#spencer and stripper!reader

[luveline]

You said you might need ideas for stripper reader! And Spencer and well….

Post Prison Spencer coming home and just being so afraid to touch reader (what if he hurts her?), to take his shirt off in front of reader (the scars - the bruises that didn’t fade, the lost weight) and afraid to tell you about the drugs/what happened because what if you leave and stripper!reader just being like “I love you”, ya know?

No worries if you aren’t interested in this though!!! Love all your works 💕

thank you for your request angel!

—Spencer’s reluctant to touch you in the week he’s released from prison, and you just wanna know why. stripper!reader, 1k

“I don’t like when you stretch like that.” 

“Too provocative?” you ask in a murmur.

“Too painful looking. Does it hurt?” 

You lay on your back with your legs underneath you, having initially been kneeling, but now lowered with your shoulders touching hardwood. It used to hurt more, but dancing requires limberness. Though you aren’t sure you’ll be dancing much longer. 

You hold your hands out for him to help you up. Cruel, he ignores you, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee curled in his nice hands. “That’s not nice,” you say. 

“Sorry.” He crosses his legs. “I just don’t want you to pull something.” 

“This is so I don’t pull something.” 

“You’re not dancing tonight,” he says. Not demanding, just stating a fact. You haven’t been to the club once in the week since Spencer came home, and you’ve no plans yet to return. 

“I’m going to give you a lap dance.”

Spencer laughs. You’ve known one another a long time now and you’ve never given him one. He’s never asked, and you’ve never wanted to. There’s not much fun in it, maybe, because it’s work, and you associate it with needing things, and selfish hands. 

You get up, holding his gaze as you stand in front of him. He thinks you don’t notice, but Spencer Reid is reluctant to touch you lately and it’s breaking your heart, so you aren’t going to give him a lap dance, but you do need to get close to him. 

“Can I sit in your lap?” you ask quietly. 

Spencer might not want to touch you of his own volition, but he’s yet to deny you something you want. He holds out an arm, his hand a beckoning as you climb into his lap, or over if. You put one knee on one side of him and one knee the other, thighs spread, careful not to press on anything too soft. His lips turn up into a frantic smile. It’s sort of funny, the panic you’d see on men who clearly aren’t used to being touched, but it has a strange thread to it that unnerves you. He’s your boyfriend. He’s very in love with you, he talks of marriage often, he’s begged you to move in. Why is he reluctant to be near you now? 

“Have you changed your mind?” you ask. 

Even as you do his hand is settling on your hip like he can’t help himself. He sounds guilty as he asks, “About what?” 

“‘Bout me.” 

“I could never change my mind about you, I wouldn’t want to,” he says. 

His eyes feel huge when he’s looking at you like this, brown and dark pupil mixed together, expression finally cleared of shame and replaced with a tenderness you’d never seen aimed at you until you met him. You pull one of his curls between your fingers. It isn’t enough. You bury your hand in his hair and hold it out of his face, in love and allowed to be. You can’t believe you had to go almost three whole months without him. 

“Why do you think I did?” he asks. 

“Come on, you know why. You’re acting like you’ve developed a sudden allergy to me.” 

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch. “Is that what’s happening?” 

“Is it… me? Like, I don’t know. Did you have a prison girlfriend?” 

“It’s not like that,” he says with a little laugh, pulling you closer in his lap. Your back arches under his hand, your faces inching closer. 

“It feels like it is, though, Spence. You were gone for so long and you’re acting like you didn’t miss me, and maybe I’m full of myself but I know you did so it has to be something else.” You give his cheek a squeeze, his lips pouting. 

You’d kiss him, usually. 

“I just don’t wanna hurt you,” he says, eyes on your nose. “Again. I don’t think I have it in me.” 

“No, you don’t, and you’ve never hurt me before.” 

He smiles and closes his eyes. “Just left you all by yourself for months while I was on vacation…” 

You’re not quite laughing as you lean down for a small, careful kiss. “That wasn’t your fault,” you say against his lips. 

“I made stupid decisions.” 

“I make them all the time.” 

You kiss him again. He’s relaxing now, you wouldn’t kiss him otherwise, though you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with you like this. “You’re not that out of practice, are you?” you ask, letting your lips follow a trail of their own volition up his cheek. He’s fun to kiss, soft, though not as soft as he was, and your chapstick leaves little kiss prints all over his pale cheek. 

“Spencer, you know I love you? Like, I really love you.” 

“I know.” 

“And nothing you do, nothing that happens to you, could make me stop.” You lift his face by the cheek. “Right?” 

He bats your hand away from his cheek and takes your face into his palms, as if to say, Stop it, I get it. He looks good like this with his scrub of stubble and a bit of confidence about him. “I don’t know what I did to get so lucky with you,” he says, pulling you in, squishing his nose to yours. 

You cover his wrists with your hands and close your eyes. 

He saved you a bunch of times. “You have a very selective memory when you want it to be,” you say gently. “But you can tell me anything. Everything that happened, I want to know. Please, Spence.” Stop carrying it around by yourself.

He nods his head, you can feel it against your nose, his breath on your lips as he says, “Don’t say please.”

“Okay.” You grin. “Is that the only rule?” 

His hand sneaks around to the back of your neck. “Stay where you are,” he murmurs, his lips dragging down to yours. 

You melt in his arms. 

—

my requests are wide open! please like or reblog / reply if you enjoyed, i hope u did!!❤️

[cherrywaves333]

hi!! this is my first ever tumbr post, i'm super excited and super nervous for how it's gonna be received since i've been a fly on the wall in s o o o o many communities for years. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings/tags: abuse, drugs/alcohol, the normal cm stuff, hospitals, emetophobia at the end (very slight mentions of vomiting), reader is a stripper, use of y/n, slight age gap if you squint, black!reader, spencer is a bit of a perv if you squint.

“oh, fuck,” she thought as she looked at the team’s destination. 

she read the name over two or three times on the jet, Charlie’s Devils. it was the same unclever name of the same dingy strip joint she used to work at to pay her way through college and the academy. she bit her lip in silence as the team went over the case. she didn’t flip any further than the first page so as to not potentially see any of her old friends in a state she couldn’t unsee. 

Spencer was the first to notice her uncharacteristic silence. he was going to question her about it, but he didn’t want to mention her unease in front of everyone. he knew what it was like to be the youngest and newest on the team and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt she had to defend her spot on the team. but, he did observe her and the cogs turning in her brain as she stared at the picture of the epicenter of the murders. it looked as though she wasn’t breathing, she was so still. then, she spoke.

“okay, i feel like i’ve been here long enough that i can trust you all and i know i’ve proven myself more than capable and professional on this team,” she began to ramble before stopping herself to breathe, “i used to work here.” 

the team fell silent, especially Spencer who was now left in her old position. he stiffened up, his breath caught in his throat at the thought. he had tried his best not to imagine her in any light other than his best friend as he knew they could never happen. he knew he was too old for her. JJ was the first to crack a smile, followed by Emily who couldn’t help but laugh. 

“but you can’t walk in heels!” Emily laughed a little harder. 

“shut up! i so can!” y/n defended herself, ears hot with embarrassment but also relief. 

“no, you can’t. you look like a deer!” Morgan added on. 

Hotch observed y/n for a minute and her gaze shifted to his, causing her to shrink into her seat a little further. everyone fell quiet, both hoping that Hotch wasn’t mad at her and that they hadn’t embarrassed her. 

“do you want to sit this case out?” Hotch questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“no! actually, i thought i could be more helpful,” she reasoned, hoping he wouldn’t take her off the case, “none of them know i joined the FBI except my cousin, i could be an informant, i could go undercover, wherever you need me.” 

“we’ll see how it goes when we touch down. for now, i want you as far away from the club as possible. stay in the police station. Prentiss, Morgan, go to the club and ask questions. Reid, L/N, stay at the precinct, go over the files and work on the profile. Rossi, go down to the morgue and see the MD. JJ will come with me to talk to the victims' families.” 

everyone closed their case files and waited on the flight to Los Angeles. y/n had moved over to the couch by herself and busied herself with music and a book, but she had been on the same page for the last 5 minutes. not that spencer was counting or anything. he moved to sit next to her to make sure she was alright with working this case. 

“you okay, y/n?” he asked, softly.

she didn’t answer for a moment before answering with a question of her own, “who were the victims?” 

as spencer went down the list of 5 victims from the same club, she didn’t recognize any of them, they were all new girls. she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she felt guilty for the relief that she felt, but she needed to know that none of them were her girls in order to work the case. 

“i don’t know any of them,” she breathed out. 

he felt his heart throb with sympathy for her as she was willing to work her friends’ case earlier, knowing what she would have to see. she gave spencer a small smile before speaking again. 

“you don’t see me any different?” 

spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “of course not, being an exotic dancer isn’t anything to be ashamed of.” 

she laughed a little at the title, “this club is not nice enough for us to be called exotic dancers.” 

once they arrived at the precinct, spencer and y/n immediately got to work setting up the profile. she thought back to everything she knew about this club, overthinking and overanalyzing every aspect, every dynamic. 

“were these girls working the streets as well as the club?” she asked, looking at their outfits. 

“there’s nothing in their files, why do you ask?” spencer looked up in confusion.

“the girls who just work the club show up in warm ups, sweatsuits, pajamas, hair and makeup not done, and they leave that way. the girls who work the street get cute before coming,” she explained, pointing to each girl looking done up. 

“i’ll let everyone know we might be working with potential street workers,” spencer nodded at her observation.

she bit her finger as she stared at the board, unmoving as she analyzed every single detail. the method of murder on each victim was strangulation. each victim had alcohol and drugs in their system, namely MDMA and high levels of THC. most of the girls at the club partook in a party drug every once in a while, especially during an off day. y/n tried to stay away from harder drugs, sticking to weed during her college years and only dabbling outside of that for two years. each victim was in their early 20’s, but they were all different physiologically. none of them were the same race or body type. one girl was 5’8 while another was only 4’11. 

hours later, the team met up to discuss the details of the case. the killings were sporadic, there was no pattern to the space in between killings. the victims all worked in the same club, but other than that there were no obvious links. there was no DNA left at the crime scenes. Rossi had found that the bodies were scrubbed clean before they were dumped.

y/n couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, this whole case felt familiar to her. she kept shaking it off as being the club she used to work at and the feeling that this could’ve been her or her friends. she knew deep down that wasn’t it. 

“L/N, i want you to go down to the club tomorrow. dress casual, show face, let people know you’re back in town,” Hotch stated casually. 

all eyes fell on her and spencer was the first to speak, “are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“i’ll do it,” she nodded at Hotch, “am i going undercover?” 

“if we don’t catch this guy by day after tomorrow, you’ll be going undercover that night,” Hotch confirmed. 

she nodded before excusing herself to get some water with spencer hot on her tail. 

“kid’s got it bad for her,” morgan nodded. 

“he’s just looking out for her,” JJ shot down the idea, “it’s sweet seeing spence stepping up.” 

“20 bucks says they start dating before the end of the month,” emily wagered after Hotch left the room.

“you’re on,” morgan took the deal. 

“100 bucks says they start dating before the end of the case,” rossi remarked before leaving the room as well. 

“you don’t have to go undercover if you don’t want to. none of us will think any less of you,” spencer started as soon as they were alone. 

“i can handle a sting, spencer,” she chuckled, a little sarcastically. 

“are you sure? you’ve been anxious all day,” he shot back.

“are you seriously profiling me?” she scoffed, “you know what, i think you do think less of me. i’m not a child, spencer, i can handle my job.” 

she stormed out of the office, pausing to ask Hotch if she was good to leave. she left the precinct to go get into character for her upcoming operation. 

the next day, she walked into the club, donning a new nail set and done up hair. her outfit was much less than anything she would ever wear to work, trading her usual blouse and jeans for a mini skirt and a cute top. as soon as she opened the doors, she was taken back 4 years to the last time she was here. 

“y/n? is that you, baby?” she heard a familiar voice call to her. 

“did ya miss me?” she let her personality shine through her voice with a huge smile on her face. 

Laticia wrapped her arms around the girl, squeezing her tightly and whispering, “i told that fine ass man yesterday that you needed to be here with us until they catch the bastard that’s killing my girls.” 

“let’s go to the back,” y/n nodded with a smile. 

“look who’s back!” Laticia announced to the girls, “just in time to get me in this corset. let’s go, show’s in 2 hours!” 

she got dragged to Laticia’s private room before any of the girls could even get up and swarm her. she took in the room that used to be theirs. the two vanity mirrors, one decorated and one abandoned with a lone vase of orchids atop it. the pink carpet with questionable crunchy parts. the posters on the walls. Laticia took her sweatshirt off and slipped on the corset. 

“lace me up while we talk,” she said, playing music over her speakers loudly so no one could hear them. 

“what’s new here?” y/n said in detective mode. 

“King’s running shit now,” she whispered, “he’s got almost every girl in his grip, time’s are real bad over here.” 

y/n fell quiet at the mention of her ex, “are you working for him? is sadie?”

“no, no. but, you have to stop him, y/n/n. i feel like he’s at the center of all this, i know it.” 

“i know, we can’t link him to anything, though, tish. there’s nothing i can do.” 

she got her laced in and Laticia wiped her face, letting y/n speak again, “i can convince my boss to let me go undercover and work here again.”

“king wants you back, he never let you breaking up with him and leaving the club go. he’s gonna come after you,” Laticia shook her head at the suggestion. 

“and my team will take him down, babe, i got this,” she hugged her cousin and walked out to be swarmed by the old girls welcoming her back. 

after a bit of convincing, she was allowed to get on the pole the next night. she sat in the dressing room, putting makeup on by herself. she had told the team it was best she showed up just as she would when she worked here before. 

“heard you were back,” a voice said from the doorway.

her blood ran cold as she looked up through the mirror, “what do you want, king?” 

“so it’s king now? what happened to auggie?” he questioned, condescendingly. 

“you choked me,” she stated, coldly, going back to her eyeliner. 

“you know i didn’t mean it, baby,” he dropped down to her side, “i missed you, you left in the middle of the night.” 

“you choked me,” she repeated, finishing her second wing. 

the two sat in silence for a beat before he grabbed her thigh and looked up at her, “smoke with me. just like old times.”

she tensed, knowing refusal would make her look suspicious but she couldn’t smoke because of her job. she looked at him, trying to look as sad as she could. his grip tightened the longer she hesitated. 

“i don’t smoke weed anymore,” she tried to shake him off. 

she sat and stared at him and he pulled something out of his pocket, “or do you think you need something stronger to take the edge off?” 

she shook her head and he nodded, “then smoke with me.” 

she sighed and gave in, feeling his grip getting tighter and tighter, “fine, but let go.” 

she didn’t have a wire, nobody was going to knock on her door. they had cameras set up all over the club and people undercover set up around the perimeter with Spencer, Morgan and Prentiss inside the club as patrons. there was nobody except one of the girls who could interrupt this interaction and keep it casual. 

he lit the end of the joint, releasing his grip on her. she relaxed ever so slightly being free from his grip, but still shaky about smoking. she inhaled the weed, body fully tensed as she thought about her career going down the drain. she felt herself getting higher the longer he kept her in the room, her tolerance dropping significantly in the 5 years since her last hit.

“let me put your glitter on you,” he whispered to her. 

she complied, trying to keep him happy and maintain the personality he knew of her, “don’t mess it up.” 

he pulled her robe off of her as soon as she stood up. the air was so thick she couldn’t breathe, she knew in her heart that he had killed those girls as soon as he spoke to her. he grabbed the glitter gel and rubbed it over every inch of exposed skin. she looked modest given the circumstances; cheeky high waisted champagne bottoms paired with a matching glittery bra with chains hanging off of the bottom. she donned rhinestone fishnets, a wine red garter, and high stilettos. she lost her balance when he gripped her hips to glitter up her stomach. 

“you’ve stayed in shape,” he flirted.

“wish i could say the same for you,” she shot down. 

he let the comment slide, finishing up her glitter and looking her over, “you walking around like this all night?” 

“the robe is a part of the set, don’t you remember, king?” she taunted him with his street name. 

she sauntered out of the room, head in a fog from the weed. she walked up to behind the main stage, waiting for Laticia, now candy, to finish her routine. she watched from the velvet curtain as her cousin picked up the money from the stage and strutted towards y/n. 

“you got this, cinny,” she smiled at the girl, squeezing her arm. 

Prentiss was sitting at the bar, sipping a rum n coke all coke. she watched the stage intently, using her peripherals to scout out potential criminals. 

“how yall doing tonight?” she heard the owner of the club announce over the microphone, much to the disdain of the patrons, “i know you came here to see these beautiful girls dance, but i want to welcome back a very special guest to our regs of years. our girl cinnamon will be taking the stage for the first time in 4 years.” 

y/n shook out all her nerves and told herself to remember her pole routine, trusting that she can work the stage just fine. she put on her stage face and sauntered on stage on beat as wine pon you started playing. she flipped her hair to the side as she got to the front of the stage, curled hair framing her face beautifully. 

i ain’t got my eyes on you

she bent over slowly before quickly squatting down, ass to the audience. Spencer stiffened in his seat.

ain't been hypnotized by you yet

she slowly stood up, pushing out her ass. spencer tried to picture the girl in the navy blue cardigan, speed running a puzzle with him on the jet. 

ain't in here tryna find my dude

he could see the body glitter on her chest as she rolled her body. 

i take it you just like the way i wine pon you

her hips whined their way down to the floor on beat. his hand gripped his glass tighter as his loose button down seemed to strangle him. 

she worked the stage, and spencer little to her knowledge. her mind was in such a fog, she knew she was working on muscle memory and personality alone. no logic to her movements, no calculation between her position and king. she felt all her training leave her brain, becoming a vessel to the mission, returning entirely to the club in that moment. she felt hunted. 

after some polework, she noticed king’s attention slip away from her onto a girl serving drinks and she was desperate to get it back. she climbed off the stage, sitting on his lap and lip syncing the lyrics to him, “be like a museum, got you lookin’ but you can’t touch.” 

she climbed off of him and dropped to her knees, maintaining eye contact with him. spencer’s eyes tracked her every move like a hawk, both in shock and intrigue at the provocative nature that she had hidden so well. he tried to figure out if any part of this was her or if it was all for the case. before she stood, she tossed her head back, making a pornographic face as she locked eyes with spencer across the club. she could see something in his gaze, a hunger she was unfamiliar with. 

she sauntered back to the stage from the club floor to finish her routine. from then on, she was juggling spencer and king’s attention, doing everything to keep the gaze on her. her every move was to make sure the light hit the detailing on her bra, the glitter on her skin was popping, that they could see her every curve. she made sure her lines were clean and that she was drawing them deeper and deeper into her. 

when her set was over, she returned to her dressing room. she had hoped deep down that spencer would come in to talk to her about the moment of eye contact they had shared. she hoped he would come in and tell her that she wasn’t delusional and that there was something there. but she knew they were working a case, she knew he wasn’t coming. 

her door opened and in came king, “why’d you leave the club again?” 

she turned around and giggled, “i had better opportunities.” 

he grabbed her hips, “like what?”

she giggled even more, leaning back against him, “college.”

“why don’t we get outta here and you can tell me all about it?” he leaned down to her face, pressing their noses together. 

she smiled, even though his grip was tightening and it was hurting her, “okay, king.” 

he draped his arm across her waist, keeping his hand on her hip. he guided her out of her dressing room after she slipped on her long robe and her sweats. she was tying it closed as she walked through the club, catching the attention of spencer and morgan. 

“i can’t change first, baby?” she asked, stumbling to keep up with him in her heels. 

“i like you like this,” he stated, not looking in her direction. 

“i look like a hooker,” she grumbled as she covered up.

he ignored her, squeezing her closer to him to keep her from wandering away. spencer had half the mind to start following them out because of his aggression toward his friend, but he waited for her signal. it also seemed like they were going out to his car, which was in his usual spot right next to the team’s stakeout van in the alley. 

the rest of the team waited in the van, watching as y/n stumbled to the car. they couldn’t tell if she was actually under the influence or if she was struggling to keep up with the man’s pace because of her shoes. they watched as she climbed into his tinted car and waited for any sign of a struggle or signal to move in. 

y/n anxiously shook her leg in the passenger’s seat, feeling any high she had going slipping away from her with the intensity of the situation. she was sitting in the car where dozens of women had likely been abused or killed, she couldn’t breathe. king climbed into the driver’s seat a second later and just watched the girl. 

“you good?” he questioned. 

she couldn’t get anything out, thinking about the last time she was in this car, “i’m fine.” 

“nah, you’re tense,” he tried, pushing her buttons.

she shook her head and tried her hardest to relax, but she was angry at him. she was mad for herself, she was mad for the other girls, she was boiling over with hatred. she couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking he had all this power over not just her but women in general. she was so wrapped in her hatred, she didn’t see it. 

