into you harder, chasing his own edge now. His thrusts lose rhythm, grow messier, deeper. His hand fists in the sheet beside your head. He’s close.

“Inside,” you gasp, dizzy from the high. “Come inside—please—”

He buries himself to the hilt and comes, body shaking above you, teeth sunk into your shoulder to stifle the noise. You feel it—hot and thick and pulsing—deep inside, and it makes your eyes roll back. He groans again, lower this time and collapses against you. Neither of you speaks for a long time. You just breathe. You’re still joined. His cock softening inside you, your thighs sticky with slick and come, your fingers tangled in his hair like if you let go, you’ll fall back into the real world too fast. Spencer presses his face to your neck. His breath is warm against your skin. His heartbeat is racing.

And when he finally lifts his head to look at you—eyes soft, mouth flushed—you don’t see regret anymore. You see the same thing in yourself. The silence stretches. Not awkward. Not yet. Just heavy—like everything in the room has slowed to match the weight of what’s between you. Spencer doesn’t move at first. His body’s still draped over yours, flushed and trembling, and you can feel his heart pounding where his chest rests against yours. Your fingers are still in his hair. You don’t remember threading them there, but you don’t pull away now. The room smells like sex and sweat and heat. You’re still joined. Still full of him. Still bare. It should feel like too much. Instead, it feels like air for the first time in weeks. When he finally shifts, it’s gentle. He rolls onto his side and brings you with him, guiding your head to his chest like he needs you there. His hand spreads low on your back, fingers splayed wide like he’s trying to cover as much of you as he can. He’s quiet, breathing slow, like he’s listening for something beneath your skin.

You don’t speak right away. It’s too fragile, too new and too fucked to name. You press your face into the curve of his collarbone and let the warmth settle. His other hand moves slowly up your spine, soothing. Anchoring. His lips brush your hair.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You nod. Your voice comes out hoarse. “Yeah.”

He swallows hard. You feel the motion under your cheek. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have called you tonight.” he confesses.

“I’m glad you did.”

Silence again. You shift slightly, just enough for him to slip out of you. The loss is a dull ache. Your thighs are sticky, sore. You don’t care. You stay wrapped around him anyway.

He kisses your forehead. “You don’t regret it?” he asks.

You hesitate. But only for a second. “No.”

A quiet exhale leaves him, like your answer loosened something in his chest. He holds you tighter. “I don’t,” he says. “I should. I know I should. But I don’t.”

You nod against him, eyes burning. You don’t want to talk about Maeve. About what this means. About what it can’t mean. So you don’t. You lie there instead, tangled together in the dark, every inch of you humming with the imprint of him. His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, never stopping, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You tilt your head up. He looks down. There’s no guilt in his eyes. No apology. Just something raw and quiet and infinite. He kisses you again. It’s slower this time. Sweeter. Like it’s just for you. Like it doesn’t have to survive the daylight.

You whisper into his mouth, “Stay.”

His brows knit.

“I don’t mean forever,” you add. “Just… today.”

He nods once. “I was going to,” he says.

You reach for the blanket. He helps pull it over both of you, and when you curl back into him, his arms come around you without hesitation. You listen to his breathing until it slows, until his body goes heavy with sleep. You lie awake a while longer. You don’t think about the day. You don’t think about the mess. You just listen to the way he murmurs your name in his sleep like a prayer. Like it’s a sin he’s not done committing.

[nsfwreider]

Stop bc I’ve had a little brainworm lately. Hotch’s really young ex wife bringing the kid(s) to Aaron bc he was late for a drop off or something and Spencer absolutely falling for her ⁉️⁉️ it’s been eating me alive (love your work mwah mwah)

part two tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. not really infidelity. p in v smut. a/n: anon, you are crazy. i love that for us. (thank u for reading my work ilysm) i hope u like this, even if it's just short :) requests are open!

He feels like he’s going insane. Scratch that. He’s actually insane.

He’s sequestered himself in the men’s restroom, tugging on his cock, biting the sleeves of his sweater so that he won’t make a noise, all because you smiled at him.

His boss’ wife. His boss’ young ex-wife.

Distinction is important in his line of business.

Spencer would love to blame you for putting him into this predicament, but that would be pointless.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. Since you last dropped Jack off at the BAU. Ever since your divorce with Aaron (the team didn’t even know he was married), you would show up to the office on their slower days to drop Jack off for the weekend.

Spencer doesn’t know much about you, only that you were once Jack’s nanny. You’ve been working for Aaron since Haley, Aaron’s ex-fiancee and Jack’s birth mom, decided that she wasn’t ready to be a mother yet.

Aaron once confided in him. You married Hotch when Jack was barely 3. You’ve always been ‘mom’ to the little boy. Aaron regrets marrying you so hastily.

You were around Spencer’s age. The fights leading up to your divorce started and ended with Aaron’s guilt for holding you back. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care about your marital disputes since it led to him knowing you.

“Fuck,” he whimpers. White cum making his fingers sticky. Tucking himself back into his pants, he unlocks the bathroom stall with a cough, as if to hide the depravity that just took place. He quickly washes his hands, thrice. And then he leaves the men’s room, nearly running into a body in his haste.

Strong hands steady exposed shoulders. The skin under his warm hands, soft and smooth. It was you. He had just finished touching himself to the thought of you, and here you are now. Served to him on a golden platter.

“Hi, Spencer. I was just on my way out.”

“Did you talk to Hotch?”

You look up at him with a quizzical brow. He gulps down the thoughts looking into your eyes brought to his brain.

“Not really, no. I’m just here to drop Jack off for the weekend.”

He nods, and then you start to leave. He hesitates for a while, begging for the words to leave his tongue on their own. You beat him to the punch.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you free this weekend?”

You fill his hands so perfectly. Your hips, your thighs, your breasts. Everywhere he cups and squeezes, as his hips smack thunderously against the flesh of your arse. You have your cheek pressed onto the mattress, taking everything that Spencer gave you. His cum, his sighs, his praise. The way he moans and mumbles your name like a prayer.

He’s your ex-husband’s co-worker. You swear you’ve read a cheesy erotica of this plot somewhere.

But that didn’t stop you from pulling him into your bedroom. Practiced hands undoing his dark blue tie. His longer fingers lifting the skirt of your sundress.

“You’re so good. You fuck me so good,” you can’t help but moan.

Spencer’s hand runs up and down your back, taking your hair and tightening a fist against your nape.

“You take me so well,” his following praise gets cut off by your phone ringing. Spencer slows his thrusts, hips moving until you’ve taken him to the base, and he continues his ministrations in tiny grinds of his pelvic bone against your clit. Your mind goes hazy at each tantalizing grind of his hips.

Your phone continues to ring. You blindly stretch out an arm to grab for it. Without looking at the caller ID, you answer the call. “Hello?”

Spencer watches from above you, watches you move your cheek and tilt your head so that you can make eye contact.

“Aaron?” you say with an almost whimper.

Spencer continues the grind of his hips against your wet and throbbing clit.

“Yeah, I can get Jack. Twenty minutes?”

Spencer almost hisses at the thought of the inevitable.

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

You hang up the call. Before the phone lands on your pillow, Spencer grabs you by the hips and maneuvers you to lay on your back, all while keeping his cock firmly inside you.

“We have to stop,” you say. “I think you have a new case.”

And then, his phone rings.

He puts two fingers into your mouth while he picks up the call with his other hand.

“This is Reid.”

“Reid? We have a case. A string of homicides in Atlanta.”

He hums, watching you slobber over his fingers.

“Reid?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Y/N with you?”

Spencer feels the way your pussy clenches around him.

“Yeah,” he admits.

Hotch is quiet on the other side of the line.

“Don’t be late. We leave in an hour.”

[nsfwreider]

and then, just like clockwork.

part one tags: spencer reid x fem! reader. aaron hotchner x fem!reader. not really infidelity. p in v smut. they need couple's therapy. a/n: i could't sleep and churned this lil guy out. i hope u like it :) requests are open!

Aaron Hotchner has always been a man of logic. Pragmatic almost to a fault; an armor built over the decades. You, on the other hand, always lead with your heart. It was one of the things that made you so irresistible to a man like Aaron Hotchner. So, in some twisted way, he can understand how you found yourself in this situation. What baffles him the most is how he got into it himself.

Seated on an armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand. Trying so hard to ignore the pulse of his cock. Hot and heavy, hard under the tent of his slacks. He can’t help but watch. Mesmerized by the way your hips move. Hypnotized by the push and pull, the slide in and out of Spencer’s cock into your glistening pussy.

He can see it from where he’s seated. At the foot of the bed, sheets a wedding gift from your aunt. He can see the way you grind down onto the man and cock giving you your pleasure. He can see the way Spencer’s hands move up and down your body; waist and hips, a loving caress that makes this situation even more debauched than he’d expected.

Aaron takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn down his throat stung, almost like the scratches you left down his back earlier on.

He can’t remember when this whole thing started. He doubts you nor Spencer did either. All he could remember was walking into your apartment one night, finding you on your knees by the couch, Spencer’s cock in your mouth. He couldn’t remember why he went to your home in the first place. He can still picture the way Spencer looked up at him, eyes glazed over in a haze of lust, mouth parted and cheeks red. He remembers the way his cock throbbed at the sight.

And now, he continues to spectate. In your marriage bed, he always did his best to bring you your pleasure. It always got him off, seeing your post-orgasm glow. He loved to pleasure you. He never knew how much he’d love to see another man pleasure you.

“Aaron,” you moan, still riding Spencer’s cock like you needed it to live. Spencer lets out his own little moan. “Kiss me, please. Aaron,” you’re cut off by another moan. Eyes closing from the pleasure, Spencer’s lips and tongue lavishing attention on one of your nipples.

Aaron puts down his glass, tugging his underwear down his hips and thighs before crawling on the bed. Hands and knees dent the mattress as he moves towards you. Your back to his chest, his knees pressing against Spencer’s thighs. Aaron’s hands move to grip you around your jaw and chin, tilting your neck up so you can meet his lips. He kisses you like this; your neck bent backward, lips upside down against his. Spencer moans at the way your new position makes your stomach go taut, your stomach and curves defining like a Grecian painting.

Spencer Reid has always been called idealistic. His youth and eagerness made it easy to call him so. His idealism was what had you so drawn to him. He wonders what you would say if he confessed. With his back to the bed, he watches the way you lose yourself finding pleasure on his cock. He watches the way Aaron hovers behind you, thick fingers rubbing against your clit.

He always loved to plan and strategize. Concoct up plans for events that may never come to pass. It was a childhood pastime of his. He wonders what you would think if he told you he’s been picturing this exact moment since the day he met you.

He meets your eyes from above him. You have spit painting the corner of your mouth. You smile. And then he knew.

taglist: @aaronnnhotch feel free to send an ask if you wanna be added to my general taglist :)

[nsfwreider]

The Purest Form of Yourself - Priest!Spencer Reid (smut)

Oh boy. This is @hidingsikki fault, and maybe the one of my dark thoughts. My first ever Priest Reid fic and its quite something, oh well, remember: don't like it, don't read it. But please, if you enjoyed reading this, like and reblog. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's parents think that she's possessed by Satan, priest Reid is their last hope. And yet, even though he knows that she isn't guided by the dark Lord himself, the man of God can't help but take advantage of the situation.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected PIV, oral (m receiving), intercourse in a church, religious connotations, dom!Spencer

Pairing: Priest!Spencer Reid x fem!reader (2k words)

header by @hidingsikki

Tears glistened on her cheeks as the car kept driving past the all too familiar houses. She had tried to rip herself free from her mother’s grasp, had tried to push her weight against the car door, hoping to escape before her life would forever be changed, though without any luck. (Y/n) could still hear her father’s words ringing in her ears, how he had forced her out of her room, telling her about the only man that could save her from Satan’s grasp.

“The devil’s inside of you, I can feel it, you need to be pure again. Priest Reid shall free your innocent soul.”

(Y/n) hadn’t been able to stop her laughter from bubbling out of her, unsure if her father was making fun of her or if he was truly planning on dragging her to the town’s church. Sounds that had only added more confusion to her parents mind, unsure if the demon was communicating with them. The second her father had grasped (y/n)’s wrists, she had known that there was no way out, all because of the past weeks and the darkening thoughts stretching themselves through her system.

Ever since winter had rolled upon the country, her mood had been dampened, unable to voice out what brought tears to her eyes, unable to voice out the pain she was feeling. Perhaps she should have kept this from her parents, perhaps she should have acted as if nothing was wrong, and yet she hadn’t found the strength to do so, hoping that they’d help her.

“Please, turn around, there’s nothing wrong with me.” Sobs rumbled through her as (y/n) spoke up, groaning in pain. Her throat was sore, tight from the pressure her screams had pressed onto her vocal cords, making her parents believe that something darker was housing in her flesh cage. Neither her mother nor her father dared to reply, eyes focused on the church ahead, praying to God that the priest would help them.

(Y/n) could make out his frame from afar, standing in front of the wooden building with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Priest Reid wore a black, simple suit, the golden cross he usually carried around with himself dangled from his neck like a pendant swinging in front of one’s eyes. For the past months she had found herself growing rather fond of the handsome man, imagining hours spent together, with her hands buried in his curls and her eyes rolling back into her head.

Sinful thoughts she had confessed to after the first night she had made herself cum to the thought of him. The priest hadn’t said much back then, and yet, with a smile tugging on his lips, he had freed her from her sins - very well knowing that he’d claim them soon enough.

The second the car came to a halt, he stepped closer, opening the door (y/n) was pressed against. Strong hands caught her trembling frame, pressing the sobbing woman against his warm chest, “Thank you for bringing her here, I shall take good care of your daughter. You’ll be contacted once she’s freed from Satan’s grasp.”

Her parents didn’t notice how he tightened his grasp on her side, thumb rubbing against the side of her chest, teasing the skin that wasn’t covered by her bra. Her parents also didn’t notice how a slight smile tugged on his lips as his eyes met hers, very well aware that no demon was plaguing her body. Even though the priest knew that she was in no need of being freed from a demon nor Satan, he’d use the situation to his advantage, taking what he had been lusting after for months.

All (y/n) could do was watch her parents leave, not once did they turn back towards her, sparing their daughter one last glance. All (y/n) could do was put her trust in the priest and his guiding touch, hoping that he’d see clearer than her parents. All (y/n) could do was pray that this nightmare was about to be broken by her screams rumbling through her, ripping her from her sleep.

“Come, let’s get you inside.” Tugged towards the church, (y/n) felt herself zoning out for a moment, wondering what he’d do to her, if he’d be willing to listen to her or if he walked the same path like her parents.

The church was dark inside, only a few candles flickered in the distance, flames moved by the silent breeze that stroked along the wooden creation. Priest Ried guided her towards the altar, hand finding her shoulder to push her to her knees. Almost automatically she started praying her Hail Mary, hoping that He was listening. She felt the priest's eyes on her frame, burning through her skin as if she was nothing more than a translucent veil.

