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thatkattdraws · 2 months ago

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spencer comforting you on your period

In which your dinner plans with your boyfriend spencer get ruined by your period, but he comforts you that any time spent with you is worth it. genre fluff x comfort cw moody and emotional reader, mention of eating habits during period, reader feeling blegh and insecure, mention of blood stain, spencer being a sweet and understanding bf, sappy and domestic wc 2,3k

Today was not your day.

You had known from the minute you woke up. It was a feeling you couldn’t quite place, but every bone in your body screamed at you to roll back around in the sheets. And so you did.

The universe had blessed this feeling to occur on a free Sunday. You would’ve loved to be productive, to clean the windows — a task you didn’t do often enough because life gets in the way — to meal prep your favorite lunch for the upcoming week, or to answer some emails to give yourself a head start on work.

But none of that happened.

You put your phone back on the nightstand, and sleep pulled you under for another two hours. When you woke up, you scrolled through some TikToks — ignoring Spencer’s voice that echoed in your mind, telling you how doom scrolling influences your mood and shortens your attention span drastically. Basically telling you that your actions will turn you into some brainless zombie.

Not feeling that hungry yet, you pulled your pillow over your face and drifted off again.

When you woke up for the third time that day, there was a brief moment where you thought that you did, in fact, turn into a zombie. The ones that appeared in The Walking Dead and were overcome by one emotion: hunger. Due to a lack of humans or brains in your fridge, you settled on a frozen pizza. Your appetite was stilled, but now your mind seemed to process the load of other emotions you were feeling. After a cry sesh (that you would not admit to Spencer was caused by watching videos of rescued puppies on TikTok), you found your way back to bed — again.

It was 5PM when you smiled for the first time that day, hearing your melodic ringtone accompanied by the name Spence ♡ on your phone screen.

Swiping your finger, you opened the call. The engine of the jet roared in the background, together with some muffled talking and a repeated shushing that could be no other than your boyfriend.

“Hey, Spence,” you start the conversation, a giddy smile on your face.

“Hi!” he chirped happily, then cleared his throat. “Can you hear me? I’m on the jet.”

“Hearing you loud and clear, Doctor.”

You knew that if you were with him right now, you’d catch the faint blush blossoming on his cheeks.

“I have good news,” he announced after a moment.

You sit up on the bed, pressing the phone closer to your ear. Spencer was away with his team to catch an unsub that had escaped prison by digging a tunnel in the ground that went on for miles. You remember when Spencer had told you about the case a month ago — how you clung on to every word, while holding his hand in your sweaty palm as your heartbeat raced, knowing your boyfriend was to face this dangerous and meticulous psychopath.

“You finally got him?”

He beamed. “We got him, sweetheart.”

Spencer walked you through the last couple of days, and yes, while it was clear that the team worked well together, they never would’ve found the unsub in time if it wasn’t for Spencer. His insights hadn’t only been brilliant, something that was to be expected from him, but genius.

Spending most of your days without having him at home was tough, but all those frustrations always vanished whenever he told you stories like these. Your heart swelled with pride, and if you could kiss him through the phone, you would.

“I thought we could celebrate tonight,” he said. “I’m landing in two hours. We could go to that fancy new Thai place downtown.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you murmured. You adored his colleagues, but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel out of place during their intense and detailed FBI talks — ones you had no clue what to contribute to.

“You won't be. It’s just the two of us.”

Your heart did a leap, and you bit back a smile, even though there was no one to hide it from in the solitude of your room.

“Okay,” you smiled, trying to keep your voice neutral and not show how pleased you were that it would just be the two of you.

“Hey pretty girl, not feeling in the mood for me today?”

Damn profilers.

“Hi, Derek,” you chuckle. “No offense to you, I just missed my very handsome and very smart boyfriend.”

Derek scoffed at the other side of the line. “You’re feeding his ego too much.”

“Oh, he deserves it. You know that,” you remind him. “I bet you haven’t complimented him yet, have you?”

As clearly as you could picture Spencer’s amused smirk, you saw Derek’s signature eye roll in the back of your mind.

“You heard that?” Spencer asked after some muffled exchanges of words in the background.

You responded with a proud mhm.

“Will you be ready when I pick you up?’