“come on, baby,” he held a powdery tablet in the shape of a playboy bunny. 

“what?” she questioned, knocked out of her gaze. 

“it’s e, baby, you used to do it all the time, remember?” he held out the suspiciously printed drug.

she tried to shake her head, but realized he wasn’t asking her. the moment she got in the car, she was in his domain, under his influence, at his beck and call. she couldn’t say no. 

so, she took it. and the next 15 minutes were a blur. 

“get off me!” she screamed, kicking at him and the driver’s side window as he knocked her head back against the passenger’s door. 

he was trying to force her into the backseat as she kicked and screamed, clawing at his neck and face. she managed to flip them, so they were fighting in the driver’s seat and her butt slammed on the horn multiple times. the team took this as her signal and moved in as he threw her into the backseat. they fought as the window broke all over them and the door flung open. 

he was pulled off of her as she crawled out of the other door. spencer was waiting on her side of the car and she immediately backed into him. 

“i need to go get my stomach pumped,” she gasped, putting all her body weight against him as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit. 

~

spencer had waited in the emergency waiting area, his leg anxiously shaking as he waited for the girl to wake up. he thought over the situation and couldn’t believe she would be so careless with her life. what if he had laced the drugs? did she even know what she took? he couldn’t fathom how she ended up in that position and why he didn’t push back against her going undercover harder.

“she’s awake,” garcia informed the team as she waited in the room with her. 

spencer stood up first, “can i go see her?” 

the team decided to let spencer go up first while garcia let them know how she was doing. 

y/n looked over at the lanky man in her doorway and a smile graced her cracked, chapped lips. she looked almost gray, but spencer could see her heart was beating strong and her lungs were full of air on the monitor, giving him comfort. she was a little embarrassed, her teeth were covered in charcoal and she had very clearly just vomited. 

“hi,” her voice raspy from throwing up. 

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” he said awkwardly, not moving from his spot. 

“me too,” she giggled, trying to make a joke. she grabbed her water taking a sip, “i’m sorry i scared you.” 

“what were you thinking?” he sat down, next to her. 

“it was me or someone else, at least the team was there for me,” she shrugged.

“no, taking the drugs. you could’ve died, you don’t know what he put in that,” he pushed, starting to get annoyed by her lack of care. 

“i had to do something, spence. i wasn’t getting out of that car without taking something with him.” 

spencer twiddle his fingers before tossing his hands, obviously getting frustrated, “that’s not the point!” 

“why are you so upset?” she furrowed her eyebrows, expecting this from hotch but not spencer. 

“because i just realized i like you and then you almost die!” spencer snapped at the girl, word vomiting his thoughts. 

the room falls quiet, minus the beeping of the monitors connected to y/n. she looked at spencer with tight lips, deciding to lighten the mood once again. 

“can you say that again when i don’t have a black smile and bruises?” 

[foxy-eva]

Uncovered

Summary: You have to go undercover as a stripper. Spencer is a little too impressed by your pole dancing skills. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) implied case related violence (including the mention of guns), implied age gap, pole dance, lap dance, jealous Spencer, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex (birth control mentioned)

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover Challenge!

Masterlist

“We could do an undercover mission,” you suddenly blurted out while staring at the evidence board. 

Your words caught the attention of the rest of the team. For days you hadn’t gotten any closer to catching the unsub and you were getting tired of waiting for another victim. 

“You’re right. The last two times he went after the new girls at the strip club,” Luke stated. “We could lure him out that way.” 

“Going undercover as a stripper? It's risky but it could work,” JJ agreed. “I'm not gonna do it, though.” 

As if on cue, everyone's eyes were suddenly on you.

It made sense, you were the youngest on the team and fit the unsub's type the most. 

“Absolutely not,” Spencer disagreed as he shook his head. “It's too dangerous and she's too inexperienced.” 

“Hey!” You scolded your coworker. “I can handle myself. And I have plenty of experience!”

“As a stripper or undercover agent?” Luke joked to lighten the mood. 

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “As a profiler! And just for the record, I took some pole dancing lessons a while ago.” 

You were met with surprised looks and raised eyebrows. Before anyone had the chance to make an inappropriate remark, you clarified, “It’s a great workout, actually.” 

Emily found your eyes. Ultimately she was the one who'd have to make this decision. “Are you sure you're okay with this?” 

You thought about it for a moment before you nodded. You were certain that your team would protect you no matter what. There was nothing to worry about. 

After a day of preparation, everything was ready for the undercover mission. It was still early when you and Spencer arrived at the club. It wouldn't be for another hour until the first guests would show up. 

“I'm gonna go change,” you said before you disappeared in a room in the back while Spencer took a look around the club to make sure all the hidden cameras were in place. 

After you closed the door behind you, you took a deep breath and pulled out a lacy purple bodysuit that would cover your skin just enough to hide the microphone. After you shed your clothes, you taped the wire to your body before slipping into the piece of lingerie. When you checked yourself in the mirror, your heart started racing at the thought of dancing on a stage dressed like that.

You didn’t even care that a bunch of strangers would see you like that. But Spencer would be there, too and that was a thought you could barely handle. When Emily decided he should be the one present while everyone else waited in the surveillance truck outside, you almost wanted to call the mission off. 

Nobody on your team knew how much you were pining for Spencer. Countless sleepless nights had been filled with fantasies of sharing intimate moments with him. And now you had to strip in front of him in a room full of strangers while potentially being targeted by a serial killer. That wasn’t quite what you had imagined. 

Despite covering up the most important parts, the one-piece left very little to the imagination. By applying a dramatic amount of make-up and fixing your hair, you tried to distract yourself from the thought. Once you were done, you inspected your work in the mirror. You looked so different, it was almost shocking. 

Earlier you were worried that everybody would be able to tell at first glance that you weren’t actually a professional stripper but now you were sure you’d pass well. You closed your eyes for a moment and thought back to the pole dance lessons you took a while ago to spice up your workout routine. It had been a while but you were confident you still remembered most of the moves. 

A knock on the door had your eyes shoot open again. 

“Are you decent?” You heard Spencer’s voice on the other side. 

“No,” you laughed as you opened the door. “But that’s kind of the point.” 

As he took in the sight in front of him, Spencer’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. The subtle rosy shade spreading over his cheeks let your heart jump. 

“You look…” Spencer started but failed to finish his sentence. 

“I know, it’s a lot,” you finally sighed. 

“It’s very different from your usual work attire,” he chuckled. “You look beautiful, though.”

His words seemed sincere. They made you smile. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before Spencer continued talking. 

“The manager of the club asked about a name to introduce you to the crowd.”

“Oh I gotta pick a stripper name! That’s fun. Do you have any ideas?” You asked him before adding, “You’re from Vegas after all.” 

“Crystal, Candy, Ginger, Diamond, Amber, Karma… all very popular stripper names. They don’t really suit you, though,” he said with furrowed brows as if he was really thinking about it. 

“What’s your suggestion?” 

A smirk spread over his face before he leaned down enough for you to feel his body heat. “Vixen,” he teased. 

His choice made you laugh out loud. It was not surprising to you that he’d pick something that could be interpreted as both, a compliment and an insult. “That’s perfect.” 

“Are you already wearing your wire?” He asked while scanning your body once more. 

“Yeah, you can’t tell, can you?” You wondered as you traced your finger over the lace of your bodysuit, following the wire underneath the fabric. Spencer audibly gulped when you brushed your hand over your breast. It wasn’t even intentional but made it very obvious that your outfit had at least some effect on him. 

He shook his head. “Do you think it might come loose when you move on stage?” He wanted to know. 

You hadn’t thought about that before. Wire spilling out from your cleavage would certainly bust your undercover mission. 

“Maybe I should do a little practice run?” You suggested and Spencer agreed. 

Spencer followed you back to the club and took a seat in first row while you got up on the stage. Taking a few steps around the platform, you made yourself familiar with the space available. The pole was right in the middle. You walked around it slowly, tentatively letting your hand move along it. The light was so bright you could barely see the seats. 

After searching for a second, you found Spencer’s eyes staring up at you. 

“Could you keep your eyes on me to make sure the wire… or anything else… doesn’t show?” 

He raised his eyebrows and repeated your words, “Anything else?” 

“Spencer, I’m wearing a tiny skin-tight bodysuit and I’m about to swing my body around a pole. I’m sure you know what I mean. I don’t want to show more than what these people pay for,” you snickered. 

“It would certainly guarantee great tips,” he joked. 

His words made you laugh, “I hope you brought small bills.”

After taking a deep breath, you followed the steps you had memorized from your pole dance classes. First, you slowly walked around the pole before bending down while dramatically arching your back. Then, you squatted down before slowly standing up straight again. With your hand on the pole you walked around it a little faster to gather some momentum before jumping up and hooking one leg around the pole. Holding that position for a second, you took another deep breath until you slowly slid down again. 

You repeated different variations of those moves several times until you were sure you had tested your outfit enough. Walking to the edge of the stage, you found Spencer immediately offering you a hand to help you get down. 

“That was very impressive,” he praised you, making your heart skip another beat. 

When you looked at him you noticed how his cheeks seemed heated and his pupils were dilated a little more than usual. The tension between you was palpable and made you curious about how far you could take this with him. There were still a few minutes left until your team would turn on the cameras and microphones. 

This undercover persona you had taken on really boosted your confidence. 

“What if the unsub asks me for a private dance?” You said while motioning your head towards a more secluded area of the club. 

“There are cameras everywhere and I can assure you that I won’t let you out of my sight. I’ll keep you safe.” The firm tone of his voice didn’t leave any room for doubt. 

“Thank you. But maybe… I should practice that, too? To be safe?” 

Spencer raised his eyebrows at your suggestion before nodding. “You’re right. We should talk this through.” 

He walked right behind you when you approached the section of the club with private booths for lap dances. “You should take this one,” he said while pointing at the booth in the middle and sitting down at the table closest to it. “Leave the curtain open a crack, this way I can watch from here.” 

He stayed at the table while you did as he said, leaving the curtain open just enough for him to peek through it. Then, you walked back out of the booth to take Spencer’s hand in yours. 

“Come on,” you said with a nervous tremble in your voice.

There was little resistance from him when you pulled him from his seat to lead him into the booth. He sat down and watched your every move as you closed the curtain completely. 

“That’s not what we just discussed,” he reminded you, hinting at the closed curtain. 

“I know,” you said and winked. “But you’re not the unsub.”

“Club rules state that the customers aren’t allowed to touch the dancers but they can touch them. You don’t have to do that, though. If anyone really asks for a private dance, I’d suggest you keep an arm’s length of distance.”

“Unless it’s you?” You snickered as you approached him. 

“Very funny,” he deadpanned. “And just for the record, you can also decline a private dance. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. As far as we know the unsub jumps his victims after the show on their way to the car.” 

Your stomach turned at the thought of giving a lap dance to a serial killer. This really was a line you didn’t want to cross but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play along to spend more time with your favorite coworker. 

“Okay, no more unsub talk,” you said with a playful tone. “I gotta practice the lap dance now.” 

It seemed as if Spencer only realized now what you had in mind all along. You almost couldn’t believe that he thought you only wanted to talk this through. “Are you okay with this?” You asked to make sure. He confirmed by nodding. 

“So, cutie,” you purred while brushing your hands over your sides. “What do you like?” 

“Uhm…” he stuttered as he watched you move your body slowly in front of him. 

Turning to your side, you arched your back to give him a perfect view of the curve of your backside. “Maybe this?” You teased. 

Spencer licked his lips and audibly exhaled. His hands were placed on his thighs and you noticed how his fingers trembled slightly, as if he had to hold back from reaching out to touch you. To your surprise he actually answered, “Yes.” 

Finding his eyes, you noticed how the gold of his irises had almost entirely been swallowed by the black of his pupils. You stepped closer until there was barely any distance between the two of you. He looked up at you with a certain hunger written all over his face. Placing your hand on his shoulders, you leaned forward to let him take a look at your cleavage. 

“How about this?” You breathed and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

“You really are a vixen,” he groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. 

That was when you dared to let your eyes drop to his lap, a smirk spreading over your face when you noticed the bulge straining against his pants. Heat started rushing to your center at the realization of the effect you had on him. 

More than anything did you wish you could just drop down to your knees right then and there to take care of him. Licking your lips, you allowed yourself to imagine how his cock would feel pressed against your tongue. 

Then Spencer opened his eyes again, forcing you to get back at least some of your composure. You knew you didn't have much time until your undercover mission officially started. It would certainly not be long enough to do what you really craved. 

Still, you needed to be closer to him, even if it was just for a second. 

“You seem tense,” you said as you took his hands in yours to move them away from his thighs. Then, you sat down on his lap, straddling him. “You should relax a little.” 

His eyes were wide when he looked at you and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You brought his hands to your waist, urging him to touch you but he hesitated. 

“Touching the dancers is against the club rules,” he mumbled. 

“Good thing I don’t actually work here,” you quipped. 

Suddenly you heard a high-pitched noise ringing in your ear. By the way Spencer jumped, he must have heard it too. “Sorry about that,” you heard Emily’s voice through the ear piece. “We were having technical difficulties. Can you guys hear me? The microphones should be working now.” 

“Yes we can hear you,” Spencer answered. 

“Damn, what are you guys doing?” You heard Luke’s voice and were reminded that the entire club was equipped with surveillance cameras. 

Quickly getting up from Spencer’s lap, you cleared your voice and explained, “I uhm… was just practicing a lap dance.” 

“Please tell me I don’t have to file a report to HR,” Emily sighed and you weren’t sure if she was joking or not. 

“We just decided that private dances are off limits for her tonight,” Spencer informed your team leader as he got up from his seat and walked out of the booth right after you. 

You turned your head to find his eyes. “Did we now?”

Spencer nodded, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah we can’t risk giving civilians heart-attacks,” Penelope giggled through your ear-piece. “You look amazing, by the way.” 

After talking everything through with your team once more, you went backstage again to freshen up and fix your hair and make-up. It wouldn’t be long until it was your turn on the stage. 

When a very sweet dancer named Karma returned from the stage, she waved at you and said, “Vixen, you’re up next. Good luck, they are gonna love you!” 

Your heart was pounding louder than the music when you approached the stage. The club was full, the air was hot and filled with the sweet perfumes of the dancers before you. The light was so bright you could barely see the crowd. 

You tried to find him, anyway.

Spencer sat at the same spot as before when you finally found his eyes. He wore a soft smile and nodded at you, encouraging you to stick to the plan. 

The club owner’s voice blared through the speakers, “Everyone make some noise for our new arrival Vixen!”

The crowd cheered and you started moving, following the steps you had practiced and repeating them in different variations over and over again. Every once in a while you looked for Spencer’s soft smile for reassurance and he was always there to provide just that. The longer you danced, the more you were reminded why pole dancing was a whole body workout after all. 

When your muscles started aching, your time was finally up. You left the stage and disappeared in the changing room to sip some water and wait for further instructions. 

“A tall man with a blue baseball cap asked the manager for a private dance with you,” Spencer informed you through your ear-piece. “He seemed very agitated when his request was denied. I’m gonna keep my eyes on him, he might be our unsub.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered into your microphone, making sure the other women there wouldn’t notice. 

It made you feel safe to know that Spencer had your back. You were certain that if anyone would lay as much as a finger on you, they would immediately feel the barrel of his gun on the back of their head. 

You changed into your regular clothes and put on a jacket, getting ready to leave the club just like you rehearsed with your team. 

“Is everyone in position?” You heard Emily’s voice. After everyone confirmed, she told you to leave the club through the backdoor. 

Despite the exhaustion, your nerves were on edge, aware that the unsub might try to attack you any moment now. You had your gun in your purse and your hand ready to quickly grab it as you walked out the door. 

Looking around, you didn’t see anyone, not even the members of the team even though you were certain they were there. They still needed probable cause to make an arrest. 

“Suspect is approaching,” Spencer whispered. 

Even though you expected him, you were still startled when you suddenly felt his presence behind you. 

“You owe me a lap dance,” the man snarled at you as you turned around. 

You already had your hand wrapped around your gun in your purse when he started approaching you with his arms reached out. 

Spencer quickly appeared behind him with his gun pointed at the unsub, yelling, “FBI, don’t move!” He froze and stepped back. “If you touch her, you’re dead,” Spencer growled. 

The rest of your team appeared to help with the arrest and hand the guy over to the local police. Relief washed over you when you realized that your undercover mission was successful. Once you got back to your hotel room, you couldn’t wait to wash off your make-up and take a shower. 

After getting cleaned up you slipped into your pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, ready to get into bed. A firm knock on your hotel room door disrupted your plan. You had a feeling who you might find on the other side. 

Spencer stood in the hallway, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said as you stepped aside to invite him in. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed with a tired smile on your face. 

His sight grazed over your outfit, almost as if he were caressing your body with his eyes. 

Spencer was still wearing his dress shirt and black pants and you wondered what he would look like in casual clothes. It was hard to imagine him in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“You look more like yourself again,” he said, hinting at your clean face and casual clothes. 

“Do you already miss Vixen?” You quipped. 

“No,” he countered without hesitation. “I prefer you like this. You're even more beautiful without any make-up on.” 

His straightforwardness let heat rush to your cheeks. It was as if the time you spent at the club with him changed something between the two of you. You always hoped for your feelings to be mutual but could never be sure before. 

Spencer seemed tense when he continued speaking. “This was your first undercover mission and I know this one was very intense.” 

You tried to lighten the mood. “So you don’t usually have to dance half-naked in front of serial killers when you go undercover?” 

“Rarely,” he chuckled before being quiet for a second. “I know we asked a lot of you tonight.” 

You thought back to when you suggested that mission. “You didn't. You never even wanted me to go undercover.”

“Yeah, I really did not want that,” he agreed. 

“There was no need to worry, I knew you'd have my back,” you reassured him. 

Spencer stepped closer to you, his eyes fixated on yours, a slight glimmer visible in the warm amber of his irises. “Can I be honest with you?” 

With a nod you confirmed, prompting Spencer to keep talking. 

“This mission was like torture to me.” 

You felt your heart stop for a moment and a pit form in your stomach. Thinking back to earlier that night, you started to feel bad for being so bold. 

“I'm very sorry. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.” 

To your surprise, your words made him chuckle. “That's not what I'm talking about. You didn't make me uncomfortable.”

That was relieving to hear. It also made you curious. “Then explain it to me, please.”

He took a step towards you. His tone was tense when he said, “It was torture because I hated seeing all those men looking at you, lusting after you. Nobody should be allowed to see you like that.”

Another step in your direction. Now your chests were almost touching and you were sure that Spencer must have been able to hear the accelerated beating of your heart. 

He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the skin of your neck before he whispered, “Nobody but me.”

It was then that all your remaining self-restraint broke. Swinging your arms around his neck, you pulled him against your body while capturing his lips with yours. With the same amount of eagerness he reciprocated your actions.

With one hand in the nape of your neck and the other on your back, he secured your position pressed against his body. A timid moan escaped your lips, an invitation Spencer gladly accepted by deepening the kiss. Time stood still as you got lost in this kiss, all the yearning and longing of the past few months finally unraveling. 

Greedy hands found the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them one by one. He moved with you as you let the fabric slide over his shoulders and drop to the floor. With your hands against his chest, you moved Spencer to the edge of the bed, urging him to sit down. There was no resistance from him, he happily followed your lead. 

You climbed into his lap just like you did at the club earlier, only this time there was no holding back from either of you. Spencer welcomed you on top of him like a queen on a throne. His hands wandered from your waist down to your hips, playfully squeezing your flesh before gently stroking your thighs. The sighs falling from your mouth only spurred him further on. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you confessed with a shaky breath. 

“Me, too,” Spencer answered. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

Ever so slightly you shifted in his lap until you felt his hardness pressed against your core. A subtle twitch gave away how good the sudden pressure felt for him. When you dared to roll your hips against him once, Spencer whimpered into the kiss, a sound so delicious it sent a shockwave right to your center. 

“I would have loved to do that earlier,” you snickered before you began moving. 

Spencer groaned, “That would have been my downfall.”

Grinding against him, your kiss was interrupted by heavy breaths and desperate moans from the both of you. Spencer buried his fingertips into your hips so hard you were sure you’d find their imprints still visible in the morning. The friction you created between your legs let your arousal soak through your panties. There was still so much you wanted to do with him, so you decided to slow down the movement of your hips before it got too much for either of you.  

Your lips left his in favor of kissing along his jawline, his stubble tickling your cheek. A rumble rolled through his chest when you began nipping the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands found the seam of your shirt and pushed it upwards, revealing your skin to him. Leaning back, you let him pull it over your head and toss it aside. 