“You see, an exorcism takes time, time I don’t have for a woman guided by her primal instincts, by her needs and urges. Your body calls out to me, it may be guided by a demon sent from Hell, begging for the forbidden release, though you’re not guided by Satan. I shall satisfy your needs so you can return to your purest form.” Priest Reid stared down on her, eyes wandering along her frame, the goosebump covered limbs and the cheeks that were still graced by the tears she had cried. Heat brushed through her, urging on the nervousness she felt, unsure if she’d be able to withstand the calling.

“What will you do?” Her voice trembled, wondering if he’d reply to her questions, if he’d even grace her with his sincere attention. (Y/n) could only watch the priest crouch down in front of her, cold hands reaching for her wrists, binding them together with his black rosary. Distracted by the emotions rushing through her like the river Johannes had baptised the holy Son in, (y/n) didn’t fight against the tight grasp, watching the man rise to his feet once again.

“Let me guide you, do as you’re told and you won’t suffer any longer.” His hands worked on his belt, undoing his black trousers to free his hard cock. (Y/n) no longer found the strength to breathe, she had imagined moments like these for nights on end, and yet she hadn’t thought that it would play out like this. With a fire burning in his eyes. With a devilish smirk tugging on his lips. Without taking no for an answer. “Open your mouth.”

She parted her lips, gasping in surprise as he pulled her closer with his hand finding her scalp, forcing his cock into her mouth. Tears welled up in (y/n)‘s eyes, tears glistening on her skin like the sun that had burnt Jesus’ skin, hanging on the wooden cross for all curious eyes to see. The priest didn’t hold back, he fucked her mouth as if she wasn’t gasping for air, forced his length further down her throat as if this was the only way to set her sins free.

His taste would forever stick to her muscle, a reminder of the dark act he was now pushing her through. Veins pulsed against her tongue, pumping blood through his cock to harden him even further. The moment felt almost rushed, perhaps the man wasn’t trying to overthink what he was doing, scared that God would call him out on the wrongs he was committing.

It was no secret that he was now committing a sin himself, using her position to his advantage, and yet neither (y/n) nor the priest seemed to worry about the what ifs and what may follow. His groans filled the church, louder than the drums of Hell, stronger than the archangels calling. A sin overpowering God’s creations, made to bite itself through his flesh.

“Atta girl, I knew you’d be all set on pleasing your priest, such a greedy mouth, you were made for me.” (Y/n) could only moan around him, sounds vibrating on his skin. Their eyes met - hers glassy, his piercing - the interaction forced him to retreat, at least for a moment. It seemed as if he was about to snap, as if her mouth no longer could satisfy his most primal needs. Without a warning, (y/n) was pulled to her feet, forced to face the wooden cross as her front met the altar.

A single “Amen” left her, wondering if anybody was listening and if they were, if they felt compassion for her.

The priest’s hand pushed her further down onto the wooden table before he ruffled her dress up to her waist. She still had her wrists tied together, hands interlaced as if she was praying to the Heavenly Father. And yet no prayer found itself overcoming her lips, no sounds rumbled through her - besides her moans and whimpers. The man took what he needed, he forced himself into her tightness, not giving her the chance to adjust.

“We will set the darkness inside of you free, you’ll return to the purest form of yourself.” His words did little to soothe the ache stretching itself through her tired body. No longer could she differentiate between right and wrong, no longer could she tell what her mind was trying to communicate. All (y/n) could do was stare at the cross, imagining the suffering Jesus had endured, pushed into darkness so the ones with a pure heart could live on.

“Please, I,” a sob clawed through her. A sob of pleasure, of confusion and of pain. “I’ve been good, I prayed, I ain’t no sinner.” But she was. The mere thoughts she had about the man of God have pushed her into Satan’s open arms, folding beneath his piercing eyes and the strong call. She wasn’t pure, wasn’t innocent, a woman falling for a man’s appearance, giving into the play of power.

She heard him spit into his hand, reaching around her waist to touch her sensitive bundle of nerves. His soft fingertips circled her clit, it had been the missing match to alight the cigarette one needed to set a gas station ablaze. The inferno taking down an entire town within minutes was now burning her flesh, leaving a reminder for weeks on end. Their bodies kept searching one another, cock pushed deeper and deeper into her.

There was no escaping, no chance to avoid the eventual release.

Her walls fluttered around him, clenching his cock to keep him close. Any moment now she’d let go, guided by her exhaustion, hoping that the priest would allow her to rest. The man’s pace began to falter, adding more strength to his thrust to push them both over the edge. A simple “Cum” left his parted lips, pushing (y/n) into the soaring waves of her orgasm.

The heavenly feeling swapped through her like the wine Jesus and his followers had poured down their throats, filling their every vein. Priest Ried fucked her through her high, allowing her to call out his name till her voice lost its strength. Only then did he give in, he pulled out of her before he imprinted himself on her behind, leaving his stain with a smirk tugging on his lips.

“You’ll never be innocent, nor shall God ever forgive you for lusting after a man made to spread His words. From now on you shall follow me, from now on you shall bow to my every command.”

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

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[nsfwreider]

In the wise words of Miranda Bailey:

“This man is… a whore.”

Loved every letter of it. 🤍

Hi author, can you write one where soft Dom Spencer (our beloved) is needy after work and tries to distract reader while she's cooking?

Heat of the Moment

warnings/notes: I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have the energy to write smut but I will write the build-up scene to it. So suggestive content (MDNI) with a sprinkle of fluff and a whole lot of Spencer being horny. (This is also very self-indulgent because I fucking love mac and cheese, and if any of you hate cheese in general, I’m afraid we can’t be friends)

Cooking isn’t exactly your best skill. Just follow the recipe, they say, and you do, although following step-by-step instructions isn’t the same as having a natural knack for it. No matter how closely you measure the spices or time in the oven, something always seems a bit off. A little bit overcooked. A little bit burnt. But Spencer, bless your boyfriend’s heart, never complains.

“What smells so good?”

You look over your shoulder to see him strolling into the kitchen, still in his work clothes. Loose dress pants, rolled-up sleeves, top buttons undone. The tie you help him put on this morning is missing.

“You don’t always have to do that, you know?” You say as you turn back toward the stove. You stir the creamy, slightly lumpy mac and cheese, the thick sauce clinging to the pasta in a way that looks almost perfect, if not for the slightly scorched edges.

“Do what?”

“Pretend it’s amazing,” you reply with a sigh. “I know it’s not.”

You feel his presence behind you. “I’m not pretending.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

He peers over your shoulder. “I don’t need to. I trust you.”

“You trust me too much.”

“Just as much as you do,” he explains, placing his hands on your waist. “You trust me too, don’t you?”

“Trusting you to carry a gun isn’t the same as trusting your taste buds,” you reply, slightly leaning into him. Your back lands perfectly against his chest. “One requires skill, the other… a strong stomach.”

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze as his laughter fills the small space between you. You like his laugh, it’s warm and infectious. It makes you smile even though you’re feeling a bit self-conscious about your cooking.

“Well, I’ve survived both so far. So I think I’m doing pretty well.”

You stare at the pot, watching the mac and cheese bubble slightly. “What do you think the chances are of us getting food poisoning from this?”

Spencer gently pulls your hair out of the way, his fingers lightly brushing against your neck. He leans in and presses a soft kiss. “I’d say the chances are low,” he murmurs. “You're always too hard on yourself.”

You laugh softly, leaning back into him. “Maybe, but I just don’t want to mess this up.”

His hands start to wander, tracing gentle patterns on your waist before sliding around to your stomach. “You won’t mess it up,” he assures you. He lets his lips trail down your neck. “And even if you did, I wouldn’t mind.”

You feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. “Really?”

“It’s already good because you made it.”

You can feel his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping as he lingers on the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Spencer, are you trying to distract me?”

You can practically feel the smile on your skin. He shakes his head, the slight roughness of his stubble brushing against your neck as he murmurs, “Not distracting, just appreciating.”

His denial is playful, his tone light, but his actions tell a different story. His hands continue their exploration, now slipping underneath your shirt. His palm is warm and slightly rough as it makes contact with your skin. He traces gentle patterns along your stomach, moving so slowly and as if he’s savoring every inch.

You feel your pulse quicken, each beat echoing in your ears. “Baby…”

“Hm?” he hums, and your breath catches when his thumb brushes just below your breasts.

“If you keep this up, there might not be any food for dinner.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

You try to focus on the pot, where the sauce has begun to form a thicker layer at the bottom, slightly burned and sticking. But his touch makes it difficult to concentrate. "Unless you plan to feed us on kisses alone, I think we might need something more substantial too."

Spencer laughs softly, a low rumble of amusement that you can feel as much as hear. "I don’t know, kisses for dinner sounds pretty tempting."

"I’m afraid it won’t satisfy our hunger."

"I think it’ll satisfy mine just fine."

“Oh my god,” you gasp, catching on to the deeper meaning in his words. You tighten your grip on the wooden spoon as you resume your stirring. “Stop distracting me.”

If anything, he clings to you even more. He rests his chin on your shoulder as his hands travel down your stomach again, only this time, they linger at the hem of your shorts. His fingers play with the fabric, teasingly tugging at it.

“Spencer.”

“What?”

And then you feel it, the unmistakable pressure of his arousal pressing against your back. It’s a firm, urgent presence, a hard line that aligns tightly against your own curves. The hardness of it distracts you even further.

“You’re making it really hard to cook,” you murmur, trying to sound stern but the breathiness in your voice betrays your growing distraction.

He slips a hand inside the waistband of your shorts while the other trace along your stomach. “I think we should forget about cooking for a while.”

“You know we can’t do that,” you try to argue, even as your hips instinctively follow his touch. “We need to eat.”

“But we could be doing other things,” Spencer whispers, nipping gently at your earlobe. His teeth graze your skin lightly before his lips close around it, tugging softly. The sigh you let out is shaky and breathless. The idea is tempting, dangerously so. The persistent heat from his hand, now tracing idle circles on your underwear, isn’t helping your focus.

“Aren’t you—” your grip on the wooden spoon loosens when he slips a finger over the waistband. “Aren’t you the one who… always says how our bodies need… what was it again?”

Spencer nods. “The human body need about 2,000 calories a day to function properly. But,” he continues, slipping another finger in. “We also need affection and touch for our emotional well-being.”

You swallow hard. “What else do we need?”

“Pleasure. Lots of it.”

You don’t know whether you should be laughing or not. His boldness is both shocking and strangely amusing. Spencer isn't the type to be straightforward when it comes to sex, but when he is, it's always intense. He's clingy, he craves attention, and even when his cheeks flush with embarrassment, it doesn't stop him. It hasn't stopped him in the past, and it's not stopping him now.

Your mind scatters as he starts pressing himself harder, slightly grinding behind you. And when he adds another finger in, then followed by another until all of his five fingers dive into your underwear, you know you’re already too far gone. You let go of your grip on the wooden spoon before it clatters inside the pot, reaching down to hold his arm to stop him.

“Fine. Fine. You win.” You breathe out heavily as you gently pull his hand out. “We should at least turn off the stove first.”

He grins, pulling away to turn off the burner. “There. Now, where were we?”

You finally turn to face him, your hands finding their way to his shirt. You grip onto the material. “I think you were about to prove a point about pleasure.”

His response is a soft laugh before his lips meet yours. He’s gentle when he touches you. He always is. His hands slides around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. You let your hand trail over his chest, up, up, up, until your fingers find the soft curls of his hair.

When he finally pulls away, he's smiling from ear to ear. "I think that's proof enough, don't you?"

You smile back, breathless and flushed. "Maybe," you reply, your fingers gently tugging at his hair. "But I might need a bit more convincing."

His grin widens, and he leans in again, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, "I can do that."

You can feel his hands tightening around your waist as he begins to kiss you again, deeper this time. It's all teeth and tongue, raw and hungry. The forgotten dinner on the stove barely registers in your mind. But with his hands and lips distracting you, you find it hard to worry about anything else.

[nsfwreider]

The Art of Film.

Spencer's wears his FBI vest and bodycam while he fucks you. 

Warnings: Soft/Hard Dom Spencer, sex tape, uniform kink, praise, pet names, degradation, degrading names, slapping, riding, missionary, mentions of masturbation, creampie, cunnlingus, cum swallowing, one mention of stomach bulging. 

WC: 3.7K

You're laying on the bed naked as you look up at Spencer. His large figure was looming over you, hair messy and clad in his FBI vest and usual clothing. And most importantly, on the side of his chest laid a small black bodycam. 

After showing and telling just how much you loved seeing him in uniform, and also prompting about how you two should record yourselves having sex one day, of course being the genius he was, found the perfect way to do both.

Spencer’s face and ears flushed red as they always did when you two were intimate, but he couldn't help but smile despite it all. He moved closer slowly and kneeled down next to you. He held his palm over the lens and leaned over as he looked down at you and spoke softly. 

"Are you alright, baby? Do you still want to do this?"

He was incredibly gentle and had this sincerity about him that made it hard for you to feel scared at all by the situation, but it didn't get rid of your nerves.

Wordlessly, you nod. As you look at him, your eyes are full of love and trust for him. You were nervous of course, but only the two of you would ever have access to the footage, and the thought helped you calm down a bit as you reminded yourself this was only for the two of you. 

He could see your emotions in your eyes despite your lack of words, and it filled him to the brim with a sense of warmth and love for you. He knew you trusted him completely, and his sense of  responsibility and protectiveness for you only grew. He leaned forward and kissed you gently on the mouth. He pulled back for a moment to look at you, then gave you another slow, long kiss.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you quickly melted into the kiss. Your arms were at their sides, and your fingers curled into the soft material of the blanket underneath your bare body.

He moved his hand behind your head and gently held it in place while his other hand rubbed your back slowly. He leaned a bit harder into the kiss, not enough to hurt you or push you down but enough to make you feel his comforting weight. He moved his head around to the side of your neck and started giving little soft nips to the side of your neck near the pulse.

Dropping your jaw slightly in a soft moan, your hands reach out to gently grab at his strong shoulders, as if to ground yourself as the kisses on your neck quickly become intoxicating.

Your nails scraped against the solid fabric, and it only turned you on further that he actually agreed on wearing his work wear to fuck you. 

Your noises made his head tilt back as his eyes closed and he let out a soft sigh of contentment. He continued to kiss your neck for a short while longer before pulling back and looking down at you once more, his tender eyes locked onto yours. 

"Are you ready?”

Swallowing, you nod before speaking. 

"Y-Yes.."

You said softly as you stared into his eyes.

He kept looking down at you for a moment longer before he slowly sat up straight. He adjusted the camera over to the middle of his chest to get a better angle on you as he kissed your forehead and whispered one more time, a little louder this time so the bodycam could get a better pick up. 

"Thank you, pretty girl.”

As he pulled away from you, you almost immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours. But you watched with lust filled eyes as his hands moved down to his belt. His gaze never left you, and neither did the camera’s.