You nodded. “Count on it.”

♡

Well, that was a lie. Not a little, white one, but a big, fat lie.

Two hours seemed like a plentiful time. There were days where you had gotten ready in twenty minutes. So the first hour you spent — you’ve guessed it — doom scrolling on your phone.

Getting out of your bed an hour later was harder than expected. Your happy mood had tumbled down the second Spencer had hung up the call, and it seemed like it had created a snowball effect where everything went wrong after the other.

Starting out with a pimple on your face that you had sworn wasn’t there when you looked into the mirror yesterday. Trying to keep a positive mindset, you opened your makeup drawer. Things seemed to be looking up as you covered your face in powders, and you were almost done with applying all your products, when your arm made a sudden movement. Your eyeliner has created a sleek wing on your face instead of on your eyelid. And to make matters worse, you jumped up in panic, making you drop the liner so that the black tip fell down your elegant, ruby-colored top, marking a line you wished was washable.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Any logical-thinking person in your situation would’ve calmly made their way over to the sink and wiped the spot clean. You, however, were too wrapped up in panic to think straight, and instead yanked the top off your body and sprinted toward the closet.

Opening the closet doors, you came to the realization that your side looked tragically empty. You had done a big cleanup when moving in with Spencer, giving away lots of items in the hopes of a fresh start. It was the plan to go on a shopping spree, but because of the lack of dates you and Spencer had — blaming his demanding job — you were now faced with only one option left: a deep sapphire dress.

It is Spencer’s favorite. His eyes always doubled in size, and his adam’s apple would bob whenever he saw the smooth fabric hugging your curves. The dress made you feel confident — sexy, even. So you didn’t expect to feel the complete opposite when you looked in the mirror.

The dress clung to you in all the wrong places. It did not give the wow factor it usually gives; instead, you were overcome with insecurities, even noticing flaws you had never picked up on before.

Your throat tightened, and you tried to swallow the lump away. Tried to blink the building tears away. But to no success. Rather dramatically you lowered yourself to the ground with a defeated sigh, leaning against the mattress of your bed and wrapping your arms around your knees.

Today was not your day. It was too much. And you felt incredibly stupid for feeling that way. Your boyfriend had spent restless nights — plural — cracking his mind over a case, only being fed on caffeine. Saving lives. Making a change. And now he’s on his way to take you out to dinner. And what were you doing? Crying away your messed-up makeup and not being on time. Not even achieving the one single thing your boyfriend had asked of you.

Punctual as always, the front door of the apartment opened with a creak.

“Are you ready, baby?” Spencer’s voice called from the living room. “Restaurants usually get busiest around seven. They have a special this week, so if we want to get the window seat I know you will like, we have two more minutes to leave. One and a half if you’ll be wearing heels.”

His words only made you cry harder. When he entered the room — wearing a nice button-up he must’ve packed just in case there’d be something to celebrate — his puppy dog eyes landed on you, frowning at your figure.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, not even daring to face him.

“Hey,” he softly cooed, walking up to you and crouching to be at eye level. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I’m not ready,” you sniffled. “I look like a mess. I am a mess.”

Spencer brushes your hair out of your face, his warm palms gently cupping both cheeks as he makes you look up at him. “You’re not a mess. That’s nothing we can’t fix in a couple of minutes,” he encourages as he uses his thumb to swipe away the eyeliner stain on your cheek.

“We don’t have a couple of minutes. The window seat will be taken.”

“We’ll figure something out, angel,” he reassured, before a silly grin formed on his face. “I can do some flashing around with my badge, hm? That will work.”

A breathy chuckle escaped your throat, the corners of your mouth lifting slightly. You gathered the courage to meet his gaze. You were no profiler, but his soft eyes told you everything: that he didn’t mind, that it was okay.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated in apology, your voice calmer now. “This was supposed to be your day, and I ruined it.”

Spencer wrapped an arm around you, hugging you to his chest and pressing a kiss on top of your head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I know your period can be much.”

Period.

Of course.

How is it that the same occurrence happens every month for most of your life, and still it manages to surprise you each time? Like puzzle pieces clicking together, you mentally retrace the events of today, the world slowly making sense again.