There was a moment of silence while he took in the glory that was your exposed body. 

When he found your eyes again, he purred, “You’re so beautiful, it’s almost unreal.”

A soft kiss was placed against your collarbone while his hands found their home on your breasts, gently exploring the softness your body had to offer. When he placed your hardening peaks between his fingertips to apply some pressure, you moaned louder than you had anticipated. 

Spencer looked at you as if he was witnessing a miracle, his cheeks heated, his eyes wide and pupils blown to the rim. “You’re absolutely perfect,” he praised you. 

To his surprise, you got up from his lap without a warning and he whined in protest. Then, you fell to your knees in front of him, your hands flying to the waistband of his pants in an instant. 

“There’s another thing I wanted to do earlier,” you cooed as you undid his pants.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted as he helped you shed the rest of his clothes. 

When Spencer’s body was completely unveiled right in front of you, you took your time to let your sight roam over his body. His chest was flushed and heaving, his tummy looked soft and had a trail of hair leading down to the dark curls at the base of his cock. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and watched as a bead of precum rolled over the swollen tip. 

Leaning closer, Spencer could feel your hot breath against him. He watched you intently only to shut his eyes for a second when you gave his hardness a gentle squeeze. He twitched against your palm in response. Your tongue swiped over your lips to wet them. You could feel your mouth watering.

Then Spencer did something you hadn’t expected. He begged. 

With a soft and broken voice, you heard him say, “Please…”

To end his suffering, you began kissing along his shaft before licking over his tip. Spencer shuddered beneath you and made sounds so desperate you could have gotten drunk on them. Your lips closed around him and Spencer threw his head back, muttering some curse words you had never heard from him before. 

He felt hot and heavy against your tongue when you sank down on him slowly. You began moving with a steady rhythm, your hand covering what your throat couldn’t. 

“Feels so good,” he muttered. 

You would have been very happy to let him fall over the edge this way, curious to taste his release but when he got close to his breaking point, you felt his hand on your jaw. 

“Slow down, please.” 

After releasing him from your mouth, you placed a soft kiss on his tip before looking at him. 

“Tell me what you need,” you said while you kept slowly stroking his erection. 

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from touching him. “I need you,” he cooed and helped you get up from the floor. “Come here.” 

After guiding you onto the mattress, he laid down beside you before he kissed you once more. One of his hands moved down your body, over your chest, your stomach and finally, between your legs. He brushed over the fabric of your shorts, certainly noticing how damp they already were. Slipping his hand beneath the waistband, he pushed down your shorts a little. 

Hurried and ungracefully, you quickly got rid of your shorts and panties to give him full access to your skin. Your desperate action made Spencer chuckle but he didn’t say anything. Instead he kissed you again while he pushed your thighs apart with his hand. 

Then, he finally made contact with two of his fingers. He dragged them along your folds, spreading your arousal even more before finding your swollen bud. 

“You’re so wet,” he breathed against your lips.

You smirked into the kiss while one of your hands wrapped around his erection again. “And you’re so hard,” you teased him. 

Spencer didn’t let you distract him, he seemed determined to bring you pleasure by the way he circled your most sensitive spot. When he was sure you were ready, his fingertips found your entrance and slowly sank into you. The intrusion was very welcome. Your walls began fluttering against his digits the faster he moved. 

“Spencer…,” you sighed when you got closer to the edge much sooner than you had anticipated. 

Lazily you stroked his length while he worked his hand against your core. Spencer knew what he was doing and you could have easily unravelled this way. That was not what you wanted right then, though. 

“I need your cock,” you sighed instead. “Need it inside me.”

He groaned at your words before he removed his hand from your center. You couldn’t believe your eyes when he brought them to his mouth to clean your essence off his fingers. Never before had you seen anything so sinful. It turned you on more than you thought was possible. 

Now it was your turn to beg. “Fuck me, Spencer. Now, please!” 

Your desperation made him smirk. “You’re on birth control, right?” He wanted to make sure as he kneeled between your legs. 

“Yes I am. I also just got tested. So will you please fuck me now?” 

“Gladly,” he groaned as he leaned over you. 

He guided his cock to your folds and dragged it along them to coat it with your arousal before he slowly pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you, stretching you open to accommodate his size. When you had enveloped him completely, he captured your lips in a kiss once more. 

Your core pulsed around him as if your body was begging him to finally start moving. He obliged as he began pushing into you, slowly at first but quickly accelerating his motions until the bed frame was shaking. 

“Fuck,” he whined. “You feel so good. So tight for me.” 

The room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and the song of pleasure falling from your lips. 

You were at a loss for words, already blissed out and dancing along the edge of glory after just a few thrusts. Moans and sighs escaped your throat as you got even tighter around him. Spencer noticed the state you were in and changed the angle slightly to provide even more pressure. 

“Come for me,” he whispered as he dropped his hand to where your bodies met to draw circles around your nub with his thumb.  

And how could you deny him that? With a particularly forceful push you reached your breaking point, your entire body shaking beneath him as you came. Spencer guided you through the euphoria with precise thrusts, determined to maximize your pleasure. When you clenched around him one final time, he finally lost his composure, too. 

“I’m so close,” he mumbled as he pushed into you erratically. “Where do you want me to…?” 

“Inside,” you sighed. “Come inside me, please!” 

Hearing those words pushed him over the edge, spilling his essence into you as you ground your hips against his. He collapsed into your arms and you were happy to catch him. A tired kiss was placed on your cheek before Spencer buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

You held him tightly against your body, even when breathing became a little more difficult with his weight on top of you. Gentle fingertips drew circles on his back until you felt the mixed evidence of your shared desire dripping down your thighs. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you breathed, urging Spencer to get up. 

“Stay,” he said. “I can take care of that.” 

He disappeared in the bathroom for a moment, cleaning himself up before returning with a damp towel. Sitting down beside you, he touched your thigh and cooed, “Open up for me please.” 

After hesitating for a moment, you did as he asked and he began to thoroughly and carefully rid you of any remaining stickiness. You shuddered when the towel moved over your sensitive bud and Spencer apologized although there was nothing to be sorry for. No man before him had shown you so much care and affection and it warmed your heart. When he was done, he put the towel aside and found his home inside your embrace, where he stayed for the rest of the night. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Undercover Fics

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

SFW S.R./Fem!Reader

Hidden Talent by @graveyard-stray: The team must go undercover at a strip club to catch a nasty killer, and Reader has a hidden talent.

Garcia & Morgan's Matchmaking Service by @yourlocalravendork: It's just acting.

Put on the Red Light by @mrs-dr-reid: "I know you have to go undercover, but do you really have to dress like that?"

Gravity by @freelancelobotomy: Reader is a vigilante on a special undercover assignment to kidnap a thief when she gets distracted by a familiar FBI agent.

Game of Pretend by @railingsofsorrow: Friends with benefits go undercover as a married couple.

A Dream, A Kiss, a Wire by @reiderwriter: Character is surprised when their undercover partner is very good at pretending to be in love with them.

NSFW S.R./Fem!Reader (18+)

Uncovered by @foxy-eva: Reader has to go undercover as a stripper. Spencer is a little too impressed by her pole dancing skills. 

A Lesson in Faking It by @/foxy-eva: An evening of fake dating leads to a night of revealing true feelings.

Of Bases & Supernovas by @mercy-burning: Reader is a bartender whose hookups keep ending up dead. Spencer goes undercover as her new fling.

Recording in Progress by @pillow-coded: A private investigator goes undercover to expose Spencer Reid—but he catches on and things personal.

Thermal Energy by me: Reader and Spencer have to simulate sex. Things get a little heated.

Never Have I Ever by me: After a case involving kink culture, Spencer is assigned to judge the girls’ game of Never Have I Ever. Later, him and Reader compare scores.

Fake You Out by @fortheloveofwonderland: Spencer and Reader don't get along but they are forced to go undercover as a couple.

Assorted

Joshua Timmons by @codename-mom: (Gen) The BAU has to investigate an armed attack in a supermarket. Emily recognizes the employee.

All-Inclusive Obedience by @pkg4mumtown: [NSFW] GN!Reader and Hotch go undercover as newlyweds on a suspicious couples retreat.

Happy reading!

[reiderwriter]

🩺 Protect and Serve 🩺

Spencer Reid x stripper! Female Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Summary: Spencer makes a fool of himself in front of a very pretty nurse. Who turns out to not be a nurse at all, but a stripper.

Warnings: Erotic dance, pole dancing, uniforms, doctor play (?), semi-public sex, fingering, strip tease, nipple play, use of birth control - condoms, penetrative sex (PinV).

A/N: He's protecting, she's serving cunt. That's the pairing dynamic for this fic. I love writing Spencer as dumb because he does canonically lose it around hot people, and we, dear readers, are all hot people. I added the strip tease song below of you want to really get in the mood!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Hotch called out to the masses, the three teams of officers, and his own team who were lined up and ready to receive orders. 

“We're going to do a simple canvass. Ask anyone you spot if they've seen our missing person and if they've seen any suspicious activity around the area in the last month. You have further lines of questioning laid out in your briefs. Also, we have no reason to believe the unsub will be hunting right now, so we're going to be canvassing individually.”

The crowd nodded in a wave of understanding, taking the information as it came before getting ready to receive their areas to work in. 

Spencer had devised the map himself, so he didn't have to wait in line, instead, walking to his corner of the block and getting himself ready for interactions. 

The clock struck 11, and he began, waiting for the usual shaky characters of the night to stroll out onto the streets. After a series of abductions from this area, and the general disrepair of all local CCTV cameras, the BAU knew exactly where their unsub was hunting from, but not the how, the why, or the who. 

In a last ditch effort, they'd turned to goodwill from the public. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have a few minutes to answer some ques-” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Okay, have a great evening.”

For the best part of the first hour, all of his interactions were the same repeat of hostility and general apathy. For long stretches of time, nobody walked by at all, and some were even growing frustrated by being accosted by multiple law enforcement officers within the hour.

He'd almost lost hope for a lead when the clock struck twelve, and you'd ran around the corner, nearly bowling him over as you raced to get to work. 

“Shit, oh, I'm sorry-” you said, realising you'd landed in a soft place, and not on the tarmac you knew from experience was a pain. He'd accidentally broken your fall and was all the more sorry for it. 

“No, it's okay… ah, um, it's not that bad.” 

You stood yourself up, removing yourself from the body of the stranger. The body of the man wearing an FBI jacket, who you now recognised as being with one of the dozen or so cops that had stopped you in your dash from your car (parked further downtown so it wouldn't get stolen) to your place of work. 

“Oh, god, I'm so sorry, officer. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,” you mumbled again and again as you offered him a hand up. He took it hesitantly, grabbing his papers as he jumped on this opportunity to have a conversation with the first normal looking person he'd come across in an hour. 

If he'd been less eager, less tired, and in all honesty, less immediately attracted to you  he'd have realised that you had a destination in mind. One that, while being above board mostly, still made you weary of cops. 

“It's Agent actually - Doctor, but- anyway, um, could I possibly have a few minutes of your time? We're looking into a recent string of abductions in the area, and we’re asking if you've seen anything out of the ordinary.” 

You stood trapped by his surprisingly wide frame, his height dwarfing you by a few inches and the path being just narrow enough that you either had to decline politely, or just push past him to keep going. 

Unfortunately, you, too found him slightly too attractive than you were willing to admit, attractive enough that you'd gladly miss out on a half hours worth of tips to answer questions you'd honestly already answered before now. You'd always been weak for a man in uniform.

“I-I guess so. This will only be a few minutes, right?” 

“Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work,” he said, gesturing down at your outfit. If it weren't for his totally genuine tone, you'd have thought he was being cruel. 

Usually, you didn't show up for work in your performance clothes, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself on the streets at midnight, but you'd been forced to that day. 

It was Uniform Day at the strip club, and your boss was entirely too cheap to buy the Uniforms himself, and absolutely cruel enough to penalise anyone who showed up without some kind of costume. Your nurse outfit had been in transit and out for delivery since 10 am. that morning, arriving exactly 10 hours later. 

It wasn't exactly a realistic cosplay. Sure there was a cute pen clip, and you were technically wearing scrubs, but they were also skin tight, and you knew for a fact that your nipples were hard and visible through the thin material, because taking a glance down, even you could see them. 

“Do you usually work the night shift?” He asked, bringing his clipboard up to take notes of your answers. 

He absolutely did not know you were a stripper. 

“Yeah. We don't really get many people in during the day. Too embarrassing, not the time for it.”

He nodded and tried to pretend like he was writing something of merit down, but secretly, he was very much enjoying the curves Of your body as the tight material hung off your body. 

The “scrubs” were baby blue  but he had no doubt that if the heavens opened right, then they'd become as see-through as cling film. 

He, too, wanted to cling to you. 

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in the area recently, anything new or out of the ordinary?” 

“I mean, I couldn't possibly say. You know how this neighbourhood is, it's… well, it's not exactly the safest.” 

He nodded again and acted out sympathy, unaware how the feeling should feel now that he was faced with a woman so perfect that he'd entirely lost the ability to process emotions. 

“Right, right…” 

You stood for another moment or two, waiting for his follow up question, but his eyes raked over you in a way you were entirely familiar with. Unlike your usual clientele though, he snapped himself out of it, and had the wherewithal to look bashful. 

“Ask about victim, no leading questions,” he read quickly, before looking up at you and stammering through a new question. 

“S-so. Are there usually a lot of women walking around this area alone at night?” 

You did your nest to hold off a smile, to stay serious as he made the best of the script he was given.  

“Yeah, a few of the places have staff on hand to protect the girls, but my place is mostly women. We stick together as best as we can, but a client or two gets too attached now and again,” he nodded. 

“Patients can often become infatuated with their care staff,” he said, and he was so earnest that you wanted to take everything back and let him go. You wanted to see how long it would take him to realise there was only one body part you and your colleagues cared for. 

“I did think the industry was becoming more gender inclusive. Are there no men on staff?” 

“Oh, yeah. We have men, too. They're mostly request only, though, so we don't see them every day.” 

“Fascinating! You know, believe it or not, anthropologically, humans are predisposed to view women as more caring and are 9 times out of 10 more likely to ask for women to care for them, the gender of the patient doesn't impact the data.”

“Oh, I can believe it.” 

You smiled at him, and he looked taken aback for a minute or two. He finished by smiling back, and you definitely found this conversation worth as much as you'd lost in tips in the last half hour. You were half tempted to invite him back to the club with you for the night, to thank him for providing you with motivation for the night ahead.  

“Um, so, if you do see anything in the future, you can call the police and here is my number,” he said, scrawling something down quickly on a piece of paper and handing it off to you. 

“Oh. Oh, um, right, number. Uh,” you said, rooting around in your purse for your own business card to hand off to him. Partly because you wanted to resolve his misunderstanding, and partly just because you wanted to see what this overly respectful man would do with it. 

“Candy Cayne,” he read, obviously looking past the body glitter that covered the cars and everything else you owned. 

“Well, my real name is Y/N, but you can't be too safe these days.” 

“Right,” he said, smiling again. 

If these were the FBI agents put on the case of making your city safer, maybe you'd invest in a good taser and some more pepper spray. 

Just in case. 

“Spencer, over here!” One of the other agents you'd already spoken to called out from a block down the street, and hastily, Spencer Reid excused himself and let you finally continue on your way to work. 

You had to convince yourself you weren't disappointed. 

Morgan’s brows were furrowed as Spencer reached him. 

“Why were you interviewing the stripper again, I already got her information when she came by me.”

“Stripper? What stripper?” 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Morgan looked at the younger man incredulously before turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pointing in your direction. 

“That stripper, Spencer.” 

He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to your ass as you quickly walled off, hips swaying perfectly, showing off your complete assets in the tight outfit. 

“She's a nurse,” he defended, even as the blood drained from his face. 

“Uh-huh, and what's her name?” 

“...Candy Cayne,” he paused for a second before turning back to Morgan with a stricken expression on his face. 

“Oh my god, she's a stripper.” 

Five hours into your shift, and about $800 richer, you found yourself swinging around the pole freely again as your regulars slowly trickled out. 

You kept on dancing, though, knowing that the morning crowd was about to get in, the night-shifters that had to wait the entire night to get off on your dancing delights. 

Truckers you expected, security guards and night watchmen, too. Even the occasional older gentleman who found it hard to sleep in the mornings, so bored by retirement, they dropped in a few times a day. 

What you weren't expecting was Spencer.

You heard the door open, the bell ringing out loudly as all the girls stopped to greet their new target. 

“Hello, baby,” one called, the others chorusing around her. 

“Oh it's free for you, sweetheart.”

“Wanna take a ride?” 

“Aren't you just the cutest.”

Spencer spotted you - and your uniform - very quickly. 

As predicted, with a little bit of water, your uniform had gone see through with the tiniest drop of water, the sweat from your ongoing workout and the body oil the matrons lathered you up in before showing off everything. 

Still, Spencer tried to keep his gaze polite as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the stage and tried to engage you in conversation. 

“Hi,” he said, shouting awkwardly over the music. 

You shot him a confused look as you ground against the bar, still enjoying the tips of the last few stragglers. You gave him a confused look as you wrapped yourself around the pole, lifting yourself up and gripping the bar between your legs, pushing your chest backwards as you tipped your head upside down. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you, slowly but surely, let go of the bar, ending on the floor with your legs spread wide as the few men enraptured by you wolf whistled and swore. 

Finally, Spencer's bashful gaze dropped from your face as he stared at your scantily clad cunt. 

The baby blue underwear - though you could barely call it underwear as you were barely wearing it - was most definitely not leaving enough to the imagination. Combined with the very clear view of your boobs, Spencer wasn't surprised when his IQ abandoned him, rushing to his second head to let it make mistakes. 

“I'm sorry, officer,” you said, winking at him as you crawled forward, collecting tips as you went. “If my boss sees me talking to you instead of working, I can get fired. Tell me you've got at least a twenty on you.”

He scrambled for his wallet, pulling out all the cash he had and holding out a few dollars to you as you watched him. 

He looked away again, just as you leaned down to take it, and you pouted again. 

“Come on, sir,” you said, wiggling your ass a little to keep the other men entertained while you wore down at his morals. “You have to stick it down my shirt or something. Make it believable.” 

His eyes snapped back to yours, and then immediately to your chest as you sat back on your knees and began playing with yourself, grabbing your tits and bouncing up and down as you showed off your special ‘skills.’ 

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, and, hating how slow he was going, you met him halfway, pushing your chest into his open hand. 

Though he was apprehensive, his body seemed able to take advantage quickly, and upon depositing the cash, he let his hand trace down the curve of your breast, squeezing it a little. 

“I came to apologise-” he started, trying to remind himself to stick to the script he created for himself. 

You didn't want to stick to any script. 

“Boss, I've got a private dance!” you shouted out to the bar staff, getting a thumbs up from the manager there and a call back of a room number. 

You grabbed the rest of the cash from his hands and lifted a hand so he could help you down the stage stairs, leading him quickly to a private room and closing the door. 

“T-There’s been a mistake, I just came to apologise for my unnecessary comments earlier, and-” he paused, hands lifting up in surrender as you straddled him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You can talk, but you paid for a dance. I thought this would be better for you, more private.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, that's very considerate.” 

You nodded and began raking your nails down the front of his shirt, loosening his tie a little as you rose on your knees and gyrated your hips. 

His gaze locked eyes with your chest, and for a moment, you worried he wasn't breathing anymore, his entire body having stilled. Then you rocked your hips down into his lap, and you realised he wasn't still but stiff. 

He was rock fucking hard. 

You grinned, and tried to pick the conversation back up with a casual tone. 

“So how is canvassing going?” 

“Hmm?” He said, unlearning. “Oh, uh. Good. We have a few leads we're going to investigate in the morning.” 

“It is the morning, officer.” 

He nodded and gulped, but his gaze had rested gently against your bare skin again. 

You decided to treat him. 

Standing back up, you grabbed the room control and queued up your favorite track to dance with. The private sances were usually boring, a constant reminding of ‘don't touch the dancers’ dropping from your lips as you half-heartedly rocked back and forth. 

Unsurprisingly, though, you actually wanted this man to touch you. 

Spencer willed his brain to quiet, though as it had taken up residence in his pants, he doubted it could hear any of his requests. 

The opening lines of "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox played on the quiet room speakers, and you watched his hands clench into his pants. 

You took a step forward, pushing your arms up as you swung your hips left and right. 

“You said something about an apology earlier, right?” 

I put a spell on you. Because you're mine.

“Yes,” he said, restrained to monosyllabic answers as your hands trailed down to your legs, catching the hem of your dress and pulling it up. 

You revelled in the way his eyes widened, the way the veins in his hands popped as he grasped himself harder, the hitch in his breathing. 