Staring down at you and your body, all he could think about was how beautiful you were. This was the perfect moment as far as he was concerned, and he wanted to savor every second of it, even if he’d be able to watch this back later. 

Maybe he’d be on a too long business trip and missing the warmth of your body pressed against his and the way you felt so tight and wet around him. And maybe it would drive him crazy to not touch himself to the thought of you. And maybe, just maybe, he’d fuck his fist as his eyes struggled to stay put on the screen as he watched his cock pass in and out of that beautiful cunt of yours. 

Spencer undid his belt slowly before moving it to the side. He took it in his hand and gently set it on his desk before moving his hands to the buckle of his pants. 

When he undid them, you watched with curious eyes as he didn’t take them off. Instead, he just unzipped them enough so that the front of his underwear was exposed, and his thick bulge peeked through. You looked up at him and bit your lip when you realized he didn’t plan on undressing.

Having him fully dressed while you were completely bare only pushed you further into submission.

A slow smile spread across his face as he watched you react like that. He knew it was a little unfair of him in a way, but it just made his heart beat quicker, and his cock fill faster. He looked back down at you and noticed you were so still that he was almost afraid you might be holding your breath. 

"You okay?"

You eagerly nod and subconsciously spread your legs wider, feeling the silky material of the blanket underneath your skin. Seeing your hips and legs move like that, god, he knew at that moment his heart would never stop thumping as long as he was lucky enough to be with you. 

"Good girl. You're so beautiful.."

A warm blush covers your face, and your eyes quickly flicker down to his underwear, his hands absentmindedly pulling his heavy cock out of its confines to expose himself as his gaze never tore from you.

"Look at you.."

Spencer cooed, not able to help himself. The hand that freed himself from his boxers wrapped around the base of his length and squeezed once, and your mouth practically watered when you saw a small runner of clear fluid spill from his trip

"So beautiful.." He said again, his voice trembling just a little from all the feelings he had for you being so overwhelming. You look up at him with pleading eyes for a moment before he’s walking over to the other side of the bed and sitting down. His strong legs part slightly as he motions you over to sit on his lap. 

“Come here, baby. You’ll look so perfect being split open for the camera..” 

You swallow before wordlessly nodding and lifting yourself from the bed and going to place yourself on his thighs. His hands go to your hips as if by instinct to hold you down. His eyes continue to drink you in, taking in every inch of you, every movement you make, and ever angelic sound you let out.

"God.." He says with a groan, closing his eyes for a split second to take a deep breath to calm himself.

As you settle into his lap, the rough material of his pants against your bare skin makes you shiver, before you look down at the camera. It had a perfect view of your entire body as you straddled his hips. 

His dick was pressed right up against your stomach, and he was so long that from where it stood next to you, it was all the way past your belly button. Swallowing at the sight, you grab lightly onto the hard material of the vest, and you lift your hips so you’re hovering over his leaking cock. The heat radiating off of him and his deep scent surrounding you has your head spinning.

Your body is trembling as you slowly lower yourself on his length, feeling the blunt head force its way through your tight lips. Both of his hands are planted tightly on your hips, helping you sheath himself fully into you. 

“There you go, baby.. Doing such a good job, aren’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his shaft breaches your hole, splitting you open just as he had said. Spencer licks over his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth and looking down at where he’s almost entirely buried in your soaked cunt. 

He lets out a soft grunt at the tightness that surrounds him, and looks up at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. His voice sounds breathless as he moans and speaks.

“Almost there, princess..” 

And he has to stop himself from thrusting his hips up just the slightest bit more to push the rest of his painfully hard cock into you. 

Your breasts are in direct view of the cam, and as you lower yourself more and more, you’re almost face to face with the lens. It captured every moan and sigh that left your lips, and just how disbelieved you really looked, even if it had only been a few minutes. 

It was a shame it wasn’t filming him, because he looked better than a dream right now. When your eyelids peeped open, you took in just how beautiful he looked.

He was breathing heavily and his constraint was slipping by the second. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed every time you involuntarily clenched around him, and god did you wish you could keep that sight to you forever. 

When you finally adjusted around him enough to move, you looked up at him with pleading eyes, and he immediately nodded back to you. 

His fingers gripped into the soft flesh of your hips, and slowly lifted you up his cock. When he looked down, a groan left his lips as he saw just how slick you were. You were so soaked that his entire shaft was coated in your arousal, and some of it was even spilling down to his pelvis. 

“Fuck, baby..” 

Spencer murmured dreamily before he started to bring you back down against him. You felt his tip press a deep kiss to your cervix, and the feeling made you hiccup as you choked on your own whimper. 

“How’s it feel, angel?”

His voice is soft as he strokes his thumb over your skin and lifts you off his cock again. You swallow and shake your head.

“F-Full… Really full, Spence. You’re so big..” 

Your own hips begin to move, wanting to help him as you ride him torturously slow. He sighed as your cunt swallowed him whole again.

“I know, love. I’m sorry..”

And you would’ve laughed if not for the searing hot length molding you around him, rendering you utterly breathless. He’s always so considerate to you that he was actually apologizing for how big he was. 

With the shake of your head, you lightly grind your hips down against his, his pelvis brushing into your clit and making you whimper. 

“Love it so much.. You always fill me so well—shit—perfect.. perfect f-for me..” 

A moment-long beat passes as he goes still, his hands no longer helping you ride him, and his chest no longer heaving. He just looks up at you in a gaze mixed with adoration and shock as his hands move up to your waist and grapple tightly at the plush skin. 

You let out a short yelp as Spencer grabs ahold of your waist and flips you down against the bed. It’s like a switch had been flipped inside of him, discarding his previous sweet and caring personality in an instant. His eyes darkened as his panting figure started to roughly thrust into you, not giving you another moment to adjust to the new position. 

The camera had a perfect view of your body laid out for him, and the way your cunt eagerly swallowed his cock with each cant of his hips. 

“Fuck.. God.. Look at this pretty little pussy, taking my cock like it's made for.” 

His body leaned forward and down slightly, so the lens captured a direct view of his thick and heavy shaft buried deep inside of you. Only a bit of his base was visible, as well as the shallow bulge of your pelvis and stomach as his member twitched inside of you. 

Your eyes are clamped shut and your mouth is agape as he plows into you with no mercy and speaks to you as if you’re just some fuck toy to him, no longer his girlfriend, not his lover, but an object. 

“That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?” 

He leans back up and his free hand comes up to your face and slaps your cheek, leaving a bruising red mark in its wake. Your head jerks to the side and your eyes are forced open by the rough hit. You look up at the camera first, then him. Both of them are equally as taunting. 

“Eyes on me, you know the rules.” 

His cold and cruel mask slips for a second when the hand that had just slapped you reaches out to cradle your pink twinged cheek, and he strokes his thumb over it. Spencer slows down the push and pull of his hips, and you melt into the touch, but the second you become comfortable, it’s stripped away from you.

When you lean into the large hand, Spencer pulls it back from your face and trades the gentle comforting touch for another brutal slap. Your head is quickly forced to the side and you let out a squeak of pain. 

The merciless thrust of his cock resumed, brushing and bruising your already abused hole. You could feel the burn from just how hard he was fucking into you, but you grit out a moan nonetheless. 

His thighs slap against your ass and his dick drills deep into you, abusing your sweet spot just as he had your face.

And it’s as if he’s absolutely feral now. Spencer’s mouth is never closed for more than a second, his jaw takes comfort in being dropped open as guttural and borderline animalistic groans leave his body. 

He’s fucking you with pure fervor, hips snapping so roughly against you that his balls are bruising the skin of your ass, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your spot was forming around the shape of his weeping tip. 

Your body writhed against the bedsheets and you threw your head back as much as you could when you felt the pressure of your orgasm quickly creeping up on you. With each hump he granted to you, it tugged you closer and closer to release. 

You lean up on your forearms and look up at him with absolutely desperate eyes, just begging for him to make you cum. His thrusts were so hard they were shifting your body up and down on the bed a little each time.

The pleasure soon became so immense it was impossible for you to put off any longer, and you opened your mouth to unintelligibly babble.

“C-Cum.. I-I’m gonna–mmfuck–gonna cum.” 

Spencer practically growled at your words and began to ram into you deeper, gripping your hips tighter and driving that hefty cock of his in and out of your puffy wet walls. 

“You can wait baby, can’t you?”

When you shake your head and throw your head back again, you can hear him let out a deep booming chuckle. 

“Aw, come on. Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me? You can wait.” 

The speed of his thrusts slow down so they’re less frantic, but he still fucks into you deep and calculated, knowing just what to give you and what not to give you. 

Your head lolls to the side for a moment before you crane your neck to get one last look at him. His hair was damp and messy, and quite frankly so was the rest of him. That vest of his only served to make everything hotter and sweatier, and you could see small beads of sweat running down his temples. 

Then your eyes lower down to his arms and hands, the same ones holding you so tightly in place so you don't even think about trying to get away from him. You scan over every vein and inch of skin you can possibly see, and bite your lip to stifle a moan. 

Your last destination to gawk over was that goddamn body camera. It was such a small device, but held so much meaning and thought. Thoughts about all those lonely nights he suffers when work calls for traveling, the same nights he calls you at midnight, breathless and begging you to spread yourself open for him so he can hear you cum. Those same nights he sloppily fucks his fist, wanting nothing more than for it to be you instead, and spills his arousal down his shaking hands. 

He wouldn’t have to imagine what it was like being with you ever again, not with the footage, at least. Whenever he pleased, he’d be able to watch you split yourself open on his cock, your tight hole sucking him up greedily and gushing around him. And he’d be able to watch your face contorted in pleasure every time he hit that soft spot inside of you, and he’d finally be able to watch you cum around his cock, instead of pathetically imagining it. 

With a throaty moan, you clench your pussy impossibly tighter around him and swallow him deeper than he’s ever been to cream all over his cock. A non stop flow of whimpers and mewls leave your lips as you gush around him, coating his length in a thick layer of arousal as you reach your orgasm. 

All of his late night lonely scenarios of you aren’t enough to do your true beauty justice. He could never get the twist of your face and cross of your eyes right in his mind, but now he wouldn’t have to. 

Despite his previous words, his own mouth drops when he feels you contracting around him and one of his hands leaves your hip to grab the bedsheets by your chest instead, using the leverage to fuck into you stronger and harder. The wetness of your release only spurred him on and made it all the more easier for him to brutally thrust into you. 

“Go-God.. You’re so fucking dirty, baby. Getting off to the thought of being filmed.. Is that what you like? You like being watched?” 

Spencer’s voice is breathless and gravelly as he practically talks himself to his own orgasm. You’d speak if you could, but all that comes out when you drop your lips is a dragged out wanton moan, to which he cockily smirks at. 

His body dips down a bit as to capture the sight that’s making him so dizzy and so so close to breeding you. He points the camera down to where the two of your bodies meet, where a thick white ring of your release starts to pool at the base of his cock, and where his hips are practically drenched in your arousal. 

His length drags in and out of you violently for a few more moments before he’s panting and groaning out like a wild animal, stilling and spilling inside of your soaked pussy. His hips twitch as he expels his release into you, filling you up and making your insides burn with a wild heat. 

The man above you looked entirely wrecked by his orgasm, despite you being the one fucked out of your mind. His breath was jagged and staggering as he tried to swallow his moans, and his hips still didn’t halt inside of you. 

All you could do was lay there and take everything he gave you, as he fucked his cum deeper inside of you, practically forcing your body to take his release and make it your own. Your own chest heaved from the aftershocks of both of your orgasms, and when he finally withdrew himself from you, a rush of cum came flooding out of you, dripping down to your ass. 

The feeling made you cringe, but it wasn’t much longer until Spencer was laying flat on his stomach and spreading your thighs wider. You’re caught off guard for a short moment, then another as you feel his warm and wet tongue prod at your hole. 

The thick muscle drags a long stripe up your soaked cunt, his cum and your arousal pooling on his own tongue as he smiles against your core. His nose nudges at your clit as he licks and sucks up the mixture of releases. 

“It’s a shame a camera can’t capture how good you taste. Could taste you forever.. you’d let me, right baby?” 

One of your hands reaches down to grab at his sweaty hair, and you find yourself writhing and arching against the sheets as he eagerly swallows everything your cunt spills on his tongue. 

Not being able to speak, you settle for a small noise that sounds like it could be a noise of agreement, to which he understands you perfectly. Spencer practically buries his face between your legs and scoops his own arousal out of you before swallowing down the thick viscous fluid. 

When he pulls away, he wipes his mouth and licks over his lips. He leans down to press one final kiss to your clit, in which your entire body jolts, and he sighs. 

You manage to lean up on your forearms once more and look at him with a dazed expression dancing across your face, and you watch as he goes to turn off the camera. 

“How much film does that thing have?” 

Spencer chuckles and takes it off of his vest. He holds it in his hands as he speaks. 

“Well, these cameras run on storage rather than film. And the average capacity for one of these models is roughly over a dozen hours, with a maximum capacity of a few days.. Why, you looking to use it all up?” 

As he rambles, a mischievous grin spreads over your flushed face. You look down to where his cock is still proudly standing, and then back up to him. His lips are slick with his spit and your arousal, the sight making you press your thighs together. Your voice is cocky and teasing as you speak to him.  

“Maybe.. You think you’ve got a dozen hours and a few days left in you, Officer?” 

[nsfwreider]

hi! could u write a fic about is the first time of the reader with spencer helps her and them made love so romantic *im sorry im so romantic 🙈* :)

I luv all ur writings <3

xoxo

(18+) softdom!spencer (i think) x inexperienced!reader. 1.4k

Love was a foreign concept until he met you.

-

Spencer has savored the taste of chocolate, relishing its rich sweetness as it melts on his tongue. He's indulged in the smoothness of honey, its velvety texture spreading across his palate. And amidst his love for the sugar in his coffee—slightly bitter yet abundantly sweet—none of these flavors could compare to the taste of you.

Because you tasted so divine, it was the only way he could describe it. His hands were pressed on the back of your thighs, forcing you to spread your legs further apart as he worked his tongue over you, swallowing every drop of arousal that dripped down to his mouth.

The thought of ever going back to a life without the taste of you seemed absurd now—It was a crime against his senses. So he devoured you eagerly, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony, completely lost in the spell of your flavor and scent. He couldn't get enough, and honestly, he didn't want to stop.

He was hooked, addicted to the way you writhed and moaned beneath him; your fingers tangling in his hair, your desperate pleas, and the way your hips bucked against his mouth. And when he sensed you teetering on the edge of release, he doubled his efforts, sucking and licking with a feverish intensity, intent on drawing out every last drop of your bliss.

It wasn't until you gently pushed his head away that Spencer finally drew back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. You couldn't help but giggle at the satisfied grin that spread across his face, his breathless chuckle mirroring your amusement as he crawled over your trembling body.

"That was..." you trailed off, running your hand up his arm as he settled between your legs.

