#Spencer: why did I ever come out to you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiderwriter · 7 months

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Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing.

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty.

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror.

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much.

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct.

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report.

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new.

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier.

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt.

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch.

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest.

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer.

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off.

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged.

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time."

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes."

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room.

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate.

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph.

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks.

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side.

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?"

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow.

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him.

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table.

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm.

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer.

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question."

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?"

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know."

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you.

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person.

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out.

"Nowhere."

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question.

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?"

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite.

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying.

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach.

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you.

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away.

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason.

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number.

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone."

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-"

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?"

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge.

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him.

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own.

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do."

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that.

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him.

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you.

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions.

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from.

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done.

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him.

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something.

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face.

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally.

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been.

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second.

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work, but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans.

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open.

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead.

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic.

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher.

"I'm okay."

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?"

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted.

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you."

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another.

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question.

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend.

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on.

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?"

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you.

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now.

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did.

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness.

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?"

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer.

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head.

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again.

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes.

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath.

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?"

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this.

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole.

You'd never felt like this before.

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm.

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom.

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously.

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands.

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands.

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket.

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else.

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build.

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there.

"Spencer, please, please, fuck."

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -"

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation.

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige.

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth.

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in.

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him.

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again.

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth.

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him.

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned.

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap."

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further.

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg.

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions.

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him.

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-"

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh.

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued.

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you.

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow.

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest.

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time.

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it.

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you.

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair.

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?"

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded.

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…"

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be.

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance.

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in.

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further.

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were.

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you.

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast.

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head.

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth.

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you.

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it.

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His.

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger.

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep.

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't.

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one.

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down.

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before.

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that.

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him.

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world.

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face.

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way.

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart.

"No, not until you tell me why you left."

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl.

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again.

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine."

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble.

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face.

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room.

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed.

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #dom spencer reid #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

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ddejavvu · 7 months

Note

Wait Omg the thought of bau!reader and Aaron being secretly married but reader forgetting to take their ring off?? (Opposite to Spencer’s LOL). Everyone instantly zeroes in on it like ?????

You're not sure why you're on the receiving end of Prentiss's cheshire cat grin, but she's somewhat of an office prankster, so you assume that when you open the top drawer of your desk, a rubber band will fly out and whack you in the forehead. When no such thing happens, and JJ greets you with her own wide-eyed smile, you know something's wrong.

You retrieve the handheld mirror that you keep stashed away in your purse, trying to appear nonchalant as you glance over your face for any possible makeup smears. There's no smudges of eyeliner down your cheeks, mascara isn't dotted on your eyelid, and your lipstick is perfectly lined around your mouth; nothing is wrong.

You reach up to flick a wayward strand of hair away from your eyes, nothing big enough to attract the stares you're getting, but undesirable nonetheless. When you do you catch the glint of your wedding ring in the fluorescent lights of the bullpen, and your stomach drops.

That's not supposed to be there.

You snap the mirror closed and slide the ring off of your hand but it's too late, and both girls are snickering at your piss-poor attempt at concealment.

"Sooo," JJ hums, leaning over her desk with her chin propped on her hand, "When were you gonna tell us about that?"

"It's just a ring," You scoff, shoving it into the depths of your purse. You'll regret that later, when you're digging through napkins and lotion to find it, but for now evasion is key.

"Please," Emily scoffs, "That rock looks like it could pay my rent five times over. Are you seriously married?"

"No!" You gush, and you're sure they regret phrasing it as a question, because it gave you the opportunity to lie in answer, "No, I am not married, it's just a regular ring."

"Yeah, that's why you hid it from us," JJ drawls, "Morgan, did you know about this?"

"What?" The man's head pops up from his desk, "What do I know?"

"JJ, please-" You beg, but Prentiss is the one who answers, "Y/N's hitched!"

Derek's brows shoot comically high on his face, "Married-hitched?"

"No! I just wear rings sometimes," You insist, "Guys, I'm not married, this is ridiculous!"

"No one wears a ring that big unless it comes from a man who's equally endowed," Prentiss winks, that devilish grin on her face ever-present, "Come on, don't make Penelope deep dive, who's the lucky man?"

"What am I deep-diving for?" Garcia peers around the corner of the kitchenette, and you shoot Rossi a pleading look where he stands behind her. He'd been on his way back to his office, but apparently your drama has piqued his interest.

"She's married." Derek jerks a thumb at you, and it actually drops Garcia's jaw; you've always delighted in how cartoonish her reactions could be. Now, though, it provides enough silence for Rossi to speak, setting one of his hands on Penelope's shoulders.

"Don't waste your talents, Penelope. You don't need a deep dive to figure it out."

"Dave," You start, your voice sharp, but JJ cuts you off.

"Come on, you told Rossi before you told us?"

"She didn't tell me," Dave shakes his head, amusement glimmering in his eyes. You know he's absolutely ecstatic to be the one to let the cat out of the bag, and you resign yourself to slumping back in your chair as he changes the BAU forever more with two meager words: "Hotch did."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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luveline · 8 days

Note

i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's just miserable that no one remembered his birthday at work but when he gets home his roommate just welcomes him with the most thoughtful gift and a warm hug PLEASE

thank you for requesting! <3 fem!reader

The lights are off. The air conditioning blows a shade too cold. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and acknowledges that, despite his awful, aching day, it’s nice to be home.