You pulled the offending garment up and danced it off your body until you were stood in just panties and stilettos. 

Without flashing him even a hint of your breasts, though, you turned and sat yourself on his lap. 

“W-We could've just talked here, right? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“I know,” you said, grabbing his hands and covering your chest with them. 

“But you were so earnest earlier, I felt a bit bad too. Let's call this even.”

You didn't get an answer from him, but his hands did start touching you, and you couldn't help but feel as though you'd won anyway. 

You better stop the things that you do.

Taking your nipples between his fingers, he squeezed, and your ass pushed down into his cock, back arching as you began rubbing against his legs. You repositioned, letting your knees fall either some of his leg, leaning forward to balance yourself against his knee as you rocked your core into his leg. 

“So, what's your name, officer.”

“Spencer-” he sighed, voice warm in your ear as he leaned closer, trying to hook his head over your shoulder to watch the rest of your body writhe. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Oh, how fancy, a Doctor. I've never had a doctor before,” you said, straightening and grabbing his hands again. 

“And what a naughty little nurse I've been,” you giggled. 

I tell you, I ain't lyin’.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he said, as your hands guided his to your cunt, giving him permission to enter your underwear. 

“And as we've established, I'm not that kind of nurse. But I don't mind.”

He muttered to himself for a second before beginning to pay sweet attention to your clit. As bashful, and shy, and overall clumsy he had seemed outside, he absolutely had the theory of pleasure down to a T. 

The pads of his fingers were rough against your clit, pushing your pleasure buttons roughly as you soaked his pants. 

“That's it, Doctor, that's where the ache was.”

He caught on quickly and kept up his ministrations as you moaned in his lap. 

“Ah, fuck. M-Maybe some medicine would help.me Doctor. A nice big injection.” 

You stood and almost threw a tantrum at the loss of contact, but you returned yourself to his lap quickly. 

He unbuttoned his pants as he stood, and his cock was released and waiting for you when you returned again. 

Before you could get to it, though, his face buried itself in your chest. 

You moaned at the contact, his tongue swirling around your already painfully sensitive nipples. You humped his leg wantonly, giving up the act and becoming the whore he likely thought you were. It was all too much for you, his hot stare, his surprisingly deft fingers. And then he gently bit your nipple, and your cunt clenched around nothing as you twitched and you came. 

“Fuck, cock. Now!” You demanded, as the after waves of your orgasm still rolled through you. You grabbed a condom from the complementary basket nearby and rolled it onto his tip expertly before sinking yourself down on him. 

“D-D you feel better now?” He asked, hands gripping the fat of your thighs as tightly as he'd gripped his pants earlier. 

“Yes, Doctor Reid!” you said, your bounces sloppy as you stretched yourself around his dick. 

He wasn't overly long or ridiculously thick. It was like you'd stumbled into the Goldilock fairy tale, because you'd found the cock that fit you just right. 

Your brain short-circuited after your all too fast orgasm, and you moaned pathetically, almost grumpily as you failed to keep up the stamina. 

You know better, Daddy. I can't stand it ‘cause you put me down.

As if noticing your distress, Spencer stood slightly, using a nearby table to balance out your additional weight, and finally lowered you onto it. You'd taken no notice of it in the past, but you now thanked the heaven that the table was sturdy and roughly cock height, as he began thrusting into you with just the right speed. 

The clock struck six as he licked his fingers again and played with your clit once again, and with a sharp jerk of your hips, your cunt tightened around him and began milking his cock. 

He came with a groan, though admittedly one quieter than your own. 

I put a spell on you.

With a wet pop, his cock exited you, and he quickly went to work discarding the used condom. You tried to sit up quickly, and were surprised you could manage even that much, as you shimmied back into your wet dress. 

“Apology accepted,” you said, as he turned back to you, put together once again. 

You turned to leave, but he caught your waist and spun you back around to him. His lips were on yours in a second. 

His tongue was hot and thick as it opened your mouth, exploring every inch as he forced you to submit once more. When you pulled back, his hand lightly grazed up the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah. You too. Your apology.”

You couldn't help but let out a giggle as he walked you back toward the door, almost pinning you there for a round two. 

“You really thought I was a nurse?”

“It was dark.”

You gave him another peck on the cheek and pulled away, gaining the respectable distance from your customer aa you re-emerged from the private room. 

“I get off at 7,” you whispered yo him finally, before making your way back to the bar. 

Your doctor sat himself down and waited for the clock to strike 7. 

[nereidprinc3ss]

mojave ghost

in which spencer reid spends the night with fem!reader—a total stranger—because she just feels so familiar. based on the song "my life in art" by Mojave 3.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: based on a song about a stripper who runs away from her abusive boyfriend. tws for mentions of physical abuse. r has bruises from pole dancing. a little ooc bc Spencer hooks up with someone he just met but that's the point and if u know him like I do u know its not completely impossible. mentions of typical cm violence/murder. one brief mention of spencer's addiction. spencer's childhood trauma and abandonment. it's kind of just a heavy one, lmk if i'm missing anything a/n: I doooo suggest you listen to the song first just to feel the vibe of the piece and also how it is literally about Spencer Reid. and also bc its gorjus. anyways its been a while and this is not my most standard content but pls lmk what u think and if u liked it <3

He shouldn’t have done it. 

But when he saw you, sitting in a metal folding chair next to some peeling veneered-desk, his breath caught. Something primal deep in his stomach tugged the way it does when he finds little external fragments of himself, calling out to him—usually nonhuman objects. He’s seen himself in books, still warm from the hands that held them but ultimately forgotten on a bench or in the airport, needles in alleys or in between tiles on his bathroom counter, in shards of glass, in a hundred open wounds and dead animals, abstractly gutted on the side of the street. 

When he does see himself in a person, it’s in alarming glimpses. The man in the sleeping bag on the corner who talks to people that aren’t there. The lost child crying on the subway platform, rooted to the spot and still gripping the straps of their little backpack with responsible fists. It’s never anything he wants to know about himself, but this identification, this taxonomy and recognition of sameness—it’s so strong it stops him in his tracks, every time. He never really relates to the people he’s supposed to. Not Hotch. Not Gideon. Not even Maeve, in the way he’d so naively hoped for. Three people, all incredibly intelligent, at times standoffish. Used to being on the outside. All still possessing things and redemptive qualities he doesn’t. And what Spencer has secretly believed about himself for what has recently become a very long time, is that he is defined by his lack. The shape of him is made of negative space. He feels like whatever is in your lungs when you’ve pushed all the air out. 

And then, you. 

Physically, you look nothing alike. And he stops and lurches and does a double take like he’s seen his doppelgänger or been startled by his own reflection in a passing window anyway. Maybe it’s the way you hold yourself—hunched, foot tapping, head hung but still scanning the room, ever vigilant as you pick at your nails. You want to be small. You want to fold in yourself so many times you become a black hole. Spencer knows this. 

Something calls out from deep inside him, from all around him, that is not quite in his voice, but feels like grasping and reaching. 

I know you, I know you. 

He doesn’t catch himself in time before he’s walking toward you like he’s been waiting for you. 

Of course your head snaps up at the same time as he stops, and your eyes are shiny but not teary—frozen over with a layer of thick, dark ice like you’d carried the cold inside with you. You look caught. He searches for some sort of recognition in your eyes, anything to betray the fact that you have met before, because he never forgets a face but he knows what familiarity feels like and he can’t remember meeting you. 

His throat forms around something but the wrong word comes out. Halting, like he’s trying to lasso it and pull it back in. 

“Hi.” 

You pull your scarf down—a deep Roman purple—to reveal a pretty mouth, lips chapped by the unforgiving freeze outside. 

“Hello,” you say, politely, considering his probably strange behavior. He gives you a proprietary scan. Utility coat over a thick grey sweater. Jeans, cuffed at the bottom but still nearly too long, probably belted, although he can’t tell from the posture and the sweater. Brown boots. Your bag is a frayed tapestry of neutrals and patches. Fingerless knit gloves. You’ve given yourself false density, let the clothes swallow you up. Shapeless. Nearly faceless, magnet eyes framed between the scarf and the hat. But you’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. There’s yet to be anything humanity has discovered and not bothered to name. 

He forgets to ask. You clear your throat. 

“Um, I spoke to someone on the phone—Aaron, I think? We’re supposed to talk.”

Spencer tries to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

“Yeah, um, I can—I’ll… go get him.”

He turns away and breathes for the first time since he saw you, but he feels you behind him. He’s aware of exactly where you are in relation to the back of his head, he can feel you, like a hot spot, all the way to Hotch’s door. He lets himself in, slipping between as small a gap as he can manage and shutting the door gently behind him. Hotch looks up, not noticeably displeased at having been interrupted in his endless paperwork. 

What Spencer learns from his boss is this: you live in DC. You heard about a murder in Kansas—a girl, her hair still a fine, pale cornsilk. Barely not a child. You heard the details, and you called the cops, because you swear to god you know who did it, and they told you there was nothing they could do and gave you the number of someone who might be able to help, and so you followed a bureaucratic trail of phone numbers designed to discourage until you got to the BAU. Hotch says he’s going to interview you, but it’s probably nothing. 

“Actually, I’d like to do it if that’s okay.”

Hotch frowns deeper than usual.

“Why?”

Spencer swallows. Hesitates. 

“I finished my incident report early.”

Though he clearly has his reservations about Spencer’s sudden interest, Hotch is knee-deep in paperwork. So that’s how Spencer ends up in the round table room with you. 

You look too young, too raw to have been married, but you’re rubbing at your ring finger with the adjacent thumb like something is bothering you there. An absence that has become a presence. Negative space. You see things that aren’t there. Spencer knows that, too. Maybe you’re the kind of person who could look at him and see something.

That is his most intimate fantasy. He imagines it with you and feels the same kind of illicit shame and bloodied, starving hunger other people feel when they imagine sex or drugs or ravaging power; the way anyone imagines anything they want and can’t have.  

But he can’t put that kind of pressure on you. He can’t hold expectations like that. You’re a stranger. 

“Do you always do that?”

He points to your fiddling and gets that sour feeling in his throat he always does when he says something and wishes he hadn’t said it. That probably doesn’t show on his face. Most things don’t show on his face. Or maybe they do and nobody has bothered to tell him. 

You flex your pretty hand and then make a fist like you’ve been burned, probably to stop the compulsion. When you give a self-deprecating laugh, Spencer feels incredibly guilty for having pointed it out. But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. And at the same time, he almost expects it’ll be like talking to himself. Only nobody will give him odd looks. 

“Uh… old habit. I used to spin my wedding ring around when I was nervous.”

Used to. You’re especially too young to have been divorced. 

“You’re nervous?”

Your eyes flash as you look up to him. With what, he doesn’t know. Lightning, maybe. Electrical impulses that are a little less well insulated in you than in everyone else. 

But maybe he’s projecting. 

“Yeah. I feel crazy. But I was with a guy for a while who—and he was from Kansas—who would always, like, talk about… about hurting people. And I thought it was a joke at first, but… he laughed, at other people’s pain. He liked to hurt people. And animals. His dad had a farm, so I thought it was maybe he was just cavalier about life and death, but it was more than that. And he lived… he lived in that town. Where that girl died. He probably knew her. I… I probably knew her.”

Spencer’s heart sinks and he clears his throat like the force could bring it back up the right level again. 

You’re not his soulmate. You’re just paranoid. Looking for answers and resolution, like everybody else. 

The piece of himself he saw in you was just free radical damage. Instability. 

“Did he ever kill anyone before?”

“Wh—not that I know of. But I don’t really think he would’ve told me.”

But you would’ve known. You’re here because you’re lost. 

“Did he ever seriously injure anyone?”

You swallow and sit up a little straighter. Heat lightning in your eyes, again. It makes him feel something. He sits up too, despite your indignance, because it’s entrancing. 

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He… he…” you melt as quickly as you inflated and go back to spinning a ring that’s not there. It’s like watching technicolor go to black and white. “He’d beat people up. He cut them with broken beer bottles and… yeah. A lot of other shit. He was just… he was crazy. He wasn’t… okay.”

The way your gaze flickers back and forth like you’re reading pages of a book or perhaps in REM as you recount in vague detail what your ex had done clues Spencer into the fact that you’re extremely traumatized. The way you make sure to emphasize that your clearly abusive ex wasn’t okay clues him into the fact that you care too much. That you’re too quick to excuse people’s bad behavior, or dismiss it, because you know how it feels to be dismissed entirely and you don’t want to make anyone else feel the way you’ve felt. 

Or maybe he’s still projecting. Maybe he’s idealized you in these few short minutes since you met and he’s too far gone. Maybe he should’ve let Hotch do this interview after all. In fact, he absolutely should’ve. 

But the worst thing by far he did was ask to walk you to your car after all was said and done. 

The interview went on for over two hours, and he’d learned things about you he suspects you’ve never told anyone before, and thus has learned about himself, and the building is mostly empty when you finally leave. The work day is over. So he selfishly asks you to wait while he gathers his things—buttons his coat, wraps his scarf, packs his bag—and then he soaks in the silence on the elevator because it’s that terrible, beautiful space between where you first cross the line and when you do something unforgivable. Asking to walk you to your car was crossing the line. 

Sleeping with you was unforgivable. 

And he didn’t care. Maybe he knew he was going to do this from the moment he saw you. Spencer never does this. The knowing that it was going to happen is quite a distinct flavor of intuitive knowledge and it was always on the back of his tongue. 

You’re silver and purple, a streak, a blur, you move too fast to keep up with and even when you’re perfectly still the atoms around you scramble like they’re jonesing. You inspire movement. You are movement. But he gets to see you slow, and despite having known you only a few hours, he knows this is nothing short of a natural phenomenon. A once in a lifetime sort of shooting star. That’s where the silver comes in. 

The purple, though—it’s in strange places. Around your upper arm. Between your thighs. On your knees and shins and hips. The first time he noticed it he couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t very well ask what’s hurting you while he was touching you in a way that was decidedly not painful, if he wanted to keep it that way. And he did. He wanted to keep you looking at him through half-lidded eyes like he was something to see. 

Still, he can’t notice it and then fuck you without saying something—or maybe he could, and you desperately want him to and you ask for it and maybe most people would, but he won’t—so he brings it up. 

“I lead a very active life,” is your whispered excuse, shaped by a smile that is something like mischievous. And then you’re kissing his flushed neck and making your descent and so he can’t ask very many questions. 

It’s only in the precarious after that he can fit his questions in, which is dumb and he knows that, because you’re a dizzying contradiction of cagey and flighty and really the slightest thing will send you running. It’s funny how he knows that after a few hours and sex. Sex can tell you so much about a person. Spencer has compiled all the data from his experiences and decided sex is radically more effective a profiling tool than interview. 

You’re on his pillow, lying on your stomach, and his hand is in your hair. Falling in love is quite a distinctive taste as well. Or at least, the recognition that if you spend enough time around a person you will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fall in love with them. It is almost the same thing. It aches because it’s there and the proper thing to do is pretend it’s not. 

And his hand is in your hair. And your eyes are closed, and you look like you might fall asleep, and he should be beyond grateful for all of these things. He is. 

But that pesky desire to ameliorate, to improve and make better, and fix and heal, is too strong. Probably it’s the only way he thinks anyone will love him, is if he makes himself useful. That’s no revelation to him. The thought is not shocking whatsoever. It’s just true. 

So he asks again. You blink your eyes a quarter of the way open. 

“Hazard of the job.”

“What job?”

You make a noncommittal noise of reluctance—a discontented puppy’s whine, half-asleep. 

“I’m a circus freak.”

He laughs and remembers to keep scratching your scalp. The way you smile, eyes closed, is infectious. 

“Yeah? What’s your act?”

“Guess,” you challenge through the remnants of a smile, oozing satisfaction and glowing like a star. 

When he pauses to regard you, to seriously consider, studying the curve of your cheek and the color of your lips, you open your eyes again. 

“Tightrope walker,” he finally says, earnestly, so soft it could tear down the middle like gauze. 

Your answer is a smile into the dark. “How’d you know?”

The corner of his mouth vies higher. 

“I sensed a kindred spirit.”

Silence floods the room again, slowly, thickly, like molasses. It’s pleasant. You’re still here, in his bed, and he’s still measuring time with the pendulum of his hand in your hair. 

“What do you really do?” 

He expects you to be asleep. 

“Dancer.” Your lips hardly move as you say it, inflectionless, immediate. If his hand falters, it’s only momentarily. That explains the bruising, and so is a relief, as far as he’s concerned. But perhaps his silence is misconstrued. “Do you want me to go?”

It certainly doesn’t seem like you want to go. Your eyes aren’t even open. 

He keeps his voice low and gentle like maybe you really are asleep. 

“Why would I want you to go?”

“Don’t… do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re not judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m from Vegas. Your job is not a novelty to me.”

This time when your eyes slide open, there is a new, curious light behind them. 

“Really?”

He nods, distracted by a freckle just beneath your eye. 

“When I was ten I ran into my bus driver wearing two quarters as a shirt. And we weren’t even on the strip. We were in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot.”

You snort with laughter and it’s melodic, like twinkling crystals, like running water. Even as you hide your face behind your hand, he’s transfixed. God, he’s never cared about being funny before. Now he wants to make you laugh over and over again. He wants to keep you softer than you’ve ever been. The laughter fades slowly and he grieves it—but your hand sliding away from your face like the sun coming up from behind a mountain eases the ache. 

You reach out as if in a trance and run your thumb gently beneath his eye. He holds his breath as you make contact, butterfly light. Nobody has ever touched him like this before. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur. A thoughtless observation. A truth cast to the breeze. Knuckles carefully follow the dip of his cheekbone—a cartographer, learning her way by touch. Marking her territory. He’d let you do it. His eye stings, ready to spring forth a river just so you can have the pleasure of discovering it. “Breathe,” you laugh, softly, and he does. 

“Sorry.”

You don’t say a thing. You let your fingers trace borders into his skin and follow them with soft eyes and he wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of magic. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as good as he does right now, when it’s all over. Nobody has ever paid this much attention to him—but you’re intent, focused, like he’s art. 

“Tell me about Vegas.”

It takes him a moment to reply. 

“Hm?”

He feels bewitched. Warm. Foggy. A thumb brushes over his lips, but it’s only a pass, thank god, because he can hardly stand how you’re touching him already, at the high point of his cheek, beneath his brow. Finally getting enough sometimes feels awfully close to too much. He’s already almost cried once. 

“I wanna hear about Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it hot?”

Spencer will say whatever you want him to say, but he has to focus a little—like he’s speaking through honey. 

“In the summer, during the day. In the winter at night it drops to below freezing.”

“Desert-y,” you hum.

“Very.”

“Tell me more.”

There’s a rousing hunger in your voice and it reminds Spencer to want you again. He finds your waist and tugs you closer. Who is he with you?

Is he better? 

“There are 175 casinos in the city, but only thirty on the strip. There are 15,000 miles of neon tubing on the strip alone. It’s the brightest place on earth. You can see it from space.”

“Not that.”

Petulant. He loves it. 

His lips find the softness of your shoulder. “Then what?”

The only clue that you can feel what he’s doing to you is the twitch of your fingers on his cheek. 

“Tell me something… tell me exactly how it feels to stand in the middle of the desert. With nobody else around. Tell me things and details I couldn’t know about unless I’ve been there.”

At the junction of your neck, he pauses. This beautiful girl, and her beautiful brain—you are so disarming. So perfect. 

You shiver into him as his fingers brush up the back of your neck, gently pushing away hair so he can learn you everywhere. So he can remember your landscape, just like he’s doing as he closes his eyes and falls into memory. 

A gas station, off the side of the road—seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Desert all around. His dad’s ’79 Ford Fiesta—the one he didn’t take with him when he left. The driver’s door is open. Spencer’s dad has been inside for minutes. Spencer is watching from the middle of the road, because he looked out from the backseat of the Fiesta, and saw that dark, unassuming spot, and thought—how would it feel to be the darkness? What would I see if I were nothing at all?

When he gets there, and he stands on the sun bleached pavement, veined with spiderwebs of tar, and he sees this all from a distance—he realizes he feels exactly the same as he always does. So he pivots his head to the left. The road goes on until it disappears into the smudgy horizon. To the right, it does the same. The earth swells, far away, so many miles, so coal black, so impossible. Hardly even real. But there is something out there, he thinks. There is something, even if nobody else has ever been there, and I want to stand in the middle of it and I will learn how it feels to be nothing. I will not observe—I will become apart of the landscape, with the Joshua trees that have been there for a thousand years, and the rocks that haven’t moved in millennia. 

So he begins to walk. 

The rocks crunch under his feet, and that is the only noise. 

He walks for minutes. He walks until he knows the gas station will be small. He walks until he can feel the emptiness on the back of his neck, until it feels like an embrace. 