"Good?"

You sighed.

"Amazing. Splendid. Marvelous."

With a soft laugh, he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "Someone's been hitting the thesaurus."

You swatted at his shoulder playfully. "Shut up and kiss me again."

The smile on his face widened into a grin as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin before capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. He pressed himself closer to you and the unmistakable sensation of his cock brushing against your clit made you gasp in surprise.

"You're so perfect," he muttered, slowly grinding his length along your wet folds. He fought the urge to take you right then and there, but your comfort was his priority. He needed to make sure this was what you wanted. "Are you sure you're ready?"

You stifled a sigh. While you appreciated his concern, it was starting to get on your nerves, after all, it was just sex... You might be inexperienced, but how difficult could it be?

"Mmhm," you answered, though your voice came out a pitch higher than you intended. "Of course, I am."

He slightly pulled away. "You don't sound so sure."

You stared at him for a moment before finally letting out a sigh.

"Fine, I'm a little nervous, okay?" Biting your bottom lip, you voiced the question that had been weighing on your mind.

"Is it—" you suddenly sighed, or it was more like a moan that escaped your lips as the underside of his cock continued to rub along your wetness. "Is it... going to hurt?"

His expression softened as he reached out to gently cup your cheek. "It might be uncomfortable at first, but I'll be gentle, I promise," he reassured. "We can stop anytime you want."

"I don't want us to stop."

A surge of warmth flooded him at your words, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Then we won't," he promised, slipping his hand between your body. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

You made a noise in the back of your throat as you watched him bring his cock closer, dragging it through your folds before he thrust his hips forward. The sensation was overwhelming and unfamiliar, and you couldn't help but tense up in response.

"Is this okay?" he asked. You nodded, though your breathing had become erratic. Your eyes fell closed as you started to feel him stretching you, the sensation both strange and uncomfortable. It was like your body was resisting him.

"Honey, I need you to relax," he murmured soothingly. "Can you do that for me?"

You winced when you felt him pushing further, a sharp pang of discomfort shooting through you. "S-Spence... it hurts..."

"I know, honey, I know," he whispered, his thumb continuing its gentle caress against your cheek. "Breathe with me."

You opened your eyes, meeting his reassuring gaze. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your racing heart, and he followed suit, matching your rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. Hold.

Breathe.

"Good, that's it," he encouraged softly. "Just like that. You're doing great."

Despite the initial discomfort, you focused on relaxing your body, allowing him to stretch your tight walls. He watched your lashes flutter against your cheek before his gaze dropped between you, taking in the stretch of your cunt, slowly allowing him to press deeper and deeper.

He then buried his face in your shoulder as he sheathed himself completely and you stifled a shocked yelp as you clung onto his shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his skin. You hadn't expected to feel so full, for him to reach that deep.

The room fell quiet, broken only by the steady rhythm of your breathing and the faint rustle of sheets. He waited patiently, his body pressed against yours, allowing you time to adjust. Then, he pressed a lingering kiss on your collarbone, his lips warm against your skin.

"Tell me how it feels," he whispered. You weren't sure you could form proper sentences, becoming so lost at the feeling of him inside of you. But you managed to take a moment to gather your thoughts.

"It feels... weird," you replied.

He lifted his head from your shoulder. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shook your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips as you stared up at him. He was beautiful like this, pressed against you, cheeks flushed with desire, damp hair tousled on his forehead—his cock finally buried deep inside you.

"You're doing so well for me, you know that?" he said, and the words made you sigh in response as his hips moved slightly back before rolling back into you, causing you to close your eyes with a quiet gasp the same time he let out a groan.

Something shifted after that. The air crackled with electricity. The blood in your veins pumped a little faster and your breathing deepened, each inhale filling your lungs with the heady scent of him. With growing urgency, your hips began to buck forward, eager to meet his slow, deliberate pace.

"Th-That feels good," you couldn't resist whispering to him. The initial pain you had felt had quickly faded, replaced by a rush of pure, hot pleasure that overwhelmed your senses.

"Do you think I can go faster?" He whispered, and you could hear the slick noise as he thrust his cock into your dripping walls. "Can you take it?"

A breathless yes escaped your lips and it was enough for him to get lost in you completely. His lips found their way to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin as he quickened his pace. The sensation was overwhelming, it was too much yet not enough, and all he could do was kiss every inch of your skin and tighten his grip on your body.

Spencer never understood the term making love, for love itself had often felt like a distant concept to him. But with you in his arms, nothing else seemed more fitting, it was as if you were two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together.

He now realized that love wasn't something to be analyzed, it wasn’t something his big brain could understand—it was meant to be felt, deeply and profoundly, and his love for you was as natural as the beating of his own heart.

[nsfwreider]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

[nsfwreider]

Sweet agony

After a tragic event, you believed you were unworthy of love. Spencer decided to prove you wrong.

warnings: (MINORS DNI!) fem reader, angst, explicit smut including fingering, unprotected sex

word count: around 3k

a/n: I did a poll the other day about writing angst with a sad or happy ending, most of you wanted a happy one. This is also written for @imagining-in-the-margins New Beginnings writing challenge.

"WHY CAN’T I LOVE YOU?"

The room held its breath as you met his gaze. You observed the glaze in his eyes, the tension in his muscles, and the subtle bobbing of his Adam's apple. The weight of unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, but instead of facing the question, you were surrendering to a different impulse.

Guilt and desire intertwined as you pushed him onto the mattress, letting the chaos in your mind take over. His body yielded to the unexpected force, and for a fleeting moment, you drowned out the unanswered question that lingered like a ghost.

Stress relief. Distraction. No strings attached.

That was what you agreed upon the first time you called him into your hotel room. What went on inside your head that night was a blur. But what stuck with you was the pain—not physical, but a lingering ache that your body still remembered from the way it bled tragically.

Working in law enforcement always came with risks, but being held captive and almost losing your life wasn't something you expected. The memories of the Unsub's touch on your skin, the scar he left behind, continued to churn bile in your throat even months after the tragedy. The repulsive was so strong you needed something else to distract you.

You needed someone else to distract you.

"Don't be gentle," was what you told him after you kissed him for the first time. The shock in his eyes was unmistakable—perhaps it was the rush of you making the move, or maybe it was the unspoken weight in your voice. Questions lingered in his gaze, a curiosity that always surfaced, but you knew how to silence him every time he opened his mouth.

Kiss his neck. Touch his skin. Grind your hips. Tell him how much you want to be ruined.

He hesitated initially, uncertainty clouding his expression, but eventually, he gave in because saying no to you seemed impossible. Despite convincing yourself that he was satisfied with this purely physical arrangement, you couldn't escape the undeniable truth. The hurtful look on his face lingered vividly in your mind after your first night together.

He had reached for you, and you backed away, flinching from his touch. It seemed cruel to deny him in one aspect while satisfying him in another, yet you craved the pain. And despite knowing that using sex as a coping mechanism wasn't the healthiest choice, or how denying his affection hurt him, he still came whenever you called.

He obliged to your needs without fail. He was at your mercy, caught in the complicated web of desire and restraint.

However, tonight was different. You told him to slip into your hotel room around midnight, the usual time you agreed to avoid any prying eyes. He came, as he always did, but there was something distinct in his posture. His eyes carried a deep pain, and when he spoke, you realized you could no longer avoid the inevitable.

"I can't keep doing this," he admitted, his voice breaking when you pulled him towards the bed.

Guilt swept through you but you couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck. Instead of offering an explanation, you remained silent, your lips inches away from his.

"Why won't you let me in?"

He looked at you, eyes filled with a mix of longing and confusion, and the next question escaped his lips like a plea.

"Why can't I love you?"

His body yielded to the unexpected force as you pushed him onto the bed, crawling on top of him. The weight of the moment pressed upon your heart, a heavy ache that mirrored the confusion etched on his face. His eyes, wide and stained with tears, bore into yours. You couldn't escape the reflection of your own glistening eyes, tears threatening to betray the emotions you tried to suppress.

Shaking away the tears, you pressed your body against him and shut your eyes until you felt his soft lips against yours. The softest lips, with the most careful movements, had you moaning into the kiss. The softest lips that had you gripping his shirt in desperation. Those soft, soft lips melded seamlessly with your own, creating a sensation that electrified every nerve in your body.

You had never questioned your state of mind, but this feeling right now, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, was too much to handle. It was confusing and consuming your mind how agony could taste so terribly sweet.

As if sensing your internal struggle, he gently eased your body onto the bed next to him, taking it upon himself to undress you. You quietly watched as he slipped you off your clothes, noticing the way his breath quickened when you were completely bare before him, exposed, vulnerable. His eyes swept along your naked body as he settled back beside you.

The moment you felt his fingers brush your inner thigh, your senses went haywire. Every time he touched you, your body came alive with a burning hot desire. Every time his fingers brushed your skin, electricity surged through each limb.

A gasp fell out your lips when his fingers slipped down your slit and ever so slightly you rolled your hips, begging for more without words. He wasted no time, giving you exactly what you needed as his fingers moved up and down your folds, working you up further.

His fingers finally found your clit and you gripped the bedsheets, feeling his touch ease over your delicate areas with care. He started slowly, massaging small circles into your wet flesh and you gave in the pleasure, warmth bursting throughout your body without warning. Your head fell back, thighs clasping around his hand, and you rolled your hips—whimpering, moaning, so breathless all at once.

He then buried his face in your neck and you felt his warm breath against your skin. His lips trailed down to your shoulder, soft and slow, and when his stubbled cheek brushed against your pebbled nipple, you let out another moan. He tipped his head up, swiping his tongue against it before giving it a slick suck.

You couldn't help but bury your hand in his hair at the sensation. He grunted his approval, opening his mouth just a touch wider and drawing your breast into his mouth. He leaned back with a suck, gaze heavy on yours as his tongue swiped across your nipple at the same time two of his fingers slid into your wet cunt.

Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as your legs fell apart even further. This was why you seek him. He could make you forget everything. In his arms, you could forget the weight of your worries, the complexities of your emotions, and the tangled web of desires and regrets that plagued your mind.

You were sure he felt the same way too. Despite the weight of his previous questions, they seemed to fade into the background, his focus shifted entirely to showering you with pleasure. His fingers began to work faster, drawing out every filthy sound from your body. It didn't take long until you couldn't hold back any longer.

His fingers began working in and out of your tightening walls once again just as his tongue flicked over your nipple. Your eyes screw shut until you were seeing white dots behind your lids while he continued to thrusts his fingers inside you. You were uncontrollably shaking as you took one final, deep breath before the pleasure consumed your entire body.

His name hovered on the tip of your tongue. Calling him Spencer felt too intimate, but calling him Reid felt distant, like a stranger's name upon your lips. In the end, you opted for neither, allowing your pleasure to be voiced through the raw intensity of your moan.

His response was immediate. He pulled his fingers away from your drenched heat but continued to work against your clit. The intensity of the moment consumed you, leaving you breathless as he gave you exactly what you wanted, testing your limits until you could hardly take it anymore and pushed his hand away.

When he finally pulled away from your body, a wave of dizziness washed over you, leaving you reeling in the aftermath of your orgasm. His lips lingered on your breast one last time before he slowly sat up. He started to peel off his clothes, piece by piece, each motion deliberate and unhurried. Your eyes flickered at the way his muscles tensed and flexed with each movement.

His physique wasn't exactly muscular, but the hard outlines of his body still captivated you. Your eyes drank in the sight of him, lingering on the way his chest rose and fell with the quickening pace of his breath, before trailing down the soft expanse of his stomach, tracing the tantalizing trail of hair that led further south.

It was right at this moment you would've pushed him onto his back like you always did, reveling in the thrill of being the one in control. Or sometimes you preferred him taking you from behind so he could pull your hair as he fucked you senselessly.

But tonight you were so captivated by him that when he slipped himself between your thighs, you didn't resist. Instead, you welcomed his proximity, the heat of his body melding seamlessly with your own. You also didn't protest when he pushed his cock inside of your heat, stretching you out, because the sensation had you whimpering and you found yourself holding onto his shoulders.

His motions were slow and gentle. He was careful as if he was still scared of doing something wrong even though this wasn’t your first time with him, but he took his time to enjoy the feeling of your walls clenching around him. And suddenly you wanted to submit to him, you gave in to him completely, letting him take over you entirely as he rocked his hips into you over and over.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder. You gasped as he pushed deeper in this position. He pulled away as he focused on the way his cock slid out of your wet cunt, leaving just the tip around your swollen lips, before thrusting into you again. He exhaled the heaviest breath when you clenched around him so tight that he couldn't help but dig his nails into the soft flesh of your thigh.

Heat flooded every inch of you each time he thrust into you, the tension coiled tighter as you tossed your head back. His eyes trailed between your connected bodies, watching the way his length moved inside you effortlessly with the way your arousal coated him.

"Y-You're so wet," he couldn't help but groan, and you could hear the slick noise as he thrust his cock into your dripping walls over and over again. "God, you feel so good."

His words had you sitting up as you prompted your weight on your elbows, your eyes falling onto the way his cock disappeared inside you. You whimpered when he snapped his hips harshly, burying himself deeper and deeper from each of his thrusts before he picked up his pace. Surges of warmth began to course through you and you couldn't suppress your desperate moans.

And when you could barely stand the pleasure any more, he suddenly pulled your leg off his shoulder before wrapping it around his waist. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, holding you in place while he ruthlessly thrust in and out of you. Your mouth fell open as you were taken aback by his sudden pace, your eyes instinctively glancing over to meet his gaze.

His face hovered close to yours, the beads of sweat glistening against his skin. A furrow creased his brow, and despite the intensity of his movements, there was a raw vulnerability in those warm brown eyes that held you captive, drawing you in with their depth and intensity.

The pleasure and sensation washed over you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your senses as his gaze bore into yours. The more he looked at you, the more overwhelming the sensations became, until finally, in a moment of pure ecstasy, his name slipped past your lips for the first time.

"Spencer," you breathed, the sound barely more than a whisper, but he heard you clearly.

His gaze softened as he listened to you. He listened to your body, the way you tightened around his length, the way you moaned and huffed each time he thrust at the right spot. And because your gaze held an intensity he had never seen before, he couldn't help but utter the three words he had been keeping to himself all along.

"I love you," he whispered, the words escaping his lips in a breathless rush.

Warmth spread in your chest and you finally snapped. Your back arched off the bed, nails digging into his arm, and your legs wrapped tight around his waist, taking every long, deep thrust of his cock until a final gasp spilled from your lips.

As the pleasure bubbled and erupted between your legs, surging throughout your entire, trembling body, he quickly began thrusting himself wildly into you. With his fingers gripping the back of your neck, he held you close to him, resting his forehead on yours as he fucked you through the explosion of bliss.

The warmth swelled to reach every limb before your body was coming down from the high, so beyond sensitive you couldn't even form words. He continued to thrust himself into your dripping, spasming walls with wild force before he finally lost control. He huffed out a groan, his brow creasing and his eyes screwing shut. He rocked into your body so deep for the last time, surrounded by your warmth squeezing him as he finally released inside of you.