You let out a frustrated groan. “How did you figure that out before me?”

“You are two days early, so it doesn’t match the cycle I’ve been tracking. It makes sense that you didn’t catch on right away.” He was quiet for a moment, wanting to bring his next words as carefully as possible. “But the bloodstain on your thigh made things pretty clear.”

You couldn’t even process your surprise of Spencer casually confessing to tracking your cycle, as the last words left his mouth. Looking down at your lap, there indeed was a crimson-colored spot on your thigh. And on your dress. Oh no.

Noting your anxiety before you could react, Spencer reached out to lock your wrists in his hands.

“Don’t panic,” he tutted. “I’ll put the dress in the washing machine, and you can focus on taking a warm shower and think about what food we can order.”

“But the restau—“

He tsked, catching you off guard. “Shower,” he repeated in one word, so as not to trigger any new thoughts in your mind. Just one word. One mission. Shower.

♡

In the time you and Spencer had been dating, he’s never been wrong. And the steaming shower he suggested was, in fact, exactly what you needed.

Dressed in a cozy pajama set, you made your way back to the bedroom. Spencer had changed too, dressed accordingly in a matching set as he lay on the bed, long legs crossed over each other, and an old-school paper menu held between his fingers.

Quietly you crawled into bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you snuggled up to Spencer’s side, humming as he had warmed the spot.

You glanced over his shoulder at the menu. “That one,” you said, pointing at your go-to dish.

Spencer hummed in approval. “Excellent choice, m’lady.”

“Ooh, new nickname,” you teased, running your fingers through his soft curls.

“It’s on theme, actually,” he grinned. “Because today we’ll be watching…” With a groan he leaned over the bed, hands reaching out and coming back up with three DvDs in hand.

“Medieval movies…” you finished the sentence, trying to sound cheerful, but it came out as more of a question.

Spencer didn’t catch on to the confusion that laced your tone; instead, he eagerly asked you which movie you preferred.

“I don’t mind, Spence. It’s your big day,” you answered genuinely.

He asked you once more if you were sure, but when you confirmed — and he was allowed to choose a movie — he was overcome with a giddy excitement that made your heart flutter.

You truly didn’t know how you got so lucky. To be with a person that never raised his voice at you, who never judged you, who always took all of your feelings like they mattered. Because to him, they did. To him, you mattered. And as long as he could spend his time with you, he didn’t care when or where.

He looked up at you, noticing you as you were staring at him, like he was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

“I’m so lucky you’re mine,” you whispered in adoration.

He leaned forward, cheeks heating as he pressed a small kiss to your lips. “Derek was right; you really feed my ego too much.”

“Maybe,” you agreed with a smirk. “But you better get used to it.”

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thatkattdraws · 2 months ago

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"Confidential Encounters"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader (18+)

After a steamy hookup in the BAU archives, Spencer Reid can’t keep his hands off you. You both sneak into the tech room for round two — risking everything as you rush to get each other off before someone walks in. It’s fast, filthy, and dangerously hot.

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, public sex, unprotected sex implied, workplace misconduct, hair pulling, strong language

w/c 1,965

...

The BAU's archive room was eerily quiet at night.

Dim overhead lights cast long shadows across rows of aging case files and musty books.

You stood on your toes, reaching for a thick file binder wedged high on the top shelf.

Of course, it had to be the one out of reach. You huffed, rocking forward on your boots. The hem of your skirt lifted just slightly—

“Need a hand?”

That unmistakable voice, velvet-smooth and laced with a hint of amusement, came from behind you.

You turned, catching Spencer Reid leaning casually against the end of the row, a smug little smirk curling his lips.

You gave him a mock glare. “Were you just watching me struggle?”

“I would never,” he said with a falsely innocent blink. “I was admiring the technique.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Spencer walked over, plucked the binder from the top shelf with ease, and handed it to you — his fingers brushing yours, lingering just a little too long.

“Thanks,” you said, heat simmering under your skin.

You should’ve stepped back. You should’ve turned and gone back to your desk. But instead, you looked up — and realized just how close he was standing. Inches. The air shifted, suddenly heavier.

“Anything else I can help you reach?” he asked, voice a little lower now.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “You offering?”