“It’s silent,” he hears himself say to you, in some other universe, decades in the future. “At night, it’s completely silent. You can hear yourself breathe. If you throw a pebble ten feet away, you’ll hear it hit the ground.”

Little Spencer takes a deep breath of inky air. 

“It smells like… geosmin.”

“What?”

Perfect. Your voice is perfect. 

“Dirt. But it’s not the same as dirt anywhere else. It’s… drier, like it’s smelled the same way for a really long time.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn. He’s doing a terrible job explaining.

But he feels your breath on his cheek—eager. Your hand at his shoulder as you lean closer, enraptured. Reverent, almost. 

“What else?”

What else?

Dry brush snags on the hem of the corduroys his mother had picked out for him. They’re a little too short. She’s going to try to take him shopping again tomorrow. It’ll work this time—they’ll get to the store. Mom’s just been having some trouble leaving the house lately. 

Rustling leaves skim the tips of his fingers as he reaches out for them, and keeps walking. When was the last time someone touched that shrub?

“There’s vegetation. Creosote, mostly, if you’re in the scrubland. Larrea tridentada. It’s dry—kind of twiggy, with green leaves and yellow flowers in the spring. The smell is bad, like asphalt, but you only notice if you get close.”

He hears his dad calling his name. It fades in and out. 

It’s dizzying, hearing his father’s voice. His father saying his name. 

It’s been a long time. 

“It’s so flat that things don’t echo. But because of the extreme variations in temperature the air pressure sometimes forces the sound waves to the ground and makes it impossible for them to propagate. They’re called the Santa Ana winds. Someone could be standing right next to you and if the wind blows at just the right angle, you won’t be able to hear them. But when it’s still, sound carries far.”

His father is angry. Or is he worried? 

Spencer can make out his dad, pacing frantically back and forth across the gas station pad, white button-up a glowing beacon even from this far away beneath the lone yellow street light. He looks so small. So very far away. Ant-like. 

Santa Ana comes slow—warmer than the night air around him, to ruffle his hair and rustle the dry leaves and blow soft clouds of fragrant sienna dirt around at his knees. It blows through him. For a moment, it wakes the desert up. 

Then it’s passed. It moves further down the desert and leaves Spencer behind. Things settle into silence again. He’s alone again. 

Spencer’s stomach flips as he realizes his father can’t see him this far away, this deep into the dark nothing. 

As he finally feels the enormity of the distance on all sides. 

Suddenly the void behind him is massive. Suddenly it is everything, and it is sucking him deeper. Nobody can see him. He could just disappear into 25,000 square miles of desert. He’s already, what—a thousand feet gone? More? The weight of all the infinite space behind him presses, and he thought it’d feel interesting but it feels like dying and there has never been so much regret or dread curdling in his stomach before. His face crumples, eyes stinging in the dry air, and he takes one step forward, and then another, and then he runs like he’s running for his life. But he doesn’t feel chased—no, that’s the worst part. He is running from an infinite, vacuous, nothing. Dad! He screams, but even this young he knows how sound waves work in the desert and he can tell his dad can’t hear him and he’s running and screaming until his lungs burn, and the scrub lashes at his ankles, and it has been the same for a thousand years and it will stay the same for a thousand more with or without him. Dad, I’m right here! He sobs, the words ripping up his throat with desperation as they go. 

Finally, finally, he’s heard, and he’s close enough to see his dad seeing him, he stops pacing and stares dumbfounded at the little boy appearing from the desert, sneakers slapping cracked asphalt. He gets closer and closer until he can see the lines on his father’s face and the color of his eyes and he sobs as he crashes into him. His dad’s hands are vice-tight around his arms, as Spencer cries and can’t breathe and thrashes like a fish out of water. 

What? Is all his father can manage, tight and baffled and afraid and the first word of a question he doesn’t even know how to ask. He says it again and again, like a skipping record; what—what? What?

On the drive home, Spencer sits in the backseat, a bottle of Bug Juice in his lap. His ankles sting, whipped and bloodied and punished for wearing too-short pants. 

The silence is cloistering and at the same time, completely par for the course. He does not expect his father to speak to him, but he sort of thinks maybe another father would. 

Outside, the black spine of distant mountains rolls on forever and stays impossibly far away. He peers out into the nothing, past what the moonlight can illuminate—and now, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows how it feels. Imagines another little boy made of shadows, as far away from the road as he’d been, and feels sick from all that fruit juice. He won’t ask his dad to pull over—all he wants is to get rid of that feeling on the back of his neck, like he’s dissolving into space. Like he’s the only thing for miles and miles. 

But the problem is—the feeling doesn’t go away. 

Not in the driveway. Not in the bath. Not in bed, later that night. 

Spencer did a bad thing and he wishes he could go back to normal. He wishes he didn’t get that desert feeling when he was surrounded by other people. But it comes back, again and again. At school. When he tentatively asks for new pants and his mom throws a vase at the wall and then sobs on the floor for forty minutes. When a few weeks later, his dad leaves, and doesn’t take the Ford with him—so it sits under the carport, greets him on his way to school every morning, and over the course of years the windshield turns opaque with dust. 

He hasn’t stopped feeling that way since. 

“You okay?”

A long, soft breath draws him back into his body. Into his bed. 

Not creosote. Not geosmin. Not the Santa Ana winds, coming from the deepest parts of the desert and carrying their desolation to him. Shampoo. Warmth. A girl who smells sort of like him, now—a girl whose perfume is all over his neck and chest and pillow. 

You’re there. You, a stranger. You, a girl he’s going to fall in love with. You—the only person he ever brought into the desert with him. The only person who ever brought him back. 

Point Nemo is not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Asphodel is not in the underworld. It’s a little less than half a mile out across from an old gas station on the I-15 in the middle of the Mojave desert. 

Spencer nods because he can’t bring himself to speak just yet. 

You smile and take the time to find his hand in the dark. 

“Felt like I was out there with you. Thanks.”

And he squeezes your hand—because for the first time, it feels like someone is going to come looking for him. 

lyrics from my life in art <3

[yasministration]

No more ink - Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: reader goes undercover for a mission and the team discovers all her tattoos. Tattoos which might be the reason her life ends. sprinkle of spencer x reader. Warning: gore, blood, SA kind of (if you blink you'll miss it), reader is undercover, reader becomes a stripper for like 2 secs.

Staring at the images of several murdered women, all sporting countless tattoos on their bodies, a chill is sent down your spine. What is so fetishising about tattoos? And more importantly, why were all these women so brutally killed after the assault? The uncomfortable silence in the station's big conference room is broken by JJ, who pulls out her phone, stating "Well I'm going to call someone so we can get the tattoos drawn on, Y/N are you sure you're comfortable doing this?" You nodded, adding "Yeah, but there's no need to call anyone."

Your comment had the entire team and police officers in the room looking your way, some confused, many surprised. You glance up at Spencer's reaction, hoping he didn't look disgusted at your confession. Did he dislike women with tattoos? His put together appearance always led you to believing so. "I mean, it's part of the reason I volunteered, I fit the profile the most." And it was true. Many of the women all had the same coloured and textured hair, body type, height and were all littered with tattoos. "How else are we going to get in?" You insisted, all well aware of the gang's strict policy when allowing people into the club. There would be no chance any of your male counterparts would be let in, because only women had ever been targeted by them, and looking between you and the other two women on the team, there was a clear difference between who hit the profile.

"Y/N, I've never seen you with tattoos." Things Morgan out loud, making sure he understood clearly what you meant by fitting the profile best. "People take me more seriously, professionally speaking, when they're hidden." You reply, shrugging your shoulders, which only puts an emphasis on the long sleeved top you're wearing. "Okay wait, just so we're clear here, you mean like you're heavily tatted? Not just one cute little smiley face on your ankle type of tatted?" You chuckle at Emily's small outburst, nodding along with her words. "You know what, why don't I just show you."

You end up revealing yourself to the team a mere hours later, tugging the mini black dress down your body, barely hiding your backside from any onlookers. You step out of the bathroom, basic black heels clicking loudly on the floor, attracting the attention of the team, packing up their things to head down to the van, fully equipped to keep track of you while you're inside. "Okay, I'm ready to go." There's a moment of silence in which the team fully takes in your appearance, or rather your tattoos.

A dark snake slithers up your ankle, and a mysterious year is written in bold above your knee, thigh illustrated with a mysterious design that resembles both stars and a vintage chandelier at once. Your second leg sports several patchwork pieces - an intricate compass and an angel - with two vine leaves curling around your knee, leading up to your thigh where you show off tattoos of a hummingbird and the sun. With your hair pushed back, they have a clear view of the design on your collarbone, dipping slightly into the gap between your breasts, leaving the rest to imagination. Your right arm is covered in a large abstract piece, and when you finally turn around, leaving due to the silence from your teammates, you allow them a perfect view of the wave tattoo on the back of your left arm, looping around your bicep, and a dagger tattoo on the back of your forearm.

Footsteps scurry after you, a soft hand wrapping around your wrist as you begin to leave the police station, pulling you into an empty hallway. Spencer tugs you to face him, eyes filled with worry. "Y/n, are you sure about this?" He whispers, his breath hitting your face with every word he speaks. "I'll be okay Spence." You reassure him, though you're sure he's already profiled you and can sense your nervousness.

In the van, Hotch reminds you of the protocol, securing the microphone into your dress and the clasping the necklace with a hidden camera around your neck, so that he and Garcia can monitor you from outside. They've given you a code word, and secured a silver bracelet around your wrist with a hidden alarm in the gem. Spencer squeezes your hand before you walk out of the van, a safe distance away from the cameras and insists one last time that you can back out any time you want.

You sneak into the hidden alleyway where the club is located, gulping slightly when you spot the bouncer before plastering a fake smile on your face. Everything will be okay, you repeat in your head, calming slightly when the bouncer steps aside for you to walk into a dark room. The door shuts behind you and your breathing quickens slightly, only to realise that the room isn't a room at all, because it's moving and is just an elevator instead. The doors open from behind you, welcoming you into a dark and mysterious, wide room. Red lights are on, and you can spot a stage with two poles, two exotic dancers performing a routine in exact synchrony.

Standing still, you have no idea where to start when a waiter, dressed in a black suit with his hair slicked back appears in front of you. "Champagne?" You nod, taking a glass from the tray not to look suspicious, but don't take a sip from it either. You make your way deeper into the room, swaying your body to the music, scanning the people in the club. For each man, there's at least two women by his side, giggling and brushing up against their arms, pressing kisses where skin is showing. Each woman fits the profile of those who'd been found dead, heavily tatted up, sporting the same features. Women lead men through red curtains, disappearing into different rooms, strutting proudly.

As far as the sex went, it all seemed consensual, meaning they couldn't have been unconscious or drugged before it happened, which completely changed your profile. "What's a sweet girl doing in a place like this all by herself?" You spun around, to face an older man, looking like he was in his late 40's. He sported a grey beard, and had a full head of luscious hair. He wore a crisp black button up with matching black trousers, and you could spot tattoos crawling up his neck and down his hands. "Looking for a man like you." You replied with a smirk, cocking your head to the side. He slid his free hand into yours, leading you into a round booth, where you had a clear view of the rest of the club.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself." You said before he could say anything, pressing your body up against his, and luckily for you, that's what he did. In the meanwhile, you observed the movement in the room, noticing waiters carrying garbage bags or cleaning empty tables. Weird. All the waiters seemed exceptionally muscular, but in a place like this, you would have assumed the waiters would be half naked and, well, women. "You alright, sweetheart?" The man asks, and you nod, smiling up at him sweetly. "I just need to use the bathroom. Do you think you could point me in that direction?" You ask, squeezing your thighs, where his big hand rests.

As soon as he gives you a direction, you hop up, following the first words he's told you 'Walk straight, take a left,' Once you've taken the left, finally out of the man's sight, you begin exploring the halls, becoming gradually more empty the deeper you walk into the club. For every 'private' room, which is only separated from the rest of the club by a curtain, there's a waiter (or rather security guard) standing at the entrance, protecting anyone from entering, or exiting. When you near the end of the hallway, you internally cringe. You had no where to go and a guard protecting the next room to the left. Exhaling, you stopped in front of the guard, looking up at him. "You the dancer?" He asks, and aimlessly, you nod.

You swallow when he steps to the side, letting you into the room. "Cover-up goes in the basket on your left." He instructs, before stepping back out of the room. You take a moment to take in the client, sitting on a red couch with his legs spread, shirt buttoned down all the way to his trousers. What have you done? You turn around, sighing, pulling your black dress over your body, just in time for music to start playing. You spin around, walking over the the man seductively, swaying your hips to the beat of the music until you stop in front of him, placing both hands on his chest. "Oh you're way better than the girl I had last time" The man mutters, groaning as he man spreads even more.

You have a clear view of the tent in his pants but blink a few times, trying to forget its image. Spinning to the music again, you face the wall, eyes glued on where you can see the guard's shoes in front of the curtain as you keep moving to the music. The man's hands settle on your ass, and you let him grope you, shutting your eyes in discomfort, cringing before he turns you to face him. His hands grip your hips instead, pulling you onto him and you follow, straddling his hips while swaying your body. You continue moving until the music dies down, slowing your movements alongside the decreasing volume.

The man puts his hands up, almost defensively, just in time for the guard to come into the room. He doesn't stop walking towards you until he stands right in front of you, and he grabs your arm, leading you to a different door than the one you came through. You try brushing him off you, chest constricting as anxiety builds up in you. "Can I at least have my dress back?" You ask, scoffing as he drags you into an empty room. "Sure, but I'm sure how much it'll do for you now." Instantly, you're pressing down on the gem on your bracelet, heart beginning to race as you look around the small room.

The cracks in the floorboards are stained a red-ish brown, and a single cuff is attached to a wall, where the man is trying to drag you. You recover quickly from you panicky moment, aggressively shoving him off you and bringing a leg up to push him backwards. He staggers back, but recovers quickly, bringing a knife out of his pocket and immediately charging at you. Ducking under his arm, you grab his wrist, trying to wrestle the dagger out of his hand. He stumbles, falling onto the floor, his grip loosening on the knife, which you tug back so hard it bounces back in your direction, cutting a gash through your arm. Just as you take a step forward, getting him whilst he's still down, the door slams open.

"NOBODY MOVE!" Just as you throw your hands up into the air, dropping the dagger onto the floor, a coat is wrapped around your shoulders and you're being pulled into a hug. You freeze for a moment until you smell the familiar essence of dark coffee and vanilla, melting into Spencer's arms as he whispers muffled 'It's okay's soothingly into your hair. Tears unwillingly build up in your eyes and you bring your hands up to grip the bits of Spencer's shirt that stick out from underneath his bulletproof vest.

Slowly, the coat dampens from where you cut yourself, and Spencer quickly realises, removing his arms from around you. "We need to get you to an ambulance." But even as Spencer leads you back outside, still whispering comforting words, that you'll be okay, you know it's not. Because in that moment you silently vow to yourself that you'll never get another tattoo inked into your skin ever again.

[vikspretty]

“slut!”

spencer had never told the team he had a girlfriend, never mind what her job was

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x reader

tags: fem! reader, no y/n, reader is a stripper (not explicit), based on a tiny scene but idk what ep or season, fluff!

notes: i was watching spencer clips and i saw the scene of him from i think season 6 where he and Emily were in a strip club asking questions. Then I was listening to slut! by taylor and thought i could make this work somehow. this isnt me calling strippers sluts btw!!! i just know some guys who have called them sluts and i love the chorus of this song and figured i could make it into something.

wc: 1,468

“And if they call me a slut, You know it might be worth it for once” — Taylor Swift's "Slut!" (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault)

He honestly hadn't meant for his team to find out about you through him spilling about your job. He also hadn't meant to keep you as a secret but with the continuous cases recently, he hadn't had much chance to tell them about you.

Spencer asking the witness if her boyfriend had a problem with her job wasn't judgemental, it was a question they needed to ask, and he knew how some men reacted to finding out their girlfriends were strippers, you had told him enough stories from your own experiences to support this.

"It's how we met, so no. Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

"No I don't, actually my girlfriend is in the same line of work and also I'm from Vegas so-" He stopped his ramble early at Emily's pointed look. He had assumed it was because he was starting to ramble, but her look of, 'we need to talk' told him it was because of this new fact about him that she didn't know. Luckily, she dropped it for now and the rest of the talk went smoothly. The subject of a girlfriend wasn't brought up until they were back at the precinct.

"Got anything for us?" Morgan asked as Spencer and Emily walked in.

"Yeah, did you know Reid has a girlfriend?" Emily questioned, not giving Spencer a chance to say anything about the case. Morgan's face shot up in surprise as did JJ's, but Emily continued, "And get this, she's a stripper!"

Ignoring the looks he was getting, Spencer turned to Emily, his tone accusatory. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Immediately, Emily corrected herself.

"No, of course it's not, it's just-"

"We didn't expect someone like that to be your type." JJ said.

Before Spencer had a chance to say that they had never even met her so how could they know, Hotch and Rossi walked in, forcing a subject change.

It wasn't until they were on the jet home and Spencer was reading a book waiting for your reply to him asking to come over for the night that the topic of his mystery girlfriend was brought up again.

As Emily took a seat across from him she asked what they had all been wanting to know. "So how come we've never met your girlfriend? Or even heard of her?"

"I did want to tell you all but it was still relatively new and then we had a long string of cases and I wanted her to meet you when I told you so I just didn't mention it." As he was talking, his phone pinged with a text to which he immediately picked up to read.

"So now that we know, do we get to meet her?"

"I will ask her. You guys were thinking of going out tonight right? I'm going straight to her apartment so I can see if she's off tonight to join us."

That seemed to be enough for Emily as she nodded and gave Spencer a smile, walking back to her seat from before.

You could tell Spencer was hiding something. When he arrived at your apartment he was quiet and it seemed like he wanted to talk but he hid it by practically devouring you and keeping you moaning for over an hour.

Deciding you wanted to find out what it was right now, you took action: grabbing his book from his hands and placing it page down on the table behind you, straddling him on the couch. His hands instinctively went to your waist as he gave you a kiss, despite his questioning look.

"Hi." He said, to which you replied the same. "As much as I do love you on me, we decided to rest for a while. Realised you actually can't resist me after all?" He joked.

It was true. To resist Spencer was torture but your pride refused to let you go back on your statement from earlier so quickly. In your break earlier Spencer had called you insatiable when he got up to get you some water. To this you denied and said that you could easily resist him, you just never wanted to and so Spencer challenged you.

"No... but I can tell you want to say something and I'm just curious to find out what it is."

Spencer had been holding off on asking you to go out with him tonight. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous but he took a breath and asked you anyway.

"It kind of slipped during the last case that I have a girlfriend and also what your job was and now my team wants you to come out with us tonight." Spencer spoke quickly in hopes to not stumble over himself.

Your head filled with questions like why was he scared to tell you this? what prompted him to tell them? was he meaning to keep you a secret? Instead you replied with one single "Yes," throwing Spencer completely off guard. He was expecting at least a question about why he had only just told them when you had been together for nearly 3 months now.

"Oh, that's great, um, we're going to a bar not too far from here actually and we can leave in about 2 hours?"

You nodded and internally decided against bombarding him with questions, instead going in for a kiss, all pride and challenge from earlier forgotten.

The nerves only hit you when you were walking to the bar hand in hand with Spencer. Your face must have displayed these nerves, prompting Spencer to pull you closer and ask if you were okay.

"Yeah, I am, I'm excited to meet your team, but you told them about my job right? They're not all weird about it?" Usually, you didn't care about what people think about you, but you really liked Spencer, and the way he spoke about his team proved that he cared deeply for them and you just wanted them to like you too. From the way Spencer had spoken about them, they didn't seem like the type to judge people for doing what they needed to for money, as long as it was legal of course, but still, you'd had your fair share of encounters with boyfriend's friends that have lead to you being dumped all because they've seen you on stage.

"They would never. They're nice people, truly. And I can tell you right now, Emily will be all over you for how you look tonight."

His words lifted your nerves and by the time you were walking through the bar doors, you were eager to meet them. It took not a minute for Spencer's hand to be at the small of your back leading you to a booth full of people. You took a deep breath saying to yourself that even if they called you a slut, it might be worth it for once, as long as you were seen on Spencer's arm.

Getting to the booth you noticed four people sat, watching as you guys approached. You could feel their eyes on you but to your surprise, they didn't feel judgemental or disgusted - they were kind and eager.

Before Spencer had a chance to introduce you to anyone, a woman was in front of you offering her hand. "Hi, I'm Emily, you are so hot!" Her enthusiasm made you giggle as you shook her hand and replied with your name and "So are you!"