He gently loosened his grip on you, allowing your body to fall against the bed seconds before he lowered himself beside you. Normally you would tell him to leave and he would quietly slip back into his clothes. But tonight was different.

Now, you both lay on the bed, side by side, watching each other in the dim light of the room. You could sense his desire to reach out and pull you close, but he held himself back, respecting the boundaries you had set. Yet, despite the distance, you could still feel the heat radiating from his body.

There was so much affection in his eyes, it would normally scare you, suffocate you even, but somehow you felt drawn to him. It was as if the barriers you had carefully constructed around your heart were slowly crumbling away, and you found yourself reaching out.

Your fingers traced his jaw, the rough stubble grazing your skin. His breath hitched for a moment as he watched you with a mixture of wonder and longing. Despite the hesitance in your touch, he welcomed your caress, allowing you to explore the contours of his face.

As your eyes met him, you saw a reflection of your own emotions mirrored back at you, and a wave of vulnerability washed over you. The tears welled up in your eyes, glistening with unspoken words and unshed emotions.

"I don't deserve you," you whispered, the words hanging in the air.

Spencer moved on instinct. He reached out to gently wipe away the tears that glistened in your eyes, his touch a soothing tenderness that stirred something deep within you.

"You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for," he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm. "You deserve everything."

How was he so perfect? How was he able to see the goodness in you when all you could see were your flaws and shortcomings?

As you looked into his eyes, filled with unwavering love and acceptance, you couldn't help but wonder why he continued to stand by your side despite everything. Why was he still here, offering his unwavering support and affection, even when you pushed him away and blamed yourself for the scars that marred your soul?

"Why..." The question lingered on the tip of your tongue, begging to be voiced aloud, but you hesitated, the weight of the words too heavy to bear. "Why do you care about me?"

This time, he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace and you found yourself leaning into him. "I care about you because you matter to me," he replied. "Because you're worth caring about."

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you struggled to contain the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you.

"You deserve all the love in the world, you’re the most deserving person I know," he continued, murmuring against your hair. "I know you’re scared, but you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to be alone.”

A choked sob finally escaped you, the weight of his words hitting you with a force you couldn't grasp. You pushed yourself closer to him, seeking solace in the safety of his arms, letting him pull you even closer as his own voice trembled with raw emotion.

"So let me love you," he whispered, the words a plea and a promise rolled into one. “Please.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you finally allowed yourself to release the pent-up emotions that had been building inside you for so long. You cried for the lost time. You cried for him, for the way you had hurt his heart every time he showered you with affection he offered so freely and yet you had struggled to accept.

But most importantly, you cried for yourself, too—for the person you had been before the pain, for the scars that still lingered beneath the surface, and for the glimmer of hope that still burned within you despite everything you had been through.

With a silent nod against his chest, you finally surrendered as you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, you were worthy of love after all.

.

The prompts I used are along the line of Character learns to navigate their everyday life after a traumatic event, and “You aren't alone in this. None of us are.” They’re kind of altered in this story but I think they have the same depth :)

[nsfwreider]

cherry trees | S.R.

You find Spencer reading some... interesting poetry.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: breeding kink, unprotected piv sex, mentions of ovulation, pregnancy, fingering, d/s dynamic if you squint, nipple play, mating press, spencer reads erotic poetry, aftercare word count: 3.07k a/n: i have no explanation for myself. the poetry in this is all neruda, if you're interested in it. also this is only one interpretation of that poem but it worked for the plot. i still think im bad at writing smut but i liked this idea so much that i had to.

Peering over at your boyfriend from the kitchen, you filled your glasses with the wine that Rossi had gifted you and returned to Spencer in the living room. His nose was buried in a book, which wasn’t new in the slightest. What piqued your interest was the fact that he had covered the book he was reading. Both the front and back covers had been disguised with brown paper, preventing you from reading the title of the book.

You set his wine glass on his coaster before sitting down next to him, keeping your glass in your hands. “What are you reading?” You asked quietly as you tucked your feet beneath you.

“Poems,” he answered, “be done in a minute.” He adjusted his hands so that he was holding the book with one hand and resting the other hand on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing your bare skin with the pad of his thumb.

Surprisingly enough, Spencer was a touchy guy for someone who hated germs, but you supposed he trusted you enough. You lived together, you weren’t married, but the two of you never seemed bothered by that fact. “Take your time,” you responded, Spencer reading poetry took about as long as it took you to look through a pamphlet.

He said nothing in response, completely enthralled in the book.

Standing up, you let his hand fall from your thigh, “I’m going to go change,” you said, leaning over and kissing the top of his head, noting the way he hid the pages of the book from your view.

Shedding your work clothes, you changed into pajamas, throwing a sweatshirt over your tank top before returning to the living room.

Spencer had shifted positions on the couch, “Are you alright?” You asked him, hesitantly walking over to him. From the looks of it, he was on the same page he was on when you left.

He didn’t answer, prompting you to narrow your eyes, and reached over and plucked the book from his hands, “Hey!” He said reaching out for the book, but you lifted it just barely out of his reach, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to stand. Instead, he reached out for you, pulling you down onto his lap so that your legs were on either side of his lap.

You felt it before you saw it. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your core, allowing your gaze to flicker up to his book that you were still holding. “Spencer, are you reading smut?” You asked, amusement clear in your voice.

“Technically, they’re called erotic poems,” he answered very matter-of-factly.

Grinning, you opened the book, “Oh, what a gentleman, reading his porn instead of watching it.” Briefly, you looked at the book, “’Of everything I have seen, it’s you I want to go on seeing’-“

Spencer squeezed your waist, “What will it take for you to stop?”

“’Of everything I’ve touched, it’s your flesh I want to go on touching,’” you continued anyway, leaning over his shoulder so you continue reading the book. Spencer took the opportunity to press gentle kisses up the side of your neck before focusing on the soft spot behind your ear, eliciting a soft moan from you.

You were well aware of the effect you were having on your boyfriend, feeling his dick twitch beneath you as you read to him.

Attempting to ignore the fact that Spencer had slipped his hands underneath your sweatshirt, touching your bare skin only at the sliver of skin between your tank top and your shorts. “’I love your orange laughter. I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.’” You read softly.

“Can I have my book back now?” He asked, his voice was an octave lower and his grip on your waist tightened, prompting you to grind your hips into him, “fuck, baby.”

Once Spencer started cursing, you were already past the point of no return. “What in this book got you so hard, huh? What were you thinking about doing to me?” You pulled away slightly and looked at him, his pupils dilated, and lips parted. “’License my roving hands, and let them go before, behind, above, below.’”

Spencer groaned and you knew you had hit your mark, he reached behind his head, trying to grab the book from your hands, but you stood up and backed away from him. “Stop there, baby. Okay?” He pleaded, causing you to flip the page.

“’I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses,” You whispered, reading intently from the page. You could see why Spencer was so enamored with the words, you found yourself falling into the same rabbit hole. “Is this about...?” You started, but you couldn’t finish it.

He sighed exasperatedly, “I will do anything for you to forget I was interested in this.” He said, looking at you from the other side of the coffee table.

Intently, you eyed the next line in the poem, I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees. “Is this what you want?” You asked him in earnest, “Do you want to do with me what the Spring does with the cherry trees?” You were breathing heavily as he scrambled to stand up. Walking backward away from him, you lifted the book back up and turned to the next page, “’I have scarcely left you, when you go in me, crystalline, or trembling, or uneasy, wounded by me, or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes…’” you gasped as the book was swiftly knocked to the ground.

Backed into the wall, your gaze narrowed as Spencer caged you against the wall with one arm on either side of you. “I asked you to stop reading,” he murmured, ducking his head to attach his lips to your neck, following the column of your throat.

“If you wanted to knock me up so badly, all you needed to do was ask,” you spoke to him lowly, a small, throaty noise escaping your lips as his hands moved to creep up your sweatshirt.

Spencer hummed before pulling away from you just enough to pull the extra fabric over your head, placing his lips on yours as soon as he could. Your hands frantically tried to undo his tie, pulling on the silky fabric before tossing it to the floor and starting to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Needy,” he teased as he pulled away slightly to help you with his shirt.

You leaned back up to kiss him once his shirt was off, shuddering as his hand slid down your front, slipping underneath the waistband of your shorts and rubbing you over your panties, “Fuck, Spence.”

Grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright, he pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side and circled your entrance with one finger at a tantalizingly slow pace. “You’re so wet,” he whispered, pressing his finger into your wet hole. “If you wanted me to knock you up so badly, you should’ve just asked,” he taunted.

Your walls clenched around his finger; it wasn’t enough – you needed more of him. He was turning this into a battle of wills, and your resolve was fading fast. Spencer tracked your cycle better than you did, but you did know you were ovulating. He knew it too.

“I want to hear you ask,” he said, slowly withdrawing his finger from your cunt before pushing two back in.

A small whimper slipped through your mouth, “Spence, ‘m ovulating,” you breathed, gasping for air as he thrust his fingers into you. You leaned your head forward onto him, landing on his bare chest.

“Why do you think I was reading those poems?” He asked.

Groaning, you muffled your moans in his chest, “You want to breed me? You want to-“ Your voice broke off into a yelp as he firmly pressed his thumb against your clit. “Do what the Spring does to the cherry trees. Fuck me, please. Come in me,” you begged mindlessly, any remaining willpower fading away as your orgasm built.

You whimpered as Spencer withdrew his fingers from your pussy. “Poor baby,” he whispered, “you need to be bred that badly?”

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, grinning as Spencer crouched down to place his hands on the backs of your thighs, lifting your feet from the ground to move you to your bedroom.

He sat you down gently on the edge of the bed, pulling away from you and tugging your tank top over your head. You took the initiative to shuffle further onto the bed, watching intently as Spencer unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in only his boxers as he clambered onto the bed and hovered over you.

Lifting your head up slightly, you kissed him. It was gentle at first, but lust took over and the two of you grew frantic. Spencer moved his head, leaving big wet kisses down your neck before turning his attention to your breasts. Enveloping your peaked nipple in his mouth, he gently nipped at it with his teeth as his other hand rose to your unattended breast, pinching the small bud with his index finger and thumb.

Your hips inadvertently bucked up, just for them to be pushed back down by Spencer’s as he expertly continues his ministrations on your chest. It took all of your remaining focus to grind up into him, desperate for some kind of friction.

Spencer pulled his mouth from your breast and looked at you, holding your gaze as he tugged at your panties and pulled them off, carefully guiding your legs as he did so. “You’re so wet for me, baby,” he whispered. “You’ve got that little glint in your eye, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“You have such a dirty mouth,” you tell him, still trying to steady your breathing. You looked down at him, kneeling between your legs, his brown eyes were completely lust-blown. You gasped as your boyfriend returned his fingers to your core, “Please.”

He hummed in response, slipping two fingers into your dripping heat as he watched your every reaction. Then, as if you had forgotten his intentions, he placed a hand on your abdomen and he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, eliciting a moan from your lips.

Turning your head into the pillows, you reached around for something – anything – to grab as the orgasm you had been chasing all night finally approached. “Babe… come…” You managed to squeak out as your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Come for me, come on my fingers, baby,” he encouraged the climax out of you, and you knew he relished the way your eyes rolled back and your back arched off of the sheets. “Good girl,” he praised you softly, working you through your orgasm, his fingers moving at a slower pace.

Once you caught your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows, smiling dazedly at him. You reached out and pawed at his boxers, “Off, please.” You said simply, your grin expanding as he maneuvered and removed the last remaining layer.

His pink cock stood at attention before you and you found yourself subconsciously biting your lip at the sight of it. “Tell me what you want,” he spoke lowly, reaching over to the other side of the bed and grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips off of the mattress and placing the pillow beneath them.

Your cheeks flushed, “Want you to fuck me.”

“Is that all?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you suspiciously as he reached down to your cunt, gathering your slick on his fingers and using it to pump his cock.

Any and all resolve had gone completely out the window as you watched his hand move up and down his length, “Want you to breed me.” You told him earnestly, “Get me pregnant, put a baby in me. I-“ You paused for a moment, meeting his eyes carefully, “I want to have a baby with you, Spencer.”

That seemed to be enough for him as Spencer gently rubbed the tip up and down your slit before gently pushing in. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered to you softly, “like you were made for me.”

Once he had wholly sheathed himself inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust and you savored the way you throbbed around him. “Move,” you breathed.

Swiftly, he hooked his arms beneath your knees and leaned over you, effectively folding you in half and pressing his cock impossibly deep into your cunt. Slowly, he pulled out halfway before pushing his hips back into yours, finding a rhythm.

“You’re so deep,” you whimpered. It was some inexplicable feeling; you could feel him everywhere. Inhaling sharply when he pulled out almost entirely before snapping them back into you, continuing that quick pace. “Harder,” you murmured, the only confirmation that he had heard you being the fact that he had begun pounding into you.

He let out a moan and you clenched around him in an attempt to encourage him to be vocal, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He continued his pace, lifting himself up so that he could run his hand down your body, “You’ll be so pretty pregnant with our baby.” He dropped one of your legs, opening your core ever so slightly more.

Your hips lifted up to meet his as he massaged one of your breasts with his free hand, “Come in me, make me a mommy,” you whispered, getting closer to your own orgasm as well.

Spencer’s hand dropped to your clit, rubbing small circles as he continued ruining your pussy. His rhythm staggered slightly, and his head dropped to the crook of your neck, groaning into your sweaty skin as he spilled his seed into you.

The heat of his cum in you hurtled you toward your second orgasm, bringing your hand to your mouth and biting the knuckle of your index finger as you came. You felt your tunnel spasming around Spencer’s now half-hard cock, unable to control any of it as your vision spun slightly.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked softly, pressing gentle kisses to your neck as he stayed still, effectively keeping his seed inside of you.

You nodded slowly, still trying to catch your breath.

He lifted himself up slightly, “Words, please.” He whispered to you, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Nodding again, you took a deep breath, “I’m good. Forgot to breathe.” Your voice was quiet as you reached your arms around Spencer, the aftershocks of your orgasm making their way through you. Softly, you skimmed your palms over Spencer’s back.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” he said, referring to the inadvertent clenching of his length. “I’ll get hard again.”

You hummed as if that wasn’t the worst thing in the world, rolling your hips up into his and gasping at the friction on your oversensitive heat. “Then let’s better our odds,” you whispered, resting your head back on the pillows and biting your lip as you noticed Spencer growing hard again while still inside you.

He moved slightly inside of you, pressing himself tightly inside of your pussy, “You’re going to be the death of me.” He whispered, “wanting me to pump you full of my cum.”

“Please, Spence,” you whimpered, tears growing in your eyes as he started to fuck you again. “You feel so good in me,” you told him, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his hips.