His brows lifted, caught off guard by your boldness — but that glint in his eyes? That was interest. Undeniable. And maybe even something a little darker.

“I might be,” he murmured. “Depends what you’re asking for.”

There was a pause.

A heartbeat. Then two. The air crackled between you.

The rules, the professionalism, the long hours of suppressed glances and half-smiles — it all shattered when you closed the distance.

Your lips crashed into his, hungry and wild, the binder slipping from your hand and thudding to the floor.

He kissed you back just as fiercely, one hand grabbing your waist and spinning you until your back hit the shelf behind you.

Papers fluttered to the ground, but neither of you noticed.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his hands already traveling beneath your blazer, skimming the curve of your hips.

“Oh yeah?” you breathed, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. “All those late nights finally getting to you, Doctor?”

His mouth was hot on your neck, tongue teasing at your pulse. “You have no idea.”

You gasped as his hands cupped your ass, lifting you effortlessly onto a low shelf.

Your thighs spread to accommodate him, and he stepped between them, grinding against you — fully hard, already.

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend,” you teased, slipping your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly.

Spencer groaned. “You don’t know how long I’ve imagined this. You, bent over one of these shelves…”

“Do it,” you whispered, biting his lip. “Make it real.”

His pupils blew wide with lust. You didn’t need to ask twice.

He spun you gently and bent you forward, pressing your chest against the dusty metal shelf.

Cool air rushed over your thighs as he pushed your skirt up, revealing the lacy black thong you’d totally not worn for this very reason.

His hand slid between your thighs and groaned when he felt how wet you already were.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he whispered. “Is this all for me?”

You moaned, backing your hips against his hand. “Who else would it be for?”

That pushed him over the edge.

He didn’t waste time — just shoved his pants down enough to free himself, then teased the head of his cock against your entrance. You were throbbing for him, desperate.

“Beg for it,” he growled softly, voice right in your ear.

You whined. “Spencer, please… I need you.”

And god, he delivered.

He thrust into you in one long, slick slide — making you gasp, the shelf rattling as your hands braced against it. He was thick, stretching you perfectly, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle.

His rhythm started slow, torturous, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he rolled into you with maddening control.

“You feel incredible,” he moaned. “So fucking tight.”

You arched back against him, your breath coming in gasps. “Harder, Spencer. Please.”

His grip tightened. “Say my name again.”

“Spencer,” you cried, “fuck—please—Spencer.”

And then he snapped.

His pace quickened, rough and perfect, your hips slamming into the shelf with each thrust. The air filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your gasps and moans echoing between the rows of case files — a filthy symphony in the FBI’s sacred halls.

His hand snaked around your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast circles in sync with his thrusts. Your body trembled, your orgasm building rapidly — stars dancing in your vision.

“Come for me,” he grunted. “Come on, baby. I want to feel you.”

You shattered around him with a cry, legs shaking, pleasure tearing through you in waves. He fucked you through it, murmuring filthy praises in your ear until he came moments later, groaning your name like it was a prayer.

Panting, you both collapsed against the shelf, his body heavy against yours.

There was a beat of silence — then you both started laughing, breathless and giddy.

“Okay,” you said between giggles. “That was... wildly inappropriate.”

“Highly unprofessional,” Spencer agreed, still buried inside you, his lips against your shoulder. “Want to do it again?”

You turned your head and smirked at him. “Meet me in the tech room in ten?”

You shifted slightly, and he let out a breathless chuckle.

“Okay,” you murmured. “As much as I’d love to stay like this... we should probably not get caught pants-down in the evidence archive.”

Spencer slowly pulled out, both of you groaning at the loss of contact. Your thighs trembled as you turned to face him, skirt still bunched around your hips, cheeks flushed, hair wild.

He looked positively wrecked — tie askew, shirt untucked, a bite mark blooming faintly on his collarbone.

And that look in his eyes? Still dark. Still hungry.

You looked at your panties, wincing a little at how ruined they were and decided they were now unwearable, commando it is.

You started smoothing your skirt. He caught your hand, eyes flicking down.

“That’s not going to help,” he said, voice husky, teasing.

“You look thoroughly…fucked.”

Spencer’s voice dropped a register, full of heat and reverence.