As you got acquainted with the team, Spencer left to the bar to buy you and him a drink, smiling to himself as he saw your own smile from across the bar.

The rest of the night ran smoothly with you quickly realising just how true Spencer's words were. None of his team even cared about what kind of job you had, all they cared about was if you were a good match for their youngest team member.

As you parted ways from Penelope's hold, promising to go out with her and the other girls alone again, Spencer watched with a smile.

"You really love her, huh?" Derek's voice startled Spencer slightly, but he nodded anyway, giving you his biggest grin as you came closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest.

"Yeah, I really do." Spencer replied, putting his arm around your waist and saying goodbye as he began to lead you back to your apartment. You didn't even need to have heard what Derek had said to him because you could see it in Spencer's eyes. Because in a world of boys who judged you and called you a slut for doing what you're good at, Spencer was a gentleman who would never let those boys anywhere near you.

this one took me a little longer to finish up than i had intended cause work was draining the past few days but i finally got it done. i have more ways to lengthen it but then id feel like it drags on and i just wanted to get it out so i apologise for the semi-rushed ending. i actually dont mind this one so i hope you enjoyed and please send requests, the people i can write for are in my masterlist!

dividers by @cafekitsune

thank you for reading!

[luveline]

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.) 

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section. 

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true. 

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom. 

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight. 

You look tired, too. 

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess. 

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas. 

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky. 

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops. 

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak. 

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.” 

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?” 

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight. 

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment. 

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.” 

“It's getting better.” 

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–” 

“I'm really okay–” 

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–” 

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.” 

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.” 

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket. 

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still. 

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.” 

“And he hit you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask. 

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice. 

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue. 

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?” 

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.” 

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…” 

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” 

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.” 

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now. 

“Can I buy you something to eat?” 

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside. 

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.” 

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it. 

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?” 

“No.” 

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.” 

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly. 

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that. 

[incognit0slut]

Since hearing Streets by Doja cat (silhouette remix) I always thought if I ever had the chance to striptease for someone, that would definitely need to be the song playing in the background, the rhythm is so sensual. So can I request a smut with Spencer centered around this song?

Love your blog and tiktok edits, and congrats for reaching 3k! You deserve it!

tysm lovely hope you enjoy this🫶 (wc) 3.1k!

warnings: (MINORS DNI!) Reader is a stripper, lap dance, pantyjob, a lot of grinding lol

Play our fantasies

The FBI agent visiting your workplace wants more from you than answers to his questions.

…we play our fantasies out in real life ways…

"THE FBI IS WAITING FOR YOU," your boss said the moment you stepped down from the stage, his voice a low murmur amidst the pulsating beats of the club. Your clients varied from politicians to well-known celebrities, but you never had the chance to entertain an authority before.

Your boss rolled his eyes as he gripped your arm, navigating you to the VIP lounge. "He's not here for that."

"Oh?"

"He's here to ask some questions," Teddy explained as he released his hold, motioning you to follow him. "Said he wanted to know about one of your regulars."

"My regulars? Who?"

He gave you a sideway glance as you both strode to the back area of the club. "Dennis."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dennis Meade?" You asked. "That lawyer? He hasn't even been here for over a month."

Your boss shrugged. "Maybe that's why the FBI is looking for him, only god knows where he is."

"It's always those quiet ones, huh?" You jested, your heels clacking on the marble floor. You stopped for a moment when you passed a wall that was covered with mirrors, fixing your hair through the reflection. When your boss noticed he was walking alone, he turned around and gave you a disapproved look.

"He's only here to ask you questions."

"I know." You smiled, delicately smearing off the subtle lipstick mark that had smudged over your lip line from the dance routine you performed on the pole earlier. Satisfied with how you looked, you made your way back to Teddy.

"Is he cute?" You asked playfully.

"Y/n."

"I thought we weren't supposed to use our real names on the clock."

He sighed, the ambient lighting casting a soft glow on his exasperated expression as you both continued to walk down the hallway, the distant thump of music reverberating through the walls.

"Angel," he pressed sarcastically, emphasizing your stage name. "Doctor Spencer Reid is keeping his identity discreet, so don't attract any attention to him."

"Doctor?" You mused. "Thought he was a cop."

"FBI agent," he corrected.

"Tomato, Tomahto." You finally stopped at the entrance of the VIP area, a line of doors covered in drapes separating each private space. "Which one is he in?"

"Corner left at the end." He gave you a pointed look. "It's better to stay with him according to your usual private session, lessen any suspicion."

You smirked. Spending half an hour in a room with an authority sounded intriguing. Teddy rolled his eyes as he saw the look you gave him. "No funny business, Angel."

"Of course not, Teddy," you assured him, giving him the most innocent smile you could muster.

He shook his head and took a step back. "You're trouble."

With a playful wink, you pushed open the door to the VIP area and stepped into the dimly lit space. The ambiance shifted from the bustling energy of the club to a more intimate setting. The smell of burning wax filled your nose in the form of vanilla-scented candles as you made your way to the corner suite.

A man stood in the middle of the room, his scrutinizing eyes scanning the small platform in the corner with a pole planted on top of it, but as he heard your footsteps, he turned around and met your gaze.

Your eyes slowly assessed him. His features were sharp, his gaze piercing, and an air of confidence surrounded him. There was something magnetic about his presence, an unexpected allure that contradicted the stereotypical image of an FBI agent. You were never this close to an FBI agent before, but were they supposed to be this attractive?

As the door closed behind you, the muffled sounds of the club outside were replaced by a peculiar intimacy. Especially when his eyes roamed your body, taking in the lingerie top barely covering your breasts and the thin silk panties you chose to wear today.

"You must be Angel," he greeted, watching you intently. The dim light accentuated the subtle nuances of his expression.

"And you must be Doctor Spencer Reid," you replied, injecting a subtle hint of playfulness into your tone. "What brings the FBI to our humble abode?"

"Spencer, please." His lips then curved into a faint smile. "I'm here on official business. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"About Dennis Meade, I presume?"

His eyebrows raised slightly, acknowledging your astuteness. "You're well-informed."

"It's part of the job," you responded with a casual shrug. You took a moment to assess the situation before nodding towards the plush seating. "You should take a seat, Dr. Reid."

He did as he was told, but his eyes went wide when he noticed you stepping onto the platform instead of following him. "What are you doing?"

"I was told you didn't want your identity to be known," you said as you gripped the pole. "There are cameras everywhere; I'd say it would seem suspicious for the security to see I'm only talking when I should be working."

He watched as you started to move around the pole, your movements deliberate and gracefully controlled. The ambient lighting cast a subtle glow, creating a surreal atmosphere within the room. The pulsating music from the club outside, its tune slow and seductive, provided an unexpected rhythm in the closed space.

"This way, it seems like just another part of the show," you continued as you swayed your hips seductively. "Now, what did you want to discuss about Dennis?"

Spencer's gaze followed your every move and you watched as his tongue flickered along his bottom lips. "We believe he might be involved in something that requires our attention."

You leaned back, arching your back in a sultry pose. "Dennis hasn't been around here for a while. Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not the first time he's come under our radar," Spencer explained, his tone measured. "We're trying to locate him to gather more information."

"I can't say I know much about him," you replied. "There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about him, at least not that I'm aware of."

Spencer absorbed the information, his expression thoughtful. But it was hard to keep his mind on the case he was supposed to be investigating when your moves became more daring as you leaned down, actuating your luscious hips that were barely covered with that thin string of fabric covering your sex. Then his mouth dried up as you turned around in front of him and fully bent over, exposing the delicious curve of your ass.

He tried to steady his breathing. "Any peculiar behavior… conversations, or associations you might recall might help."

You twirled around the pole again, a moment of contemplation before you spoke. "He kept to himself mostly. No unusual conversations that stood out. As for associations, he didn't seem to have any close ties with the regulars here. Just a quiet guy who enjoyed the performances."

"Especially yours?"

"Well, who wouldn't?" you teased, your gaze locking with his. "I do put on quite a show."

You threw your head back as you moved again and god, it was criminally sensual, the way you danced, unlike anything Spencer had ever seen before. He couldn't put into words the allure you possessed. When you ran a hand over your skin, dipping into every curve, he was unable to hold back any longer, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. 

"It seems that way," he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back in his seat.

His jaw then slacked open, heavy breaths being ragged out as he got a better look at you when you started to approach him. Your hair shone under the lights, red-painted lips ghosting upon your lips as you straddled his lap. You leaned into him, placing a knee on each side of his thigh to press into the thick, leather chair. 

"Is this also part of the show?" he softly asked.

You chuckled, the sound low and sultry, matching the tempo of the music. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." The palm of your hands slid over his arms, sending warmth along his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. "Depends on what you want it to be, Dr. Reid."

You swore you could see his muscles tense when your fingers glided over his shoulder, and with a sharp inhale, his head fell against the seating. He was even more handsome up close. He had soft skin, a sharp jaw covered with a soft stubble, and brown-colored eyes that shone underneath the fluorescent lights.

His breath caught as you moved in closer, the distance between you diminishing rapidly. The proximity between you two grew more intense, and his initial purpose of discussing the case became a distant memory. 

Your lips hovered close to his ear as you whispered, "Do you want me to continue?"

Spencer's mind raced as he struggled to maintain composure. The unexpected turn of events left him breathless, his professional facade gradually giving way to your seduction. It was as if his fantasies were playing out right before his eyes. Having you perched on his lap, the intimate proximity, the charged atmosphere—all of it seemed to align with his imagination.

Then a low, almost invisible, "Yes," escaped his lips.

The single word carried a weight that hung in the air as if the room itself was holding its breath. It was enough of an answer as you slowly lowered your hips. Your thighs parted for him, and you pressed your center against him, letting out a low gasp when you felt how hard he already was.

It shouldn't have surprised you, after all, it was the usual reaction to every man you had to entertain. Maybe it was the unfamiliar setting that had you growing hot; to be on someone's lap who was a high authority, someone who was here for work, someone who wasn't even paying for your time. Yet you couldn't help it, especially when his hands found your hips, urging you to move.

You obeyed, beginning to press your aching cunt against his bulge, rocking your hips softly back and forth. As you do, your silk panties slid over his pants, earning a hiss from his parted lips. You couldn't help but smirk as your palms pressed to his shoulders, offering stability as your hips rolled against his body.

You felt the warmth flooding between your thighs as you grind your folds against him, earning a few twitches of his hips in return. You would normally call in security if any of your clients touched you inappropriately. The club patrons could touch, but there was a policy of grabbing, holding, or leaving marks. 

And what Spencer was doing surpassed all the rules. One, he wasn't even a client, and two, you would be in trouble if you were caught enjoying this. Your job was to entertain people, not be entertained. Yet you were far too gone to think of the consequences. The fear of getting caught still weighed on your mind, but with your throbbing clit pressing to him as you rode him, the worries diminished faster than they could build.

You couldn’t deny the bliss that filled your body. Grinding against him had you lost in the moment, legs beginning to quiver as his fingers pressed into your hips harder, head falling back, curses pouring from his lips. His nails began to press to your flesh and it should have inflicted you pain, but instead, you were even more drawn to him that you reached for his belt.

"May I?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. He wasn't sure it was the wisest idea to submit to whatever plan you had in mind, but he found himself nodding, and a few moments later you were already busy undoing his pants.

Your fingers hook into the band of his briefs next, urging the fabric down with assistance from him as his hardened cock spring free. He bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating your every move a second before your fingers wrapped around his girth. Slipping your grip to his swollen, reddened tip, a hiss spilled from his parted lips, and then your palm slid back down his length as his hips pushed forward into your grasp.

"That—" He struggled to say, too focused on the way you dragged your palm up and down his length. "That feels good."

This earned you a smile. He felt thick and warm in your grip and your eyes instantly took in the sight; of his hard cock pulsing in your hand, of his brow creasing as you continued your movements. You watched as his tongue swiped over his lips again when your other hand reached for your panties, slipping the silk to the side, enough to ease his cock between your folds before adjusting the fabric back in its place.

You both let out a gasp at the feeling of him pressed to your flesh, trapped by the tight fabric holding him in place. You nearly lost your mind just as he did the moment you began to rock your hips once again. Juices dripping from your center made it effortless to slip back and forth over his cock, and with your arousal coating his flesh on the underside, and your silk panties caressing him on the other, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He held you in place as his hips met yours frantically. God, you were such a dream; Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. You were such a fantasy. Every moan escaping your lips seemed to cast a spell that held him captive. It was wrong of him to fully enjoy this, yet he couldn't help but be mesmerized by you.

The way you moved along his throbbing cock was such a sight to see. Or the way your head fell back as you satisfied yourself, your jaw slacking as you looked at him through hooded eyes. Your soft whimpers begin to flood his ears, and it urged him to give you more as he told you how fucking good you felt, how fucking wet you were, and how fucking beautiful you looked, even with your hair sticking onto your face from all the sweat.

Fingers brushed loose strands of hair from your eyes and it took so much of your self-control not to kiss him. Kissing your clients was another one of the policies, and it was something you shouldn't even consider of breaking, so instead you focused on the growing heat that stretched along your core.

Your hips increased their pace, rolling against him to offer the both of you relief, your clit swelling with a need for release as you felt his cock pulsing between your wet folds.

Your thighs began to shake around him, giving him the courage to pump his hips a few times, catching you off guard. Gasping, you arched your back, continuing to move your hips over his, using him to find release as his cock rested between your folds and the fabric of your silk panties. You felt yourself growing hot, needy, aroused, dripping along his length, making the sensation all the more electrifying.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your entire body trembling. “I-I’m gonna come.” 

“Come,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Come on my cock, Angel. Let me feel you.” 

His words sent a rush of electricity through your body, out to every tingling limb and curled toe, and there was nothing you could do but lose the last shred of control you were holding onto. Your moans poured from your lips louder than before, but you had a hard time caring as the bliss swelled within you. 

You called out his name, again and again between desperate whimpers and gasps, thighs tightening around him as you rode out your orgasm, not slowing your pace until the wave washed over you.

When you relaxed against him, he took hold of your body, wrapping his arms around you as he began to thrust from below, fucking himself between your soaked folds and silk panties. After a few moments, you grew completely weak, allowing him to take control, allowing him to hold onto you, allowing him to use you to get off until the moment a sharp inhale filled your ears.

Thick ropes of white spilled from the hem of your panties, soaking through the fabric and coating your flesh. His breath stalled for a moment before he released another exhale, head falling back as his hips attempted to keep thrusting, yet he lost all momentum as the pleasure took hold of him.

You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, surprised by the way his hands brush delicately over your hips, skimming across your lower back in a soothing motion. "What time do you get off tonight?"

You met his gaze. "Late, as usual," you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "Why do you ask?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your back. 

"I was thinking... maybe we could continue this later," he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "In a more private setting."

You raised your eyebrows. "Is that part of the investigation, Dr. Reid?"

"It could be," A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Or maybe I'm far from done with you."

“Oh?” Thoroughly amused, you hummed. "Is that so?"

He nodded and looked at you through half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what time you get off."

It wasn't a question anymore; it was a demand, and a shiver ran down your spine. 

God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to taste him, no, you needed to taste him. You had never craved someone as much as you did now. Maybe it was the unmistakable glint in his eye or the way he spoke to you then that had you caving in, or maybe it was the thought of his cock buried deep inside your cunt that your answer slipped off your tongue without much thought. 

It was too easy for you to tell him what time your shift ended when all you wanted was for him to fuck you senselessly.

"I finish at two," you quickly responded. 

Spencer's half-lidded eyes seemed to darken, his features betraying a hunger that mirrored your own desires. "Meet me at the back exit at two, then."

A coy smile played on your lips as you met his intense gaze. Honestly, you would let him fuck you right there and then, but you had to be patient. Time couldn't move faster than you wished. 

[just-call-me-by-yn]

MIDNIGHT DANCER - spencer reid crucial time | chapter 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x stripper!fem!reader Content warning: swearing, canonically inaccurate Spencer, mentions of murder, mentions of adult activities - stripping, cliffhanger ending. Word count: ~1.6k Summary: The one where you are a suspect in an ongoing investigation. a/n: this is part one of a series! It will get spicier in later chapters! Hope you enjoy it. 💗

The knocking on your door was sudden. It was loud as well, which was unusual and odd, one could even say strange. It was also scary since you lived in a neighborhood that wasn’t exactly known for its safety. This could be trouble, you thought. An alarm started going off in your head. Did you owe someone money? No, at least not from what you could recall. So who could it possibly be? Lurking through the peephole made your whole body go stiff for a split second. Two men in FBI jackets standing at your front door definitely wasn’t on your bingo card. Suddenly it hit you. Peter Bailey. A big grin appeared on your face as you unlocked the door and swung it open.

“Hey! How can I help you?” You needed to bite on your lip simply to stop the smile.

“Y/n y/l/n?” you immediately nodded when your name rolled smoothly off of the agent's tongue as both of them showed you their badges. “I’m Doctor Spencer Reid and this is Agent Emily Prentiss. You seem to be unaware why we’re here…”

“Oh no, I know. It's about one wealthy businessman in trouble.” You crook your head to the side, finally setting the smirk free. The agents looked at each other with a slight touch of confusion in their eyes. Finally the Prentiss woman spoke.

“We’d like to take you to the police station.” She pushed her hair to the back.

“Okay. Just a second, let me grab my purse-” You turned your torso around, but a hand suddenly appeared on your shoulder.

“Agent Prentiss will get it for you and you can come with me,” When you turned back around a frown that appeared on your face made agent Reid remove his hand and calm you down with “We have a protocol to follow.”

“Right,” your tone was calm and collected as you slid your shoes on. 

Something wasn’t right though, and a voice in your head kept telling you that, but it was almost like water off a duck’s back to you. Though there was something about your ex lover being held accountable for his actions, that made you feel very proud of yourself for initiating his downfall, however you couldn’t help, but to worry. Not about him, to hell with him in all honesty, but about the fact that the FBI was currently escorting you to their car.

The whole car ride, the agents were quiet, and, so were you. It wasn’t the most comfortable silence you’ve been in, but it wasn’t awfully awkward either. It just existed between you and the other two people in the vehicle, but every time you tried to start a conversation you seemed to bite yourself in the tongue. Why should you be the one to speak up first?

The male agent kept glancing at you every now and then through the rear view mirror, challenging you, like he wanted you to keep eye contact with him. Maybe it was unintentional, but you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to mess with him a little. One thing everyone knew about you was that you don’t shy away from boldness and staring eye to eye with a hot FBI agent wouldn’t kill you.

You started acting like you accidentally gazed at the mirror out of the blue, once,  then over and over again. You couldn’t help but notice his big, hazel puppy eyes, and the fact that he started glancing at the road more often after he caught you staring back, like he was scared he would cause a road collision if he kept looking into your eyes any longer. At that very moment a wide grin appeared on your face again, but not for the last time that night.

When you arrived at the police department parking lot, you didn’t even have time to process that you already arrived at the destination, before the door of the car was wide opened for you by none other than Doctor Reid himself.

“Come on,” he hurried you, as he motioned with his head for you to get out of the vehicle. Which you weren’t going to lie, threw you off in a way. Why were the white collar crimes of Peter Bailey something that needed to be dealt with, so urgently?

As soon as you exited the car, to your surprise Prentiss appeared by your side and Reid was rushing for the door before you. Another thing you didn’t expect was the sudden want to check him out from behind. His jacket rolled up as he moved, making you unable to stop yourself from looking at his bottom. After all, you were just a girl.

When you finally stepped through the threshold, everyone’s eyes were on you. Every single person in the room stopped what they were doing, just to look at you. Most of them with blank facial expressions, but some with a little disgust, which they were trying to contain. It wasn’t your first rodeo, so you still held your head high.

They directed you into the interrogation room, where there was already a blonde woman sitting on one of the chairs.

“Hello, I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, but everyone calls me JJ.” She said looking you up and down with no emotions written on her face whatsoever.

“Hi, JJ.” You blurted, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t say you could call me that.” Something about her demeanor towards you gave you chills. On top of that, unfortunately, the room matched the coolness of her voice.

You barely stopped your eyes from rolling in time. Whatever her deal was, you were not bothered. You sat down on the chair exactly in front of her. 

“Tell us, where were you at approximately 2:40 am yesterday?” The voice of Spencer Reid came from right behind you, making you shiver. What was going on?

“At work… dancing?” your voice seemed way more defensive than what you wished for it to sound. ”But what does it have to do with anything related to that bastard?”

“He was murdered.” Jareau’s input made you stare at the ground for a split second stunned, but then you started awkwardly giggling, which quickly turned into an almost maniacal laughter. After a minute you abruptly stopped and took in a large breath of stale air.