Spencer’s pace sped up at your encouragement, completely ravishing you, “gonna make you come around my cock again, gonna breed you.”

You had completely faded away to the point where the only noises in the room were the obscene squelching as Spencer pounded into you and small, hitched breaths that escaped your lips.

The third orgasm took you completely by surprise, you hadn’t felt the coil in your abdomen before it took you over and you wrapped your arms around Spencer as he fucked you through it, his pace refusing to cease until his hips stuttered again, his seed painting your insides white.

Your legs dropped from around his hips, falling to the sheets. Gently, Spencer pulled out of you, leaving you whining at both the sensitivity and the empty feeling.

“Are you crying? Did I hurt you?” He asked suddenly, fear filling his voice as he returned from his lust-filled state.

Shaking your head, you swallowed thickly, “Just sensitive. I’m alright, Spence.” You smiled softly at him, a breathy laugh escaping your lips.

He ruffled your hair affectionately, “What are you laughing about, darling?”

“I just understood what the pillow under my hips is functioning for,” you answered. A sort of ramp so that none of his cum spilled out of you – Spencer Reid never did anything halfway. Next to you, he was tugging his shirt back over his head, having already put his boxers back on. “How long do I have to stay like this?”

Spencer hummed before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “You’re not trapped there. You can move – as long as you’re feeling okay.” He spoke to you before walking out of the bedroom for just one moment, returning from the kitchen to find you sitting up in bed.

You thanked him as he handed you a glass of water, “I love you,” you whispered, reaching over, and intertwining your fingers.

He smiled at you fondly, “I love you too.”

“I do want it, you know. I know it’s been a while since we talked about a wedding and kids, but I do want that,” you told him candidly. “With you,” you added, for good measure.

Gently, Spencer sat down on the edge of the mattress, “Good,” he whispered, “because there’s a good chance that I just got you pregnant.”

Your cheeks flushed, “and if you didn’t, at least now we know we’ll enjoy ourselves trying.”

“And in the interim, what do you say we take a shower and then watch that movie?” He asked, smoothing your hair back before cupping your cheek with his hand.

Humming, you leaned into his touch, “A bath?” You negotiated, “I’m not sure I can stay standing for a shower.”

Spencer grinned before leaning forward to kiss you, “I’ll go get the water running.”

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[nsfwreider]

For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else. 

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex.  And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go. 

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, and clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be. 

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end. 

My only block to getting laid was my own self.  And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

 I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done. 

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple. 

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience. 

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night. 

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home. 

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to  haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed. 

Damn profiler best friend. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention. 

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.” 

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?” 

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right. 

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires. 

“Stuff.” I affirm. 

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees. 

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts. 

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue. 

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.” 

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now. 

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.” 

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!” 

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly. 

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s  a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that. 

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair. 

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly. 

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.” 

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant. 

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.” 

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it? 

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece. 

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer. 

How did I get into this mess? 

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.” 

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him. 

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man. 

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.” 

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried. 

He narrows his eyes in thought.  “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.” 

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly. 

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile. 

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded. 

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

 No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him. 

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.” 

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be. 

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.” 

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries. 

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly. 

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?” 

“Yep. The last one.” 

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless. 

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him. 

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship. 

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight. 

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders. 

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine. 

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion. 

“What?” 

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.” 

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer. 

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.” 

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly. 

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster. 

When I’m silent, unable to respond,  his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. 

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me. 

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow. 

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp,  a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted. 

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?” 

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him. 

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily. 

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued. 

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut. 

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.” 

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it. 

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again. 

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers. 

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt. 

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would. 

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.” 

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there. 

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night. 

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.” 

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock. 

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man. 

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want. 

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity. 

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice. 

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur. 

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence. 

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.” 

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

[nsfwreider]

THE BOY’S A SLAG | SPENCER REID

Spencer Reid has a reputation. You couldn’t care less.

Word Count: 6k.

Warning: GradSchool!Spencer, smut.

Something people don’t know about Spencer Reid at 19 years old: he was a whore. And this is not an exaggeration. The little fucker (pun intended) got around. It was the brains, and the way he explained things without speaking down on anyone. It was the way he grew his hair out in the winter so it fell into his face just the right way. It was the long, skinny fingers that girls just wanted to deepthroat. The veins in his neck, his arms, and the way he licked his lips. The way some girls said he would go down on them for hours upon hours and how, allegedly, his dick was the equivalent of a snake — long, skillful and intimidating. That is what got him a bunch of pussy. Being kind and helpful and laying down pipe so well that it was spoken about around campus.

His set was the undergrads. Girls were into the genius thing. He was the same age as the sophomores and some of the freshmen and everything he heard was Oh my god, you’re already getting your doctorate? How old are you? 19? No way! Are you a genius or something? And here, this response, is key:

He’d say, “Or something.”

He was mysterious and collected and had an apartment off campus. He went to parties just to stand against the wall and sip on a cup of water. He’d play games of poker just to win a bunch of money and give it back. It was during one of these games that he first saw you. He was on a winning streak, and he had a girl hanging onto his shoulder. She was sweaty and playing with his hair. In his hands, he had a winning lottery of cards and just as he went to slam them on the table, he caught a glimpse of you and only a glimpse. The two of you held eye contact, and you raised your cup to him. The cards fell out of his hands and the room erupted in chaos and you disappeared.

“I’m out,” he said, much to the dismay of the crowd, and he brushed the sweaty girl off of him and he stood from his chair. By the time he pushed his way through the crowd, you were gone and for a long time, he carried on thinking that he had lost his mind. That he imagined you, that you were merely a hallucination that had overtaken his thoughts. For most of the night, he thought he was seeing you everywhere. When he found you smoking on the patio, he had to catch his breath. Think of what to say. Fix his hair.

He approached you with his hand in his pocket, only one, and the other held his solo cup. He had a method, and it was full proof. Working the hair and deep eye contact and leaning in close enough to make himself desirable. He does this with you and you exhale smoke, look him up and down.

“You’re new,” he says.

“Fresh out the box,” you shrug. “Who are you?”

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m Spencer. I go by Reid.”

“Okay.”

“Did you know that more than six million Americans are living with a disease caused by smoking?” he asks.

“Yeah. It also causes erectile dysfunction. I like to take my chances, y’know?”

He chuckles, he thinks: where the hell did you come from?

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Chem.”

“No shit,” he smiles. “I’m studying chemistry, too.”

“Never seen you around.”

“I’m a graduate student.”

“And you just like to hang out at undergrad parties, or . .?”

“I’m 19.”

“You a science experiment or something?”

And here is where he looks at you, really looks at you. He grins, “Or something.”

You toss your cigarette on the ground and stomp it out. “Okay, well,” you pat his shoulder. “See you around, Spencer.”

He thinks: that has never happened before.

You’ve walked away before he can find the breath to speak and when he does, he says, “Just . . . Reid . . .”

Spencer fucks two other girls before he sees you again. With both, he’s a lot rougher than usual. He’s out of his head. He tosses them around and he keeps switching positions and he can’t come unless it’s in their mouths. You’ve thrown him off his game and it’s funny because you don’t even know it. The day he ate a girl out in the back of the library, you were studying there. The brothel was conveniently located in the chemistry section and you caught him in the act. He had his hand over her mouth because she was going to come and her back was against the bookshelf. Spencer was finger fucking her and you assume it’s good because she’s going cross-eyed. You clear your throat and her eyes focused on you and she scrambles to pull her dress down. She pushes Spencer off, he goes, “What? What?”

He turns to see you and his jaw is hanging open and he wipes it with the back of his hand.

“Really, dude?” you say. You roll your eyes, you grab your book and walk away.

He runs after you, but you had already made the decision to leave the library and he could not find you. Spencer thinks it’s just his luck. He feels every interaction ruining his chances of ever getting into your pants. He wishes he knew your name. He wishes he knew more about the girl who smokes cigarettes and majors in chemistry and only catches him when he’s least expecting it.

A week later a rumor is going around that he got a girl pregnant. This is the first you ever hear of him. Of course it is not said directly to you, but you overhear it in class. You raise an eyebrow, you scoff, you get back to your notes.

“I think she’s lying,” one girl says.

Another sighs, “Why, Audrey?”

“Because everyone who’s hooked up with him has said he’s extremely careful. That —“

“I’m sorry. Everyone? Didn’t you hook up with him?”

“We didn’t have sex, it doesn’t count.”

“I would say if body fluids were exchanged, that counts.”

“He’s cautious, is what I’m trying to say, smart ass. He wouldn’t fuck up and knock someone up.”

“And how are you so sure? You barely know him.”

“I know him well enough.”

“Yeah. You and everybody else.”

When it comes to light that it was, in fact, a rumor, there is a moment of silence in which Spencer does not have sex. He loses the urge for it and he does not come to any parties. His first night back out is a grand appearance. Girls and guys alike flock to him when he enters the room and he seems out of it.

When he is nowhere to be found a few hours later, there are whispers. Did he leave? To buy diapers, maybe? No, that was just a rumor. Maybe off with his new flavor of the week? Possibly, but who here hasn’t he fucked?

He goes outside in a corner of the garden and lays in the grass. He stares at the sky and the stars and for once, he wishes he was drinking. He wishes he could find a way to ascend from his body, someway, somehow. He feels so heavy and he could fall asleep.

“Hey. Earth to ET,” you call.

He lifts his head up and he gives you this real, genuine smile.

“Brought you a drink,” you tell him, holding two cups in your hands.

“Oh, I —“

“Calm down, dude, it’s sparkling water.”

You take a seat beside him and the grass pokes you through your jeans. “Thank you,” he says. He takes a big gulp and he lays back down. You look up to the sky, trying to imagine what’s there. What’s jumping out to him, what’s speaking to him.

“Hey,” he is looking at you now. “I’m sorry. About the library.”

You shrug, take a sip of water, “Not my business.”

He goes quiet and he stares up at the sky.

“We don’t have to talk about that, y’know,” you tell him. You lay down beside him and he feels as though he can’t breathe. “We can talk about . . . I don’t know, the olympics. The weather. That cloud right there in the shape of a dog.”

He observes the cloud, he tilts his head, “I don’t see it. A cat maybe.”

“A really big rabbit.”

He laughs, he says, “Maybe,” and then he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

You choke on your water, but to be completely fair, you shouldn’t have been drinking while laying down. You sit up and hack it up and Spencer watches the whole thing. “I’m sorry,” you say. “But we were just talking about clouds. What about that triggers an existential crisis?”

“No, no,” he sits up. “The existential crisis started long before the clouds. I think I was born with it.”

“Hm,” you hum. “Y’know, I’m not a psychology major. I can’t give you the great answer.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles. “The, um,” he holds up his cup, but he is looking at you. “The sparkling water is enough.”

You nod, you almost smile. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my friends but you should keep looking at the clouds. Hey!” you exclaim, as you stand up, “Maybe that’s what you could do with your life. Be a cloud.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Or, a sunflower,” you back away. “A patch of grass. A shooting star.”

“You really are not a psychology major.”

“You’ll figure it out,” you turn your back to him and as he is watching you walk away, his eyes go wide and he begins to chase you.

“Wait!” he calls. “Wait!”

You turn around and he is running so fast that he nearly collides with you and he catches himself on his toes. He huffs, he puffs, “What, what’s your name?”

You tilt your head. Now, you smile, “[y/n].”

You walk away and he watches you disappear and when you are out of his vision, he whispers, “[y/n] . . . hm.”

Spencer gets your number from a friend. This friend sucks him off and immediately asks, “How do you know [y/n]?”

Spencer’s heart drops and he leans against the wall. He hasn’t even had a moment to catch his breath. “How do you know [y/n]?”

“She’s my lab partner. She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Oh, and you know my type, huh?”

“I know you,” she says. “I know [y/n]. Not a match.”

“Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look on you,” he tells her.

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I’ll give you her number if you want.” At this point, she is reapplying the lipstick she used to paint Spencer’s dick.

He is quiet and it is obvious.

“Wow . . .” she whispers. “You want.”

She is civil and hands over her phone and she has you saved as [y/n] (chem lab). Spencer takes a quick picture and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “This dress looks real nice on you.”

“Oh, boo you whore,” she rolls her eyes and he laughs as he leaves.

Spencer waits until he is out of her sight to freak out. He cradles his phone in both his palms. It is precious, it holds a single image and is his one mode of communicating with you. He doesn't call you until the end of the day. Just as the sun is going down. He has his phone sat on the bed and he paces back and forth. The line rings and it rings.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” you repeat.

He clears his throat, “Hi, [y/n].” His voice cracks and he wants to shrivel up and die.

“Who’s this?” you ask.

“It’s Reid,” he says. “Spencer. Spencer Reid. You brought me the sparkling water, I had the existential crisis?”

“Ah, library boy,” you laugh.

“Just Reid is fine,” he smiles. “Are you busy?”

“Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to . . . I don’t know, hang out?”

“Hang out?” you repeat. Slowly.

“Yeah. We can go anywhere. I can meet you or come pick you up.”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Oh,” his eyes go wide and he rushes over to the phone. “To you?”

“Yeah, to my dorm. I’ll send you the room number. Just text me when you’re here.”

“Oh. Okay,” he can’t hide this grin in his voice. “Okay. I’ll be there in 20.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

After he hangs up, he showers. He does his hair and he picks out sweatpants that are extra flattering. He never uses cologne and when he sprays some, it makes him cough. You don’t send your address until 10 minutes later and he is out the door as soon as he knows where to go.

He shows up tactically late and knocks on the door with his other hand in his pocket. The door opens and he says, “Oh. Sorry. I must have the wrong room,” because a guy answers.

“Who is it?” you call from inside.

“String bean,” the guy replies.

“Hey, Spencer!” you greet him. “Come on in.”

The small room is crowded, with only five people occupying the space. Spencer does not know all of them but they all know him.

“Hey, dude,” you turn around for a moment to grin at him. “We’re playing connect four. Jace is playing the winner, but you can play after that.”

“Or you can have one of these,” the guy hands Spencer a red cup and it is almost hot. “My own special creation. Way more fun than connect four.”

Spencer takes the cup and he feels like a fucking idiot. For the first time in his life, he feels not a single brain cell in his head. He looks around the room, at your friends, at you. You are having a blast, you are hardly acknowledging his existence and he wishes he was alone with you.

He looks down at the drink in his hand. This icky oozy cup of filth and he drinks it. He knocks it back and it knocks the wind out of him in turn. The Guy laughs and catches Spencer before he stumbles to the ground, “Ha!” he laughs. “I like you, string bean. Here,” he hands him a drink. “Have another.”

And Spencer does. He drinks until he can’t see straight (which, admittedly, happens only after a few cups) and he crashes onto a futon. He watches from the side as you laugh. It is a gorgeous and full laugh that makes the room stop. A guy walks up behind you and whispers in your ear and you look at this guy in a way that Spencer wishes you would look at him.