You swallowed, pulse fluttering as his fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. “That’s because I am. Thoroughly.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Can’t argue with results.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder gently, but the tension between you still crackled like live wire. Spencer stepped back just enough to re-tuck his shirt and fix his tie — very poorly — while you tried to smooth out your appearance with minimal success. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the shiny metal of a nearby filing cabinet: flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips, hair a sexy kind of chaos.

Perfect.

“Alright, genius,” you whispered, adjusting your blouse. “You go first. I’ll follow in five.”

Spencer leaned in, brushing a kiss to your jaw — soft and a little smug. “Tech room,” he murmured, like it was your secret password. “I’ll lock the door.”

You gave him a knowing smirk and watched as he slipped out into the hallway, already looking like a man with a delicious secret.

Five minutes.

You spent every one of them trying to regain control of your heartbeat and fix your hair with the help of your phone camera. When you finally exited the archives, you moved with calculated calm — heart thudding with every step toward the tech room.

Tech Room – 12 Minutes Later

The door was closed.

You gave a quick knock — not for courtesy, but because it was your way of announcing yourself. One soft tap.

The tech room was quiet, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of computer monitors.

You barely had time to shut the door behind you before Spencer’s hands were on your waist, dragging you against him with breathless urgency.

“I locked it,” he whispered against your lips.

“But anyone with clearance could override it.”

You smirked, heart already thudding in your throat. “Then you’d better make it fast.”

He kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth, hands roaming your body like he hadn’t already had you once in the archives. His hips rolled into yours, already hard and eager through his slacks.

The low hum of the electronics around you only heightened the tension, masking the quiet gasps and rustles of fabric as he pressed you up against the nearest desk.

You reached between you, fumbling with his belt. “I swear, if someone walks in on us—”

“We’ll get fired,” he murmured, grinning against your neck. “Totally worth it.”

You gasped as his hands slid beneath your skirt, finding you bare. His fingers dipped between your thighs, dragging through your slick folds with reverent ease.

“Still wet,” he whispered. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

You bit your lip, your hands moving fast — pushing his pants down just enough, tearing open the condom wrapper you’d snuck from Morgan’s stash. Spencer didn’t even wait for you to finish rolling it on. He lifted you onto the desk, knocking over a mug of pens and nearly sending a monitor skittering sideways.

“Spence—” you hissed, glancing toward the door.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice low and dangerous, sliding into you in one deep thrust that stole your breath.

You choked on a moan and clawed at his shoulders as he began to move — not slow this time.

Fast. Urgent. Reckless.

The desk creaked under your weight, a warning sound in the otherwise silent room. His hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries as he pounded into you with an intensity that bordered on desperate.

You locked your legs around his waist, anchoring him deep inside you.

“Quiet,” he whispered against your cheek. “Someone could walk in. Hotch. Garcia. Hell, Morgan.”

That thought should have sobered you — but it only made the heat curl tighter in your belly.

You reached between you, fingers finding your clit, working in tight circles to match his rhythm.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft growl building in his throat as you clenched around him.

“You’re gonna come like this?” he whispered, utterly wrecked. “Like a bad girl, with the whole office right outside that door?”

You nodded, biting into the flesh of his shoulder to keep from screaming. “So close—Spence—I’m—”

“Let go,” he hissed.

You did.

Your orgasm rolled through you like a shockwave, shaking your entire body as your vision blurred.

Spencer cursed and followed seconds later, thrusting into you hard and deep before freezing, his entire frame trembling against yours.

You were both panting, lips parted, chests heaving in the still-hot air of the tech room.

Spencer carefully pulled out, rolling the condom off and tying it quickly in a tissue before tossing it in a bin under the desk. He fixed his slacks, breath still shaky, and you smoothed your skirt down with trembling fingers.

The lock on the door beeped softly.

Your heads snapped toward the sound — but no one entered. Just a system reset, maybe.

“Shit,” you whispered, adrenaline still coursing through you.

Spencer reached for your hand, pulling you close for one last, searing kiss. “Let’s not press our luck.”

You grinned against his lips. “We already did.”

As you unlocked the door and peeked into the hallway, your legs were barely steady, your heart pounding like a drum.

But you didn’t regret a thing.

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