“And you think I killed the motherfucker. Wow,” you placed your hands on your chest while the blonde crossed her arms and fell deeper into the chair. “Honestly, all fair, it was a good guess. You can do better though”

You crossed your legs under the table and bit your lower lip. It felt like a fever dream to you, this didn’t even feel real. He was dead, and nothing felt more like karma to you. Although you wanted to make him pay for what he did, one way or the other, it never even crossed your mind once, to take his life. He wasn’t worth sitting years behind bars, but here you were, sitting in the interrogation room, as a suspect. 

“You see, I didn’t have the best relations with him, ever since I found out he had a wife and children. Yes, I wanted to make him pay; however, I found another way to arrange that, but the FBI white-collar crimes department was slacking,” A loud sigh left your lips. “Check the club’s tapes, for fuck’s sake.”

“Our team is doing that right now,” Jennifer assured you. She wasn’t your biggest fan, but it’s alright since you weren't hers either. The way she spoke seemed very much like she had already decided that you were the unsub, though she knew very well that everyone is innocent until proven guilty in the eyes of the law.

Spencer walked around the table and leaned on it slightly, so his face was right in front of yours.

“You have to believe me for now, that I am not the one,” you moved a bit closer to his face, the whisper you let out was almost silent, just for him to hear. It felt like a secret somehow, even if you wanted to shout it out for everyone to know, for now, one person was enough.  “I wanted him to taste how awful life is, but someone else got their hands dirty, I promise.”

“Who do you think could possibly want to murder Peter Bailey?” Spencer whispered back in his soft voice looking deep into your eyes, hoping to himself he wouldn’t get lost in them.

“I doubt it was his wife and you probably already background checked her, messy divorce caused by infidelity, he had an affair with… well me. Though we hang out sometimes, me and her that is. I know it’s kind of odd. I am getting a little sidetracked, anyways, I don’t know any other person who could-”

Suddenly a door flung open, making you jump slightly. Agent Prentiss was standing there still holding the handle in one of her hands.

“We’ve got a call in, someone claims they have witnessed an attack,” she seemed out of breath “the victim didn’t survive, same mo.”

“Do we know the name?” Agent Jareau stood up and smoothed out her shirt.

“Jasper Finley,” If you were standing you would have lost your footing. Everything started spinning.

“That’s- that’s my best friend.” Was all you could have said at that time. You closed your eyes, as your vision became blurry because your eyes were brimmed with tears.

tag list: @mariechristine00 ; @spencersbabymama ; @whitedovebby ; @mggslover ; @beesin03 ; @esote-rika ; @brattyspence ; @xxmooxmooxx

comment if you want to be added to a tag list! <3

check out my masterlist -> here ♥︎ fic playlist -> here ♥︎

[golden1u5t]

birthday boy | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: it’s spencer’s birthday and derek’s birthday gift to him is a trip to the strip club and private dance. 

"she's pretty nice, huh?" derek put his hand on spencer's shoulder but the poor boy was too mesmerized to do anything other than nod his head. derek shook his head as chuckled, turning around to head back to the bar and leaving spencer to continue watching you dance on the stage.

spencer watched you intensely, studying how gracefully you twirled on the pole, how you arched your body to give the audience a show. he had seen strippers before, he was from vegas after all, but he had never seen one move like you, never seen one as pretty as you. when derek first pulled him into the club he was sure he was going to hate it but when derek had left his side to go mingle with whatever pretty lady he could find, spencer had no choice but to find a seat and his attention was immediately drawn to you when you walked onto the stage.

unfortunately, your dance had come to an end and you were leaving the stage. spencer frowned as he watched you leave, he was ready to leave himself as the only reason he stayed was now walking away. he let out a small huff and stood up, he scanned the area until he spotted derek leaning against the bar. 

"i'm ready to leave now." spencer shouted above the loud music as he pulled his jacket back over his arms. derek turned around to face him before downing his drink and taking spencer's jacket back off, he wrapped his arm around him and started guiding him to the back of the club.

"not just yet, pretty boy. the night's not over." he flashed him a toothy smile as they approached the private rooms, he opened the door and shoved spencer in before he could let out any complaints. "enjoy your dance."

spencer looked around the dimly lit room, taking in his surroundings, as he walked over to the chair that sat in the middle of the room and sat down. he was confused but he trusted derek with his life so he stayed put. soon enough, the door opened and as you walked in spencer flushed a shade of pink, he watched you close the door behind you and walk further into the room.

you walked over to the speaker that was on the table and connected your phone, you hadn’t looked at him yet since you had been focused on fixing the strap on your outfit when you first came in.

"do you have a song request?" you asked as you  scrolled through the music on your phone. when he didn't answer you, you turned around to look at him. you immediately recognized him from your dance, he’s a hard person to forget. “i noticed you out there. you were with your friend, right?

"you did?" spencer’s voice shot up an octave, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his slacks and cleared his throat. you set your phone down on the table after you turned on your go to song and walked closer to him. as soon as you stepped into his space he could smell your perfume, you smelled better than he could’ve imagined and he could feel his blood shooting south already.

"how could i not? you were the only one that sat through the whole dance without leaving and you were the only attractive one, too." you walked behind him and ran your hands over his shoulders and down his chest. spencer went rigid as you felt down his body, his breathing was irregular and you noticed that.

"you've never done this before, have you?"

"no-no, today's my birthday."

you hummed and walked around the chair, swaying your hips in tune with the music. spencer's heart nearly burst out of his chest when you sat on his lap, his hands remained firmly at his sides.

you reached back and cupped his head, starting to move your hips on his crotch.

spencer gasped at the friction, his eyes fluttering closed. He was dying to touch you, his hands twitched every so often as you moved yourself on him.

soft groans and whimpers fell from his lips even though he tried his hardest to contain them. you were used to the men, sometimes women, making sounds while you danced on them but they never got you going like how spencer was. you found yourself grinding on him longer than you usually would have, pushing him to make more of those beautiful sounds.

you turned around in his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, all professionalism was gone and you couldn't care less. spencer eventually gave up on trying to keep his hands to himself, he grabbed at your hips as his own lifted from the seat. before he realized it, his cum had started to seep through his boxers.

you had to get off of his lap before you tried to fuck him right then and there. you smoothed down your mini skirt and cleared your throat, walking over to stop the music playing.

"i don't- i-" spencer tried to gather his jumbled thoughts and form a complete sentence but he just couldn't, not after what just happened. he opted to just stand up and head to the door, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible, but you stopped him before he could leave.

"here's my number." you pulled him by the belt loops and pushed the card into the waistband of his pants. "i'll be waiting for a call, birthday boy."

[flithyfaists]

kitty!reader moodboard

kitty!reader who loves born to die, lady gaga, anything black, petticoats, margiela tabis, bossing around her boyfriend and dark red nail polish.

kitty!reader always tries to be demanding and dominant but just ends up submitting, her boyfriend is brat tamer final boss, i mean he has to be when she's getting smart left and right. someone has to do it, right?

kitty!reader who loves anything expensive, or designer in general. serious shopping addict. her man constantly has to take away her credit card, but with the power of the internet its already on file for her favorite shops.

kitty!reader's favorite songs: money honey- lady gaga, summerboy- lady gaga, homecoming- the teenagers, ugly boy- die antwood, so what if im a freak- snow strippers.

who do i ship kitty!reader with? indiesleaze!patrick zweig, metalhead!art donaldson, postprison!spencer reid, dean winchester, model!sam winchester, ceo!dean, and soilder boy!

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟����𝐥 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Spencer Reid x Stripper!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: it was supposed to be a case like any other, an undercover operation like a thousand others he had done but when Spencer sets his eyes on that dancer for the first time suddenly everything fades into the background.

• Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, homicide case, nudity, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, sex, use of condoms (ALWAYS WRAP IT!!!), cursing, dirty talk, basically Spencer being a ✨man✨, tell me if I missed anything <3

• Word count: 7.6K

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. This was written in 3rd person. I had this idea for a while now but didn’t know how to write it but now here we are you have no idea how much time it took 😭 I promise I’m still working on the requests please don’t hate me I’m just trying the find the motivation to write again. I really hope you like this one please let me know what you think and comment, reblog and like ❤️ Thank you for your kindness and constant support xx

Spencer had never felt as uncomfortable as he did in that moment, surrounded by germs and all kinds of bodily fluids.

He was disgusted and couldn’t wait for this to be over soon so he could get out of there.

Damn you, Derek Morgan.

He cursed his colleague for forcing him to go in that damned place. He was in a strip club, pretending to be a normal customer so he could talk to some of the strippers and the head of the club himself about an investigation. The BAU was in fact following the case of a serial killer who lured his victims and killed them.

Since the victims – who were about four – were all affluent straight males in their thirties and there were no traces of drugs or signs on their bodies that they’d been forced to follow the killer, the team assumed the unsub was a female in her mid-twenties.

After digging into their pasts to study the victimology, the team discovered all four victims committed sexual crimes which however had somehow been attempted to be covered up. So there was no doubt those killings were about some sort of justice.

The unsub would kill them by slicing their throats with a single and precise movement, a cut so deep it was easy to say she was an expert. There was no way the four victims were her first ones, but nothing came up after Garcia searched for other murders with the same modus operandi.

After leaving their bodies on the bed of a hotel room, the unsub would also write a short note on the wall with a deep purple lipstick – a particular color – which wasn’t found on the victims’ bodies, so the team thought she wouldn’t wear it, she was carrying it with her with the sole purpose to write those simple short sentences.

The BAU had interrogated the victims of these aforementioned sexual assaults but all of them had airtight alibis so there was no real suspect. After interrogating the victims’ families and friends, they realized there was a common denominator between those four men: the Sinful Lust.

And that’s how Spencer ended up there.

He didn’t understand why it had to be him who had to be in that place. How could they think it’d be a good idea to have him to deal with strippers and people having sex around him?

Anyone could see from a mile away how uncomfortable he felt sitting there, even people who weren’t profilers. Spencer continued to look around, almost dazed by the club’s strobe lights as he tried to mask his disgust at noticing his surroundings and the intense smell of alcohol.

He never hated Derek so much.

He knew it was just his sadistic way of making him feel uncomfortable, despite the encouragement from the rest of the team though who were sure Spencer would make it.

His palms sweated with every passing second as he rubbed them on his black pants before fixing the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t used to wearing these kinds of clothes, he felt caged, in a body that didn’t belong to him.

Every woman in that place wasted no time winking at him, shooting him languid glances to which he responded with a tight and totally false smile. Some of them approached him and he had to fake interest in them by engaged stupid and languid conversations.

He couldn’t help but think about how Morgan would’ve enjoyed that situation and how he wouldn’t have wasted time making all the women in that damn club fall at his feet.

Spencer really envied him sometimes. He envied how his friend was always so easygoing and extroverted, especially with women, with a joke always ready, how he always knew what to say and when.

Suddenly the club lights dimmed and focused on the stage, stopping his rush of thoughts and indicating the strippers were about to begin the show.

Numerous tables and seats were concentrated near the stage, populated by hungry men who couldn’t wait to feast their eyes and spend their money and Spencer noted with disgust many of them were even married.

Poor wives.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding only to gasp again as some music started and the strippers began to dance. He didn’t recognize the music and the words, preferring classical music; however, his mind wasn’t focused on the bass vibrating through the room but on analyzing the scene.

But it was so damn hard when women danced sensually in front of him half naked. It’s a physiological reaction, he kept repeating to himself, it’s normal, focus Reid, do not deconcentrate.

The dim lights only added more tension to the evocative atmosphere, interrupted every now and then by men standing up and cheering to hand over their money they had probably earned with so much effort.

Spencer moved into his seat, picking up the glass of some type of liquor he didn’t know and pretending to sip before placing it back on the table, wanting with every fiber of his being for the unsub to reveal herself.

But he knew it couldn’t be that simple. If killers had written on their foreheads they were actually killers, he wouldn’t even have a job anymore.

He wondered if she was there.

Who knew if she had already chosen her next victim.

Spencer’s eyes met with one of the three dancers on the stage and a vice gripped his stomach when he realized she was already looking at him.

Her hips continued to move sensually to the rhythm of the music as her fingers played with the buttons of the skimpy top she was wearing and for an instant Spencer thought if he wasn’t mistaken or having a hallucination.

But he wasn’t wrong.

Her eyes were fixed solely on him.

She bit her lip as she winked at Spencer, and he almost melted into that chair like snow in the sun. He tried to keep his expression as casual and neutral as possible but in reality, every single cell in his body was on fire.

She turned her body and walked sensually towards the pole and Spencer’s eyes went hungrily and impertinently down her body, making him feel no less dirty than the rest of the men present.

But he couldn’t control himself as his eyes seemed to have a life on their own and he couldn’t take them off her.

His gaze traced every exposed inch of her skin, focusing on her ass covered by a skimpy short skirt, the mere sight of her making his pants tighten around his crotch. His mind began to wander with fantasy, unable to help but imagine his head buried between her legs.

Spencer shifted in his chair dejectedly, resting his hands on his lap and covering his erection as if someone was there to notice. Nobody would’ve noticed, all eyes were on her and the dancers.

He didn’t even look at the other two women on the stage, his eyes was fixed only on her, her hips, her beautiful and smooth legs, on her body that spun with disarming ease around the dance pole.

He wondered what it’d be like to feel his fingers squeezing her hips as she rode him into oblivion and this image alone almost made him come in his pants.

He was totally mesmerized.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but every cell in his body seemed to have lit up and inflamed, his fingers were trembling with desire to slide them over her sinuous body.

But it was when her eyes met his again that Spencer felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He couldn’t quite make out the color, he was too far away to be able to do that, but just the way she was looking at him made him shift in his seat again and his aching dick erect even more.

He was paralyzed, he didn’t dare move a single muscle. He didn’t know why but he was afraid if he moved everyone would find out who he really was. That she would find out.

His eyes never left hers, a small grin painting her face as she continued to dance sensually. Spencer felt arrogant enough to assume this dance was just for him.

The show eventually ended and the lights dimmed in the club again, although Spencer managed to track the silhouettes of the dancers coming off the stage. His heart jumped into his throat when he noticed a person approaching him and not just any person but her.

Spencer’s eyes followed her every movement although the light was so low he couldn’t really make out her beautiful features. He shifted in his chair again and tried to keep his concentration up when a cloud of her scent hit him square in the face, short-circuiting every single neuron in his brain.

This was the perfect opportunity to gather information regarding the case, but at that moment Spencer seemed to have completely forgotten the reason why he was there.

“Come with me.”

That was all she said and even her voice was so sweet it mesmerized him even more, as if it was a siren’s song luring the poor sailors into her clutches. He stood up without even being asked twice, his mind trying to convince itself it was just to gather the information he needed.

At that moment, however, the only thing controlling his body was the blood rushing to his penis and not the rationality that always distinguished him.

She walked through the club ignoring everything around her while he followed her like a puppy, unaware of what was coming and what she was up to. A small, tiny part of his brain kept screaming to be careful, that she was a stranger probably looking for the money – or worse to kill him. He knew he needed to focus on the case but Spencer was too attracted to her to even listen to those voices.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. He would’ve never thought of following a stranger to who knew where without an ounce of information.

They entered a room and Spencer quickly scanned it, deducing it was her dressing room. His attention, however, immediately returned to that woman. Under those lights, he could finally look at her in all her splendor and the air was sucked from his lungs as his eyes traveled along her body and analyzed her face.

She was breathtaking, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t itching to touch her.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice broke the silence. Spencer didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on her cleavage and the way her chest rose and fell. Only when he brought his eyes back to her face and saw the mischievous smirk on her lips he realized she had said something to him and that he must’ve looked like a complete idiot.

“What?”

She chuckled and that simple sound traveled through his body, causing his blood to rush and his penis to harden even more.

What is she doing to me?

She slightly tilted her head, her eyes vibrant as she watched – no, analyzed – Spencer.

His muscles froze as she took two steps toward him, never taking her eyes off him.

He returned her gaze with a courage he had never had and didn’t even know he possessed. Her eyes were bright but there was something particularly intense about them, something he absolutely wanted to discover and he couldn’t even name.

His breathing quickened and he prayed she wouldn’t realize how intense the effect she had on him was. She looked at him with an intensity that made him weak in the knees, with an intensity that no one had ever looked at him with.

She hadn’t torn her eyes away from his for not even a second, and although that confidence further intrigued Spencer, it scared him at the same time. He knew she was trying to get inside him, into his soul and discover his deepest secrets.

“I asked what you’re doing here.”

“You told me to come.”

She licked her lips and Spencer’s eyes flicked to her mouth, causing him to react in a way that resulted in the further restriction of his pants. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets to avoid doing something he’d regret, but damn it was so hard.

This was also the moment he understood the true meaning of the phrase ‘blue balls’.

He was so fucking horny it hurt.

“I’m well aware of that,” she replied with a smirk, probably noticing the way he was staring at her lips. “But don’t act stupid, you don’t look like one. What are you doing here?”

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, using the shred of rationality he had left to think of an answer. But the way she was looking at him, as if she wanted him to take her right then and now, was enough to make him no longer even remember his name.

I’m an FBI agent investigating a murder case and you, like every other dancer here, could be a potential suspect.

He couldn’t say it, but damn it if she kept coming closer to him, he wouldn’t even bother giving her his wallet and bank details.

“What all the men are doing, why don’t you go ask them?”

Well done.

“I’m asking you.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulders with a single but graceful movement of her head, leaving her neck and shoulder exposed. Spencer’s throat bobbed up and down again, his mind filled with images of him sticking his tongue out and licking and tasting her skin, sucking it and leaving marks.

Dammit Reid, get a hold of yourself.

“I’ve been watching you,” she spoke, her tone calm and sensual. “You looked like you were going to vomit when you came in and I know you would’ve never come here of your own free will; so why don’t you tell me the truth pretty boy?”

Fuck yeah keep calling me that.

Why doesn’t it sound so good when Morgan calls me that?

Stop thinking about Morgan.

“There’s a first time for everyone, don’t you think?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that made him feral.

Please somebody help me.

It was only then she took her eyes away from his and let them wander slowly along his body.

She studied and analyzed him and with every inch that passed under her eyes Spencer felt his skin catch fire, especially when her gaze focused on the huge bulge in his pants.

The beautiful stranger brought her eyes back to his and Spencer didn’t miss that lustful glint in them and the way her breathing had quickened, indicating she was as affected by him as he was by her.

“What’s your name?”

“David,” Spencer replied, congratulating himself on the way he had managed to control himself and not give away his real name.

“David,” she repeated, slowly, as if wanting to taste what his name felt like on her tongue. She took another step, closing her distance and her scent hit his nostrils. It was a mixture of vanilla, coconut, innocence and sin and he was going crazy.

“I’ll pretend you don’t think I’m that stupid, David,” she winked and Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat for the third time, trying to keep his breathing to a normal pace even though his heart was pounding wildly inside his rib cage.

They continued to look at each other for an almost infinite time, the air more tense and warmer with each passing second. Spencer tried to think of something to say, anything, but the way she looked at him paralyzed him. His eyes roamed and traced the lines of her lips imagining what it’d be like to feel them pressed against his, what it’d be like to feel them wrapped around his dick and just the thought almost made him come in his pants.

I can’t do this anymore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice so low he almost didn’t hear her. Spencer had the impression she wanted to say anything else, but she had refrained from doing it, like if she had opened her tightly closed lips she would’ve told a terrible secret.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he replied, taking his hand out of his pocket and bringing it closer to her face. His fingers played with a lock of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, it was as if his body was acting on its own and had completely disconnected from his brain. Her breathing quickened at that contact and that time he was the one to smirk. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me yours.”

“It matters to me. And I did, it’s up to you to believe me or not.”

She cocked one eyebrow up. “Why does it matter?”

“I want to know whose name I’m going to moan when I’ll think of you with my hand around my dick.”

Spencer almost chocked on his own words.

What the fuck?

Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

What was he doing? What was going through his mind? He completely lost his mind but he didn’t care, not when she looked at him like she wanted to tear him apart and burn him right then and there. And the worst thing was that he probably would’ve let her do it without objecting.

He could see the way she was holding back, the way she tried to appear casual but after all it was his job to know what people really felt, what they thought. He knew it from the way her pupils were so dilated they covered almost all the color of his irises, from the way her skin was flushed and the redness on her cheeks, from the light layer of sweat covering her forehead, from her rapid breathing, the stiffness of her muscles, from the way her hands clenched into two fists as if she was leveraging on herself to not let go.

But why?

Spencer wasn’t an expert in that world, but he really thought she’d try in any way to get some money, to seduce him and then leave him broke, but then why did she hold back? Why was she rejecting him? Why did she ask him to come with her if she wasn’t trying to do anything?