By the time he passes out in the bathroom, everyone has gone. And it is just you and him. The Guy tries to stick around, even offers to drive Spencer how. But you tell him, “I’ve got him. He’s harmless.”

You spend the night making sure he doesn’t die. If he was semiconscious, his pulse would be racing. He has no idea his head is in your lap. That you’re wiping the sweat of his brow and the vomit from his lips. The snot from his nose. And when he is lying there, sweaty and wet and red, you think: he is kind of cute.

Spencer wakes up on the floor. He is laying on a tile and his mouth is slimy. His head is killing him, his body aches from being curled up in a ball. He tries to push himself up but he collapses back to the floor. He doesn’t know you’re there until you chuckle. You cover your mouth as he looks up at you, “Hey, sleeping beauty. Thought we lost you for a minute.”

“[y/n]?” he mumbles, his face still pressed to the floor. “Where am I?”

“My bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave,” he says. “As soon as I can get up.”

“Take your time, party boy. I have nowhere to be today.”

He lets out a long sigh and it takes all his strength to get himself up. He grumbles and leans back against the bathtub.

“I feel gross,” he says.

“You look it.”

“Thanks.”

“I like the sweatpants, though.”

He smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did it ever occur to you . . .” he starts. But he can’t seem to put the words together. “. . . That when I asked to hang out . . . I don’t know, when I asked to hang out . . . I only . . . wanted . . . to hang out with you?”

You look at him for a long time. Heat is rising to your face and you put your hand to your cheek. “No. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Oh, well,” he sighs. “You’re an idiot, then.”

You burst out laughing and he is relieved. He could listen to this sound all day. “Real bold coming from the guy who can’t hold his liquor.”

“Liquor?” he exclaims. “That was liquor?”

“No, it was juice. Of course it was liquor!”

“Oh, my god,” he slumps. “I hate liquor. Must kill liquor.”

“I think liquor’s gonna win that fight.”

It is silent for a moment. He is gazing at you from the corner of his eye and you will not look away from your lap. He goes to speak, but you do so first. “Let’s hang out,” you tell him. “Just the two of us.”

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Right now.”

“I,” he stutters. “I’m hardly in shape to go out.”

“Be there or be square,” you say, standing up from the floor. “I’m gonna change.”

Spencer forgets the hangover in an instant and stands up too fast. He catches himself on the sink and sticks his head under the water. He washes his face and uses his finger to brush his teeth. He walks out of the bathroom to find you fully dressed for the day.

“So,” he says. “Where to?”

You walk to a diner down the street. Spencer sets a napkin down on the chair before he sits.

“Really?” you tilt your head at him.

“Just a precaution,” he smiles and starts to look at the menu, “God, this all looks . . . terrible.”

“Best hangover food in town. Give me that,” you take his menu from his hands and hand both to the waiter. You order for the both of you and he is in shock.

“I’m hungover but I can talk,” he says.

“Why? So you could order a glass of water and a piece of toast? I don’t think so.”

A big breakfast is set on the table after a few more minutes. There’s waffles and eggs and bacon and sausage and toast. Spencer could vomit just looking at it. But you tell him to take just one bite and then he cannot get enough.

The two of you stuff your faces and giggle at each other incessantly. “Right?” you ask.

“It is good,” he says with a full mouth. “It’s almost like I can remember what happened last night. Oh, god. Did I sing?”

You burst out laughing and food shoots out of your mouth and people stare. “The entire intro to Grease, actually.”

“Ah, fuck,” he puts his hands over his face as he laughs. “Never again.”

He continues eating his food. You watch him shove it down and there is a small smile on your face.

After dinner, you walk. Not a stroll, not a casual walk in the park. You walk. You tell Spencer is keep him from focusing on all the food in his gut. And you walk. You walk for hours. You talk for hours. Your voices sing the sun to sleep. You see the city and you see Spencer under the light. He wants to hold your hand. Not to be sappy or romantic, just to make sure he doesn’t lose you. Just to keep you close.

He keeps making jokes in effort to make you laugh and the sound echos down the empty street. He is so lost in you. He is so infatuated with you. That when a car rolls by, he does not see the puddle and gets splash by a wave of fallen rain. It narrowly misses you. You dodge out of the way as the car drives off and watch the entire thing in almost slow motion.

“Oh, my god!” you laugh. You cackle, actually. You bend over in hysterics. “I’m so — I’m sorry, I just —“ you’re cut off by another laugh. If Spencer didn’t enjoy the sound so much, he’d be angry. But you are happy. You are happy because of him, and that is okay.

He asks if you two can stop by his place before he takes you home. He walks there soaking wet and you walk at his side.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” you tell him. “That was a dick move.”

“Hey,” he shrugs. “You don’t ever have to be sorry about that.”

Spencer’s place is clean. About as clean as it gets for a 19 year old boy. The books as organized and shelved away. Blankets are folded and set neatly on the couch. The tile in the kitchen is spotless. The air smells nice and fresh.

“I just have to run into my room. I’ll be back,” he tells you as he walks down the hallway. He disappears and you continue to observe the apartment. Find little details of Spencer written in the walls. Your curiosity piques at the thought of his room. What it looks like, where he sleeps. You take a breath, you hold it, and you walk down the hall.

He is putting on a new shirt when you walk in and his hair is messy. “Nosey much?” he asks with a smile.

“Very much,” you step into his room and he watches you look around. “It’s cute in here.”

“Oh, yeah. Cute is just what I was going for.”

There’s a night light in the corner in the shape of a rocket. A pile of clothes on the floor right beside it. A picture of an older blond woman on his dresser. The room is filled with soft hues of blue and black and there are more books in a box beside his bed. There is a stereo against the wall. You walk up to it and hit play. Classical music leaks from the speakers at a subtle volume.

You turn around and eye him and he immediately says, “I just use it to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, “Sure.”

You walk across the room and pick up a single solo cup. It is empty and old and nearly the only piece of trash in sight. You go to throw it in the wastebasket, but he rushes over to grab it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he grabs the cup from you. “That’s not trash.”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “It’s not?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

He sighs, slowly and deeply, “It’s . . . the cup. From that night. When you — when you brought me . . .”

You tilt your head at him. Your face is stoic and void. “No shit.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, it’s trash. I’ll just,” and he pops the cup in the waste and fiddles with his hands.

“God,” you roll your eyes and laugh. You’re trying to lighten the mood. “You’re obsessed with me, dude.”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since I met you, [y/n],” he says, and he follows it with a soft laugh. “I’ve been thinking about you. Nonstop. How could I not?”

And, for once, you’re speechless.

“I mean, you’re beautiful. You’re funny. You have this awful sense of sarcasm that makes me feel small and . . . silly and I like that. Your laugh takes up an entire room and I just, I want to be around it, I don’t know. I like that you . . . let you let me sleep on your bathroom floor. That you find me obnoxious and you let me know. I like . . . you.”

When you say nothing in response, he sighs and it is full of disappointment. He turns away and begins to dig for his drawer. For what, you’re not sure. But you are sure of one thing.

“Spencer,” you call, in a low, soft voice.

He turns around with a smile that quickly dissipates when he sees your chest. Bare, covered in a bra that pushes your boobs up in a way he likes. He loves. His jaw drops, just slightly, and he shakes his head from side to side to make sure this is real.

“[y/n] . . .” he whispers. “What are you doing?”

You chuckle, “What does it look like?”

He steps close to you. In slow, small steps like he is afraid you’ll run away. But you want this. You tell him, “I want to. I want you.”

And as his hand snakes around your waist, shakily and steadily, he asks if you’re sure. You nod, you take his face in your hands and you kiss him. It is a gentle and staggered kiss, each second bringing your lips closer and closer until they are smushed into one another’s. Spencer’s eyelids fall, like they are heavy and he cannot keep them open. He hums into your mouth and pulls you in by your waist. Your boobs graze his chest and he is craving the skin to skin contact.

He only breaks the kiss to take his shirt off. You run your fingertips up his chest, trace his collarbones to raise goosebumps on his skin. You kiss his neck and his knees buckle beneath him. Your lips are so soft, plush. They taste nice and he is getting drunk off of your saliva.

Your lips travel down his chest, your palms holding onto his biceps. You can feel his muscles tightening, growing tense and full of anticipation. You drop to your knees and hold his gaze. He tells you that you don’t have to and you tell him to shut up. He watches you undo his pants, and his cock is so hard that it nearly pops out of his clothes.

You had to look at it for a moment because it is big and you aren’t sure if it will all fit in your mouth. He repeats that you don’t have to. “I can do you if you want. I’m dying to.”

And because you are full of spite, you look him in the eye and take his length into your mouth. You hold the base in your hand and hollow your cheeks as you pull back. It is everything Spencer has wanted and more. Your mouth hugs him in just the right way and he thinks every other girl must have been doing it wrong.

You spit on his cock and it makes it easier for your mouth to slide up and down his shaft. Spit is dribbling onto your chest and it makes you look messy but Spencer can’t take his eyes off of you. He gives you quiet compliments of ooh’s and ahh’s and one, clear “Fuck.”

You take him to the back of your throat and he nearly stumbles over, so he removes himself from your mouth and pulls you to your feet. He catches your face in his hands and gives you a slimy kiss. His tongue traces a trail from your chin to your neck to your chest. He licks the saliva from your breasts and moans at the taste.

He would fuck you in his bed, where so many other girls have laid before you but this was different. And the two of you wind up laying on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, Spencer on top of you, his torso between your legs, your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. The bra is thrown to a corner of the room and Spencer cannot get enough of your boobs. The way they sit perfectly and beg to be sucked. He covers them in hickeys from the suction of his mouth. Your nipples get hard between his teeth. You moan for him and it makes his head fuzzy.

He removes your pants and runs his hands over your thighs, squeezing them gently before he takes off your underwear. His hand lays flat on your tummy and he takes you in. The bleary look in your eyes and the glow around your body. When he begins to eat your pussy, it is with slow movements on his tongue and his hands gripping your thighs. He hums against you, but he is quiet because he likes to hear you moan. He buries his face into you and devours you like he is starving. Your back arches off the floor and your pinch at his shoulders. He reaches up and plays with your nipples and the stimulation causes your moans to grow three times in volume.

His fingers slip into you and you cannot take it. Your body shakes and he holds you against his face to keep you from squirming. Gotta make her come, he thinks. Gotta make this good. Gotta make this shit fucking fantastic. And so he finger fucks you like his life depends on it. He sucks on your clit until it’s pulsing between his lips. And when you come, he keeps his mouth on you until you are pushing him away.

He climbs back on top of you with a toothy grin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives you a kiss. Your lips only move against his just slightly. You are worn out and reeling.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Oh, yeah,” you laugh and you guys smile into another kiss.

You part your legs as he puts a condom on and you notice his hands are shaking. “Don’t lose it on me now,” you tell him. “Come here.”

He moves over to you and you crawl in his lap. His breath catches his throat when you grab his cock and it comes to a complete halt as you slide down onto his length. You roll your head back, feeling so full and warm. He holds onto your waist and kisses your neck and tells you, “You feel so good.”

You move your hips against his and the sensation rocks you both so intensely that you embrace each other. The sweat on your skin binds you together and Spencer whispers, “Keep going.”

So you tangle your hand in his hair and grip onto his shoulder and ride him. On the floor. In his dark room, in his dark apartment as the moonlight creeps in through the window. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans softly. He says your name over and over, “[y/n] . . . oh, god, [y/n].”

“Mm,” you hum, falling all over him as your hips quicken in pace. “Mhm.”

He catches your lips in a deep kiss and his jaw drops to release a grunt. “You’re so good,” he tells you. “You’re so, so good. Fuck.”

You are whimpering into his ear and he runs his nails down your back. “Louder,” he commands, but you are never loud enough. He wants the walls to shake and your throat to be sore, to know he’s doing good. “Louder,” he repeats. “Louder.”

He holds you tightly and he will not let you go. He can feel you crumbling, getting closer to the edge. You tighten around his cock and you grind your hips into his and you tell him, “I’m gonna come.” So he reaches down and rubs your clit and your body spasms. You throw your head back and groan and Spencer pushes his hips up as much as he can. He plunges himself into you and he watches you come undone. Fall apart.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble. Your eyes are roll back and your move yourself on his dick as if on autopilot. Spencer is entranced by you. By the sounds you make and the way you look while you’re getting fucked. He’s thought about it many times, what it would be like.

This is better.

Spencer’s nails are digging into your hips and the pain is just enough to get you there. You come down on his cock in just the right away, you grab his wrist and hold it tight and you cry out as you come. You gasp for air and shake and claw at his skin.

When Spencer can pull himself away, he flips you over. His dick is still inside of you as he lays you on the floor. He gives you slow and steady strokes and he nuzzles his nose against you. “Keep coming on my cock,” he tells you. “Do it again. Do it again.”

It is an easy order to obey when he puts your legs over his shoulders and pushes into you. His hips are skillful and full of motion, like the movement of a wave. He watches your face twist up and contort, your jaw dropping and your eyes squeezing shut. “You’re so hot,” he whispers to you. “So fucking hot.”

And it is throwing you for a loop, his words. How vulgar they are and how low his voice is as he says them. He sees you rub your clit and starts to fuck you faster. Harder. The floor squeaks and you can see his muscles flexing underneath his skin. He leans in to put his forehead against yours. He smiles at you and you smile back and your smile breaks down into a soft moan.

“You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him.

“Oh,” he grunts, sinking all the way into you. “It’ll be an honor.”

You hold him close, you listen to him pant and whine in your ear. He kisses your neck sloppily, leaving traces on spit from your earlobe to your jaw. You rub your clit in soft, slow circles until you feel the tension building in your gut. You close your eyes and let out a long and strangled moan.

“Mhm, I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

You lick your lips, purse them together and when you look into Spencer’s eyes, you choke. You tense up and moan his name and come on his cock. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and holds you tightly as you tremble. “Mm,” he moans. “There ya’ go. So fucking hot.”

At this point, all his body weight is on you and he is pounding into you with messy thrusts and jagged grunts. “Can I come?” he asks you. “Can I come?”

You nod quickly, you grab a hold of his face and give him a kiss. It is long and sticky and perfect. Your moans are mixing together in the air, loud and incessant and nonstop. His body grows weaker by the second. It grows heavy and he can barely hold himself up any longer. You kiss his neck and lick his jaw and he tells you he’s close. “I’m gonna come, [y/n],” he whines. “You’re gonna make me come. God. Fuck!”

And when he does, when you make him come, he collapses on top of you. His mouth falls onto yours and he releases a loud groan against your lips. He spills into the condom and thrusts himself into you a few more times. When it is over, he lays on you and plays with your hair.

He can’t look at you while he says it, but he tells you, “It’s never been like that for me before.”

You grin. You push his hair back and kiss his forehead. “Hm,” you reply. “Shocker.”

[nsfwreider]

sunday morning | S.R.

in which spencer comes home from a case and shows you how much he missed you

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: sex, very soft, mention of contraception (please practice safe sex), established relationship, fingering, explicit consent (consent is sexy), creampie, (i don't know what else i need to put here I've never posted smut on tumblr) word count: 1.44k a/n: this is my 69th post on this blog and i have the sense of humor of a fourteen year old boy. also i feel like this is not very good but i am hypercritical of myself. have not written smut in years. Bear With Me.

Sighing, you rolled over in bed just to be met with sunlight. Beams of light peeked through the closed blinds of your bedroom, causing you to reach up and rub your eyes. Propping yourself up, a smile crept on your face when you noticed your boyfriend beside you.

He wasn’t there last night when you went to sleep, so the BAU must’ve returned sometime in the middle of the night. He looked so peaceful, gently lit by the sun. A single curl had fallen in front of his face in his sleep, moving gently as he slept.

Unable to help yourself, you moved closer to him and tucked the loose hair behind his ear. Freezing when he stirred, you slowly rested your head down on his shoulder and let your body melt into his.

“Good morning,” Spencer whispered, his voice was deep and a little warbly. The way it usually was in the morning.

Lifting your head and smiling softly, you rested your chin on his chest, “I was trying not to wake you.” You lifted your arm and cupped his cheek with your hand, “When did you get in last night?”

He hummed in response, “We landed at one.”

A quick glance at your alarm clock told you that it was just past eight. “Do you want to go back to sleep?” You sat up in bed, “I can go make breakfast.”

You moved to climb out of bed, but Spencer pulled you back down to the mattress. “Not just yet,” he whispered, moving you so that you were straddling his hips. “I missed you,” he murmured, resting both of his hands on your waist.

“I know, I missed you too,” you whispered, trailing your fingers over the exposed sliver of skin between his t-shirt and boxers, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Moving his hands ever so slightly, Spencer reached underneath your t-shirt and put his hands on your bare skin, “I really, really missed you.”

Leaning forward, you put both of your hands on either side of his head, “Oh,” you breathed. “Did you want to show me how much you missed me?”

He didn’t answer, instead, he wrapped his arms around your torso, tugging you down until your bodies were flush with each other. This gave him the leverage that he needed to flip the two of you over, leaving his body placed neatly in between your legs.

You reached down and pulled at the fabric of Spencer’s t-shirt, letting him take the hint before he pulled his shirt off, allowing you to run your hands on his soft, warm skin. Threading your fingers through his hair, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

Desperate for friction, you lifted your hips slightly off of the bed only for them to be pushed back down by his. Through your remaining clothes, you felt his hard cock pressing against your core. The sensation elicited a small noise from the back of your throat, causing Spencer to pull away from you slightly, “Needy girl,” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t have much time to dwell on the nickname while Spencer was pulling your shirt off. He wasted no time between taking off your shirt and attaching his lips to your neck. At first, they were light kisses, but they quickly evolved into slower kisses along the hollow of your throat.

He took his time making his way to your chest before he enveloped your nipple in his mouth, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to massage your other breast. You moaned breathily under his touch, “You’re so good at that.”

Spencer hummed against your chest, sending vibrations down to your core. He detached his lips from your chest with a pop and looked at you with lust-glazed eyes. Leaning back, he hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of your pants, tugging your shorts and underwear off and gently guiding your legs through the cloth before discarding it on the floor.

Sitting up slightly, you reached out for him, bringing him closer to you before you slipped your hand inside his boxers. He hissed slightly at the contact, causing you to hesitate, “Are you okay?” You whispered, withdrawing your hand from his cock, and instead placing both of your hands on his shoulders.

 He nodded, “I’m okay. It’s just been a while, and I don’t want to finish too fast.”

You tilted your head to the side, “What do you want?” You offered, letting him take control of the situation.

“I want you to come on my fingers,” he told you, slowly dragging his hand down your side before letting it linger on your hip, using his thumb to rub circles on your hip bone.

Meeting his gaze, you nodded, “Okay,” you breathed as your heart pounded in anticipation.

You adjusted your hips slightly as he cupped your pussy with his hand, “You’re so wet and I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond before his finger slowly entered you. Spencer was playing now, moving his hand at a torturously slow pace as he watched your every reaction. “Spence,” you whispered, reaching out for him.

You clenched around his finger, and he readjusted so that he was laying his head on your stomach like he was listening to what it sounded like inside of you while he fingered you. Weaving your hands in his hair, your lips parted as he slipped a second finger in.

With the position he had in between your legs, your range of motion was severely limited, forcing you to just feel. When his pace quickened, so did your breaths.

Gently, he placed his thumb over your clit and started rubbing in small, tantalizing circles. You tugged slightly at his hair, causing him to curl his fingers inside of you, “please,” you whimpered, beginning to feel the orgasm building in your core. “Please, just like that,” you said breathily.

He looked up at you then, never changing his pace, “Come for me, baby.”

At his words, your orgasm washed over you. Spencer’s fingers worked you through the pulses as small whines escaped your lips. You sighed and closed your eyes when he moved his hand, leaving you aching and wanting more.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he whispered, “so, so pretty.” Your eyes fluttered open and you looked up at him, he had already shed his boxers, “Do you need a second?”

Shaking your head, you peered up at him through your lashes, “I’m ready,” you whispered, crossing your arms at the back of his neck. It had been just over a week since the last time you’d had sex, but as he pushed into you, you were grateful for the foreplay.

His breath hitched as he bottomed out, “god, I missed this.”

That was all the encouragement you needed to lean up and press your lips to his, using your tongue to coax his mouth open as you wrapped your legs around him, keeping him close to you as he started moving in you. “You feel so good,” you encouraged him as he began to pick up his pace, lewd sounds filling the room.

Your walls clenched around him, causing his pace to falter ever so slightly. “Fuck, I won’t last if you do that,” he told you, reaching down to where your bodies met and playing with your sensitive clit again.

“Then come in me,” you whispered, you were diligent with your birth control, so that wasn’t something you were concerned about.

Once his head dropped into the crook of your neck, you knew he was a goner, slamming his hips into yours one last time. The sensation of his warm cum filling you finally pushed you off the edge, milking his cock for everything it had.

As the both of you came down, Spencer littered light kisses on your neck, causing you to sigh with contentment. Slowly, he pulled out of you, and you bit your lip to keep from whimpering at the loss of contact.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before disappearing to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. “I can clean myself up, you know,” you whispered.

“I know, but I like taking care of you,” he answered.

Smiling softly, you smoothed his hair back, “I love you,” you told him before getting off the bed.

“I love you too. Where are you going?” He asked, watching you get up, his eyes following you attentively.

Raising your eyebrows, you turned to face him, “Shower, are you coming?”

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[nsfwreider]

Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing. 

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty. 

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror. 

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much. 

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct. 

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report. 

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new. 

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier. 

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt. 

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch. 

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest. 

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer. 

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off. 

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged. 

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time." 

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes." 

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room. 

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate. 

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph. 

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks. 

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side. 

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?" 

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow. 

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."  

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him. 

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table. 

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm. 

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer. 

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question." 

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?" 

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know." 

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you. 

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person. 

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out. 

"Nowhere." 

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question. 

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?" 

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that. 

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite. 

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying. 

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach. 

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you. 

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away. 

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason. 

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number. 

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone." 

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-" 

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?" 

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge. 

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him. 

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own. 

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do." 

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that. 

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him. 

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you. 

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions. 

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch. 

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from. 

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done. 

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him. 

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something. 

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face. 

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally. 

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been. 

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second. 

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work,  but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans. 

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open. 

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead. 

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic. 

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him. 

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher. 

"I'm okay." 

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?" 

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted. 

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you." 

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another. 

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question. 

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend. 

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on. 

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?" 

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you. 

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now. 

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did. 

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?" 

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness. 

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?" 

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer. 

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head. 

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again. 

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes. 

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath. 

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?" 

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this. 

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole. 

You'd never felt like this before. 

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop. 

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm. 

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom. 

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously. 

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands. 

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands. 

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket. 

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else. 

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build. 

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there. 

"Spencer, please, please, fuck." 

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -" 

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation. 

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige. 

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth. 

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in. 

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him. 

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth. 

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him. 

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. 

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned. 

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap." 

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further. 

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg. 

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions. 

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him. 

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-" 

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh. 

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued. 

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you. 

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow. 

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest. 

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time. 

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" 

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it. 

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you. 

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair. 

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded. 

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…" 

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be. 

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance. 

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in. 

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further. 

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were. 

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you. 

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast. 

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head. 

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth. 

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you. 

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it. 

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His. 

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger. 

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep. 

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't. 

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one. 

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down. 

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before. 

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that. 

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him. 

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world. 

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face. 

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way. 

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart. 

"No, not until you tell me why you left." 

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl. 

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again. 

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine." 

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble. 

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face. 

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room. 

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed. 

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."  

[nsfwreider]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer is awake late at night while you're peacefully asleep. That's when he's reminded about a few little agreements you've had.

Content/Warnings: Course language, brief masturbation (m), consensual somnophilia, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, creampie.

Word Count: 1.3K

Kinktober Day Seventeen: Somnophilia

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Spencer spent his time at work more often than not, which you understood how important his job was to him. You’d known the inside and out of the job and all the darkness hidden within it, so you always gave an overwhelming amount of love and support. There was a lot of patience and trust placed within one another, your husband knowing that you were always going to be there for him and that he should show he would always be there for you as well. You never expected anything big out of him after cases, just willing to hold him and let him cry into your shoulder if the cases were overwhelming for him. 

It had been three days since Spencer was home from one of his cases, the both of you laying in bed alongside one another as the both of you were looking forward to a good night's sleep. Spencer wasn’t getting much of it though, his head against his pillow while your soft breaths from peaceful sleep filled the room. With an arm behind his head, the male sighed in frustration. Insomnia hit him hard on nights like this one, when you fell asleep first and couldn’t exactly hold him due to you being dead to the world. 

He had contemplated reading, however he knew the light would wake you up and irritate you. He definitely didn’t need a cranky version of you being angry at him for the remainder of the night and even the next day. So, he reverted back to his usual ways of making himself tired. His hands were slowly pulling his half-hard cock out of his boxers as he let his eyes flutter shut. Thankfully for eidetic memory, he could practically watch any past sexual encounter with you in his head like a dirty movie. Right now, he had a specific night in mind. 

You’d been desperate and he was asleep, due to a previous talk of boundaries and consent for certain actions, you decided to try something new. He could remember his eyes slowly blinking open and being met with your face twisted with ecstasy, hands resting against his chest as your desperate and leaking cunt was embracing his cock while your hips were feverishly rutting against his. It showed how much you needed him, even getting to the point where you fucked him as he slept just to not disturb his sleep.

Just the mere thought of your tits in clear view of his gaze had Spencer letting out a low groan. He was fully erect now, his hand fisting at his cock as he let his mind continue replaying the same moments that so graciously flooded his brain. He’d continued with his movements before glancing over at you, the moonlight seeping in from the drapes shining against your sleeping silhouette. It gave him an idea, one that sent another rush of blood to his cock as he was slowing his movements with his hand. Gently tugging the duvet and sheets back, he was looking over your body.

You were wearing a silk lilac nightgown, one of his favorites. It was like you did this on purpose, as if you knew your husband would have an insomnia spell. With his hand coming up to his mouth, he was popping two of his fingers into his mouth as he was scooting towards you more. His free hand was sliding under the tempting nightgown, his hand slowly tugging down your panties as he kept his gaze on you. He wanted to see how long he could drag this out without waking you. After getting the cloth barrier out of his way, Spencer was using one of the slick fingers to slowly push into your cunt. The touch had your sleeping form let out a breath, the long digit being welcomed as your walls were squeezing around it. 

He slowly thrusted his finger, a soft groan leaving his lips as you were responding well, probably having your dream taking a sharp turn as he was fucking you with his pointer finger. Your arousal was starting to coat his finger, the male smirking as he gently pushed in a second finger, a moan now falling out of your lips as you were shifting in place. The way your sleeping face twisted in ecstasy had your husband grinning as he pressed a few kisses along your shoulder. As his fingertips were brushing against the spongy button deep inside of you,your body was reacting accordingly as your thighs clenched around his hand, still assuming this was a dream as you were rocking your hips against his fingers. 

“Poor desperate girl..” Spencer whispered while continuing to prod your needy cunt with the two long digits. Whenever he’d had enough waiting though, he’d carefully pulled his fingers out of your hole before bringing them up to his lips to clean your essence off of them.

There were desperate whines escaping your lips at the feeling of emptiness, your hips attempting to rock back. “Shh, I know.” Spencer murmured in your ear, one hand gently lifting one of your legs, his free hand helping adjust his cock at your leaking hole that was clenching around nothing. As the thick tip of his throbbing cock was slowly pushing into your warmth, you were letting out a breathy moan in your sleeping state, hand instinctively reaching back to grip at the back of your husband’s head as you were both still in the spooning position. 

As your pussy swallowed his cock whole, he was letting his lips press a few kisses against your neck as he was slowly letting his hips rut into yours. Now it only took a few good strokes before you were blinking awake, hand lightly pulling at the curls that you had a handful of. “Good morning to you too.” You whispered, drowsiness in your voice as you were moving to rock your hips back against his.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He murmured against your skin, hand moving to squeeze your hip. “Was jerking off and then i remembered that your sweet pussy would be waiting for me.” He lightly bit down on the flesh of your neck that made a moan fall from your parted lips. “Mm, I’m not complaining. I love being stuffed with your cock.” The filthy words leaving your lips had your husband groaning, head lifting. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” He spoke through pants and whines, his thrusts speeding up as his hand was wrapping around your body, large hand taking one of your tits into his hand before giving a rough squeeze. 

As the rhythmic sound of your skin smacking against one another filled the room along with your combined sounds of pleasure, it hadn’t been long until you could feel Spencer’s hand trail between your legs, finger finding your clit with ease as he massaged the desperate bud. He was close and you were too.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You spoke through moans, his hips thrusting snapping harder into yours as he nodded. “M-me too.” He’d stated the obvious, working to bring you to orgasm first. The feeling of your walls tightly clenching around him was enough to make his cock twitch inside of you before painting your inner walls with ribbons of his cum, hips slowly coming to a stop. 

After he was pulling out of you, he couldn’t help but lift the sheets to look at your cunt, which had been stuffed with his cum to the point where it was leaking down your thighs. “We should get you cleaned up. Plus you have to pee.” He panted, moving to rub your hip while tugging back the sheets for you to get up. “I’m going to take a shower, care to join me?” You’d asked, legs wobbling slightly as you stood from your shared bed. 

You didn’t have to ask him twice, the male sliding out of bed before he was heading over to pick you up with a smile. “Not too long though,” He began, a yawn now falling from his lips.

“I’m ready to pass out.”

[nsfwreider]

All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless. 

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me." 

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion. 

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

.

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