In other moments he would’ve investigated more but in that instant everything had taken a step backwards, Spencer didn’t seem to be focused on anything other than putting his hands on that stranger who was hypnotizing and bewitching like no one else ever did. He had never felt anything like this, being consumed by the desire to kiss her, touch her, run his tongue over every inch of her body, he never felt that raw and primordial desire to have someone.

And he wanted her.

Fuck the consequences.

“You don’t really want this,” she whispered and it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that she wasn’t sure of those words either. It was Spencer who closed the distance between the two that time, feeling the heat of her body envelop him and attracting him like a moth to flame, as every part of her skin was screaming to be touched by his fingers. Her words repelled him but the way she looked at him said something else.

“Why did you ask me to come here then?”

Her eyes looked at him with a look that even him couldn’t decipher. She was hiding something, she was battling herself and he wanted to know why.

“You don’t belong in this place.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered as her gaze kept alternating between his eyes and his mouth. He wet them with his tongue, pleased when he saw the way her breath hitched.

“I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Spencer may not be very experienced in the women’s game, but he could see the passionate hunger in her eyes, that glimmer of lust and desire that left him breathless.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

Those two single whispered letters were enough for Spencer to destroy what little shred of control he still possessed. Before he knew it his hands were cupping her face and his lips were pressed to hers in a searing, electrifying kiss.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he couldn’t even recognize himself at that moment. As her mouth devoured him and her tongue tasted his, he couldn’t let go of the feeling he was watching everything as if he was an outside observer, like he wasn’t the one commanding his actions.

He couldn’t believe what was happening, that he – the man who was terrified of even shaking hands with strangers for fear of germs – was kissing that beautiful, sexy stranger who had invaded his senses ever since she set her feet on that stage. And to be honest he didn’t even care, Spencer was only focused on the world in which she was devouring him.

Their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance as their deep breaths and sighs blended into each other. There was nothing sweet about that kiss, about the way he fisted his hands around her hair, the way she had her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, the saliva mixing. It was animalistic, raw, sloppy, messy, a kiss so deep they felt their soul being sucked out of their body.

The tension and electricity in the air was clearly palpable as time seemed to stop around them, leaving them engulfed in the fire of passion and making them both forget who and where they were.

While Spencer’s hands roamed along her body, squeezing and groping every inch of her skin he could reach, sucking in and swallowing every sigh that escaped her throat, he no longer thought he was an FBI agent who was there because he had a job to do.

And even his name was forgotten as her fingers began frantically unbuttoning his shirt, her fingertips leaving fiery marks on his skin as they slid down his chest. They both began taking slow steps, their mouths continuing to devour each other and only breaking away when Spencer’s legs touched the sofa in the dressing room. He sat with his legs apart and a very painful erection in his pants, his gaze on fire while his hungry eyes analyzed and looked with meticulous attention at the stranger.

Never more than in that moment was he grateful to his eidetic memory, because he knew he would never forget that divine image in front of his eyes. Her breasts, legs, hips, her waist, everything seemed to scream to be touched and worshiped and Spencer couldn’t wait to do it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered more to himself than to her, his hands resting on his thighs as he continued to let his gaze wander down her body.

She smiled and Spencer almost fainted. And it wasn’t a mischievous grin but a real smile, one of those that weakened the knees and made everything more beautiful and brighter. One of those he’d never forget.

He took her hands and pulled her towards him making her sit on his lap, her legs tightly straddling his thighs. He groaned as his hard dick collided with her core, relieving that feeling of pressure and pain even if for just a few seconds.

Before he could say or do anything she had pressed her lips on his again, starting to sensually move on him, shamelessly grinding herself and unleashing obscene sighs from both of them that sounded like they were coming from a porn.

Spencer’s hands cupped her ass, pressing his fingers so hard into her skin as he followed her movements while her hands instead continued to roam his chest, her nails pressing into his skin until she leaves red marks on it.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” she breathed into his lips and he let out a particularly loud groan when she bit his bottom lip, sucking it. Her lips parted from his, leaving wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, sucking, biting, nibbling at his skin.

Any trace of whatever indecision she felt was gone and he couldn’t control himself anymore. His body seemed to move automatically. Lust and desire had clouded his mind, that sublime mind that had done everything to prevent these moments from happening but that had given into the most primitive of instincts. Sex.

His hands went up to the skimpy top she was wearing, ripping it off without even thinking twice before dropping the broken material on the floor, soon joined by her bra as well. His hands cupped her breasts, teasing and pinching her turgid nipples that so recalled his mouth.

Spencer obeyed that wish, wrapping his lips around one of her breasts sucking it while he continued to grope the other. Her hands threaded through his hair, curling into fists and pulling, causing another groan from Spencer. He didn’t even know he was into this. His hips jerked up, continuing to grind against her for some relief.

“Please…” He let go of her breast, throwing his head back and fearing he’d explode right then and there. He wanted to know that stranger’s name, he desperately wanted to moan it and he equally desperately wanted to tell her his, just so he could hear it screamed by her beautiful mouth as he fucked her. “I’ll come in my pants if you keep doing this.”

She giggled and this was a further shock to Spencer, who thought he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Her hands fumbled with his belt, undoing the button and pulling down the zip of his pants. He let out a sigh of relief when, after slightly lifting his hips, she lowered his pants along with his precum stained boxers, finally releasing his erection.

“Shit…” he hissed a curse through gritted teeth as her hand wrapped around his dick. It started to move up and down with it and he closed his parted lips as he tried to suppress his moans. His eyes were glued on that stranger’s hand who gave him pleasure, a vision he’d never forget. Her hand was so delicate and perfect, in stark contrast to the sinful and dirty action she was doing.

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear you moan for me, okay?”

Spencer met her gaze and nodded, not trusting his own voice. She lifted herself from his lap and knelt between his spread legs and if Spencer hadn’t already been sitting down, the mere image of her on her knees with her hand wrapped around his dick would’ve made him fall to the ground.

“Is this okay?” She asked and Spencer found himself nodding again, this time with so much enthusiasm that she chuckled.

“Yes please…” he breathed as she continued to masturbate him, alternating fast and slow movements and making him lose his mind even more, if that was even possible. Her thumb drew imaginary circles on his red, wet tip, making him gasp against his will.

He placed a hand on her cheek, her skin hot against his palm, his thumb caressing her lips. His breath hitched in anticipation when she wrapped her lips around his thumb, her eyes never leaving Spencer’s as she sucked on his fingertip. “I’m dying to have this pretty mouth around my dick, do you want to show me what it can do?”

Spencer had no clue where this confidence was coming from, but he was too horny to think about shyness and what to say.

She let go of his thumb and stuck her tongue out before tracing the shaft of his penis with a single, excruciatingly slow lick from the base to his tip. He let out a deep, loud groan, throwing his head back as he felt his silky skin against her tongue. It was an aphrodisiac sensation and if Spencer was to believe in heaven and an afterlife, her mouth would definitely be his.

“Shit just like that,” he moaned as her tongue drew imaginary circles on his tip, sucking and taking away every trace of precum. His soul nearly left his body when she encircled his tip with her lips, sliding his length into her mouth until his dick hit the back of her throat.

She placed a hand on his bare, hairy thighs, dragging her nails across his skin as if to draw his attention to her and Spencer granted her wish, lifting his head and looking down at that sin dressed as an angel who was sucking his dick.

Fucking hell I don’t even believe in angels.

It was immoral, the most unethical thing he could’ve done, something for which he could’ve even be kicked out of the team but Spencer couldn’t care less, not when that mouth was sucking him like her life depended on it and making him feel a pleasure he couldn’t even think was possible to feel.

“You’re so good little angel,” he praised her, placing a hand on her head threading his fingers through her hair and a little spark lit up in her eyes. She definitely had a praise kink. “This mouth will be the death of me.”

She hollowed her cheeks, picking up the pace as her head bobbed up and down and her tongue licked circling his dick. Spencer felt like he was already one step away from exploding in her mouth, but he didn’t want to come, not before being buried deep inside her. “Dammit… Stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet.”

He cupped her face pressing his lips to her swollen, wet ones while simultaneously pulling her on his lap again. He kissed her as if he wanted to suck her soul out of her body, resting his hands on her smooth, bare thighs as his fingers pressed into her skin, teasing her but never touching that magical spot where Spencer couldn’t wait to sink.

“For fuck’s sake touch me,” she hissed impatiently pulling on the young man’s hair, earning a small grin from him.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck, inhaling deeply that scent he knew would torment him for the rest of his life, that scent that drugged and marked him in the span of very few seconds. His thumbs kept drawing circles on her inner thighs, dangerously close to her pussy as she squirmed under his touch and Spencer was loving every single shred of the desperation she showed.

She wanted him.

She wanted him desperately.

Spencer never had someone who wanted him so badly, sure he had his experiences with women – albeit very limited ones – but he had never felt anything so deep, animalistic and visceral. He had never had any woman looking at him with that fire in her eyes, as if he was the only man who existed for her, as if he was everything she wanted, as if she could die at any moment if he didn’t give it to her.

But that stranger did.

And damn it felt so good.

“Please, I want it… I want you…” she cried out in an impatient and desperation tone and that was music to his ears. If there was some divine entity Spencer thanked it for making her wear a miniskirt.

His fingers slipped into her panties, moaning to himself as he felt the amount of fluids wetting her pussy. “So wet… You’re going to kill me, you know that right?”

She didn’t answer, she threw her head back while Spencer looked at her with hooded eyes and one of his fingers wasted no time in penetrating her. Her hips moved in rhythm and he trembled with anticipation, imagining her walls squeezing his dick.

“Fuck yes…” she moaned loudly, her hands in Spencer’s hair as he inserted a second finger inside her, watching her reaction and how her body writhed in pleasure.

“You’re so tight little angel, I can’t wait to be buried deep inside this wet pussy,” he murmured with pleasure before taking one of her breasts into his mouth, too temptingly as he sucked and licked it. His other arm went around her hips, holding her in place and keeping her from squirming away. “How many of them did you let fuck you mmh? How many have made you feel this way?” He licked her chest, her collarbone, every inch of skin he could reach before he began torturing her other breast.

“No one…” she breathed, unable to finish her sentence due to her heavy panting and moaning. Her thighs were shaking, her hands gripping his hair. “Nobody… Holy shit…” She trailed off again, her body contorting forward if it wasn’t for Spencer’s arm holding her and he knew his fingers had hit her G-spot.

He actually had no idea what he was doing or how to move but he was an attentive observer. His eyes glued to her studied with careful attention every single breath, the intensity of her moans, the way her muscles trembled, the way her pussy clenched, the way she held him, studying her body and quickly adapting to her reaction.

“Oh God yes, yes, you’re so fucking good keep going…” she cried out and then looked down at him. Her thumb traced his lips and – just as she had done earlier – he wrapped them around her finger, sucking on it as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her. Her walls clenched his wet fingers and if the vision of her coming over them didn’t make him lose his sanity, then he didn’t know what else would.

Spencer left her no room to catch her breath or strength after her orgasm.

“Open.” He ordered, bringing his fingers that until a few moments before were inside her, close to her lips. She didn’t hesitate to lick Spencer’s wet fingers clean, making him dizzy as her eyes watched with adulation and lust at the way his tongue sensually moved her fluids. “Yeah little angel, just like that.”

He was going crazy. He seriously thought his vessels were going to explode from how horny he was.

She let go of his fingers and sloppily kissed him, making him taste her juices on her tongue. “Fuck what are doing to me…” She whispered and something told Spencer she didn’t mean to say those words out loud.

“If you think I’m anywhere near done with you, you’re completely wrong,” he murmured against her lips. “Show me how a good girl you are and sit on me, let me see how this pretty pussy soaks my dick.”

Good job Dr Reid.

I’m really proud of myself.

“And here I thought you were a virgin,” she chuckled before getting up and taking a condom from one of the drawers in her closet, but not before taking off her panties. She settled down by straddling his thighs again before slipping the condom onto his painfully hard dick. She lifted her pelvis and wrapped her hand around Spencer’s dick, letting herself be penetrated until she found herself completely sitting on it. “But I know behind this cute pretty face you’re so dirty, filthy enough to fuck a stripper whose name you don’t even know.”

Spencer clung to every ounce of strength in his body to concentrate on anything other than the warm, wet walls of that stranger’s pussy or he would’ve come instantly.

He had even forgotten how good it felt to have sex after so long and remembered why people were so obsessed with it, why his team pestered him to get laid.

Her pussy engulfed him so perfectly it seemed to have been made just for him.

“You feel so good god…” she breathed out a moan interrupting her sentence as she slowly raised her hips and lowered herself again. Spencer couldn’t control a deep groan as she continued to tease and torture him with that slow motion, rolling her hips on his dick.

Spencer’s fingers found themselves on her ass for the second time, groping and spreading her ass cheeks trying to maintain control but it was so damn hard when all he wanted to do was fuck her brains out of her head.

“F-faster… You’re torturing me…” he panted brokenly, his chest quickly rising and falling as if he was running a marathon.

Instead, she kept going with her slow, destabilizing pace, lifting her hips again and slowly lowering herself on his raging dick, torturing him further as the sounds she let out filled the room. Those alone would’ve been enough to make him fall into the void and never be able to get back to the surface.

“Beg me.”

“Please, please… Make me feel good little angel, make me come,” he obeyed, not caring about sounding pathetic. The smirk that formed on her lips was the manifestation of the most pure form of sin, a sin for which there was no absolution or redemption.

Luckily Spencer didn’t even believe in these things.

But if there was a definition of heaven and hell, if they ever existed, it would’ve been her.

Her and those eyes that looked at him like they wanted to capture what was left of his soul, those eyes that would’ve made Spencer thrown himself off a cliff if she had asked.

Her and those hands that held him and touched him, causing him sensations he didn’t even know the meaning of, and this said something for a person who knew the meaning of every single word written in the dictionary.

Her and her deadly mouth that continued to kiss him until there was no air left in his lungs, her teeth biting him, her tongue licking his skin and sucking his tongue.

Her and those moans and gasps she couldn’t hold back and that Spencer was absorbing one by one, imprinting them in his memory so he could repeat them again and again.

“Look at you, aren’t you a desperate little thing? So hungry for me,” she sensually whispered in his ear and biting his earlobe. Fulfilling Spencer’s wishes, she began to increase her pace, placing her hands on the back of the couch for support.

Nothing resounded except their moans, pants, grunts mixing with each other, the sound of their skin rubbing and flapping and their lips smacking with each kiss with the smell of sex, sin and prohibition filling their nostrils.

Spencer’s eyes were glued on her, on her parted lips and her head thrown back, her eyes half closed, her tits bouncing in rhythm with her thrusts which he didn’t waste time taking into his mouth and sucking them, biting the nipples until they were numb.

She fisted Spencer’s hair again, pulling it and forcing him to tilt his head back to look at her. That gesture made him grunt and aroused him even more than he already was, and his hips twitched against her, giving a particularly deep thrust that made her curse.

“I can see how you’re holding back pretty boy,” she sighed, continuing to ride him but slowing her pace this time causing a pathetic cry to escape his lips. She kept brushing her lips against his without kissing him, with the sole aim of torturing him and driving him crazy. As if she hadn’t already done it. “Don’t hold back, I can see how much you want to ruin me, how much you’re dying to destroy me.”

“Fuck.” He cursed and something snapped inside him.

He thrusted his hips so deep into her she choked out a moan and he was sure she felt it in every corner of her pussy. His long fingers continued to press into the red, heated flesh of her ass holding her still while he jerked his hips forcefully, taking command even though she was still on top of him.

His dick kept pushing in and out of her, engulfed by her pussy as it tightened around him. Spencer knew how fundamental the importance of using protection was, especially with strangers, but he wished he didn’t wear that damn condom so much, so he could feel every wet corner of her around his dick.

“Oh fuck yes… Just like that,” she loudly moaned and he was sure that by now everyone had heard what was going on in that dressing room but had chosen to ignore it.

Spencer didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He needed to come but he didn’t want to, he didn’t want this to end.

That’s why he made her get up off him, earning a confused expression before flipping her onto that couch and laying on top of her. He opened her legs and positioned himself between them. He left her no room to say anything as he aligned his dick with her entrance, penetrating her in one motion.

Her legs encircled his hips, her heels pressed against his skin as he fucked her on that couch like his life depended on it, with hard, deep thrusts that made her eyes water.

He had completely lost control.

His hand went around her throat, a gesture that happened spontaneously and that Spencer didn’t even realize until he saw the smirk and expression of pure ecstasy on her face.

How long has he been into choking?

That damn woman would be his downfall.

“Is this what you wanted?” he groaned, his fingers tightening sideways around her throat, being careful not to press on her windpipe. Some strands of hair fell in front of his eyes but she removed them, almost making him faint at that sweet gesture, in stark contrast to the animalistic way in which they were fucking.

“I knew there was a little devil inside you pretty boy, God you’re so fucking sexy,” she gasped, biting hit lower lips and making him increase his pace. “Yes, yes, yes I’m going to come… Keep going fuck yeah…”

His thrusts were deep, messy and although he tried to keep himself from coming, wanting to prolong that feeling of ecstasy as long as possible, it was impossible as her pussy kept clenching around him, moaning “I’m coming” in his ear so sexily it made him come. Spencer exploded and with one last thrust he let himself go into a mind-blowing orgasm that made his body tremble and his eyes blind for a few moments as he poured all his sperm inside the condom.

There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the panting and deep breathing of the two as they caught their breath.

After the ecstasy of the orgasm, Spencer stood up, noticing out of the corner of his eye that she too was trying to get up but her still shaking legs prevented her from doing so. He tried to hold back a smirk, giving her a hand and helping her to get on her feet before earning a feeble “Thank you.”

What the fuck did I just do?

I just had sex with a stripper who could be a potential witness/suspect while undercover.

I’m so screwed.

He realized the enormous mistake he had just made, not even imagining the consequences. He thanked no one in particular for not having worn the microphone or, holy shit, that would’ve been difficult to explain.

Spencer didn’t say a word and he was grateful that she didn’t either, too dazed and groggy to be able to face a conversation.

They both cleaned up in silence and after throwing the condom in the bin, Spencer tried to tidy himself up, tucking his shirt into his pants after buttoning it.

His profiler nature, however, couldn’t help but notice the way how her demeanor completely changed, going from that sexy vicious woman to a silent shy one. She hadn’t so much as glanced at him, he noticed how her shoulders were tense while she moved frantically as if she was trying to vanish from that dressing room as quickly as possible.

She was nervous.

But why?

“You still haven’t answered my initial question, you know?” Spencer broke the awkward silence, before he could stop his tongue.

Damn it Reid why do you want to complicate things so badly?

She turned her head towards him, looking at him with a confused expression trying to make up her mind.

But then a small smile spread across her features before she closed her backpack and placed it on her shoulder. “No one’s been lucky enough to get in here,” she replied, effectively giving the answer Spencer was looking for and for some strange and absurd reason he believed her. “Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.”

Before he could answer she gave him one last glance and left the dressing room. He was supposed to be relieved, there would be no question he couldn’t answer – especially after she realized David wasn’t his real name – but for some reason he couldn’t let go that sinking feeling in his stomach.

He was good at analyzing other people’s emotions, every facet and change of expression, but he wasn’t as good with himself.

He was tempted to follow her, at least to know her name, to find out who the woman who had fried his brain was, but before going out he noticed a small object near the door, probably fallen from her backpack before she went out.

He knelt to pick it up from the ground, but his blood froze in his veins and his heart stopped beating for a millisecond when he realized what the object was.

It was a purple lipstick.

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request rules:

requests are OPEN until i make a post saying otherwise!

please be fairly detailed in what you are wanting, just to make sure you get what you want! you can do prompts, songs with a specific character, etc., just make sure you thrown in specific things you want!

what i write:

angst, fluff, smut, etc. really whatever, just please be detailed on what exactly you want

what i do not write:

femdom (it is just not for me)

please do no send me a word for word request for something you have sent to someone else to write. i will not write it.

also! if you guys just want something based off of a specific pairing that i already have going (i.e., something for surprise pregnancy/one night stand dr. abbot x reader, dr. robby x nurse!reader, former stripper/R2!reader x dr. abbot).

list of characters i will write for:

the pitt: dr. jack abbot, dr. michael robinavitch, dr frank langdon, dr. dennis whitaker

9-1-1: evan buckley

marvel: steve rogers, bucky barnes, robert reynolds, peter parker, loki, matt murdock, frank castle, johnny storm

outer banks: rafe cameron

law and order: dominick ‘sonny’ carisi, rafael barba

twilight: caius volturi, demetri volturi, carlisle cullen x reader, charlie swan x reader

house of the dragon: daemon targaryen, aemond targaryen, aegon ii targaryen, jacaerys valeryon, cregan stark

top gun: bob floyd, bradley bradshaw, jake seresin

the last of us: joel miller

criminal minds: spencer reid