The living room is clean where it hadn’t been this morning when he left. If he had to clean it by himself, he’d die. It must’ve taken a good hour or longer, even the floor shines sparkling clean.

“Hey?” he asks into the open air, wondering where you are.

“Spencer!” you yelp from the kitchen, “Hey, what took you so long? It’s almost seven!”

He sighs to himself with a great dash of self-pity. “I know. Had to stay and finish something. You cleaned?”

“I had to! Quick, come in here, I need your help with something.”

He doesn’t want to help, he wants to lay down in bed. Spencer wonders how a normal person, a normal boy, would feel after a day like today. He wonders if Morgan would go home and lay in bed and cry. He wonders if it could ever be possible for everyone to forget Morgan’s birthday.

Spencer hangs his jacket on the rack and puts his bag by the shoes. He’s tempted to go to bed and pretend he hasn’t heard you, but he supposes he shouldn’t. He’d sort of been hoping you’d text him happy birthday, and but that never happened. He doesn’t think anybody in the world besides his mom knows what day it is today, and Spencer had to remind her, so.

“Spence,” you say, your smile of a calibre he’s never witnessed, standing in front of the kitchen island with your hands behind your back, “I hope you know I’ve been waiting two whole hours for you to get back. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day, but you can’t be blamed for working. Okay. Are you ready?”

“Am I ready? What did you want help with?”

You step to the side, grinning, the sleeves of your nice blouse like big, soft petals around your wrists and against your thighs. “Tada!” you say, guiding his attention to the silver platter on the countertop, a chocolate cake at centre stage and stuck with candles, flames aglow. “I rushed to light them when I heard the door,” you tell him, and he can hear your breathlessness now, your excitement for him evident. “A lot of candles, you’re getting old! Too old for chocolate sprinkle. I should’ve got you something sophisticated.”

“You got me a cake?”

“It’s your birthday,” you say happily. “Happy birthday, Spencer. I got you some presents, too, but the cake is the best, it’s from the Leaven. How fancy is that?”

“Will you sing?” he asks.

He doesn’t know why he asks. He’s mostly kidding, but you smile shyly and beckon him toward you. “I’ll sing. Come stand over here.”

You sing him happy birthday, and he blows out his candles, only ten candles altogether but enough to feel like a kid as the heat kisses his chin.

“Okay, and I got you this,” you say, finally pulling both hands from behind your back, seemingly eager to move the focus from your performance.

It’s a bundle about as thick as an average novel. He knows it’ll be books before he opens it, because you know him, and it’s in your nature to give him your everything.

He doesn’t look at them. He takes the package blindly and shoves it onto the counter, wrapping you in a hug so hard it makes your back click. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You don’t make him. “Sorry, I just– I–” You’re the only one who remembered. “Thank you for the cake.”

You hug him not quite as hard, but tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, you’re my best friend ever, you can pop me like a roll of dough any day of the week.” You might be exaggerating. Spencer doesn’t know. “But especially today, you know. You can have anything you want.”

Spencer should let go. Anything you want, you’d said. He hugs you until he’s sure you’re sick of him, your thumb pressing little circles into his shoulder, his arms tucked up under your armpits and around your back. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“What?” he asks. “For what?”

“For such a good hug. And being a great roommate. And for not complaining about the candles.”

“The candles are perfect.”

You lean back in his arms. “Thank you. Now what do you want first, cake or dinner?”

Spencer really wants another hug. “Um. Cake?”

“Good choice, handsome.”

His cheeks are pink by the time he gets a slice, but it’s the best birthday cake he’s ever had.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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atlabeth · 3 days

Text

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it.

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments.

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.”

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.”

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.”

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.”

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him.

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?”

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.”

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.”

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says.

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?”

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.”

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something.

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.”

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep.

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks.

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.”

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity.

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses.

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.”

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him.

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly.

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.”

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?”

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus.

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel.

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent.

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses.

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?”

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?”

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.”

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.”

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this.

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.”

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.”

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks.

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?”

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves.

“That’s ridiculous.”

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.”

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.”

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.”

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.”

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.”

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.”

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?”

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.”

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today.

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?”

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.”

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.”

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.”

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here.

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.”

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here.

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“You don’t need to pay me back.”

“Really?”

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning.

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says.

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!”

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.”

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.”

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #x reader #sadie writes

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rreids · 19 days

Text

PRACTICE RUN • S. REID X READER

fluff, based on a scene at the end of 1 x 04 , going on a platonic date with spencer (for him to know what it's like) that becomes very real, kissing, silly little facts (again, very loosely verified, read everything i say ever with a grain of salt), ~1.3k

“Spence?” You ask, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. It’s 10:30, everyone had left the BAU around 8 after finishing up paperwork on the latest case. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, exactly,” Spencer mumbles. “You know how I went to that baseball game with JJ? Last week?”

”Yeah. You have fun?”

”Yeah. I mean, I guess.” He sighs. “I think Gideon meant for me to ask her out like a date,”

”Did you want it to be a date?” You sit up slowly, tugging your blanket over your knees and putting your phone on speaker so you can rest your cheek on your propped legs.

”No.” He pauses. “But I want to know how to ask someone out. In case I ever want to in the future.”

”Well,” you stretch and yawn a little. “Do you want me to explain it?”

”Would you?” You can perfectly imagine the way his face lights up from the way his voice pitches up alone.

”Of course, Spence,” you smile. “The best thing to do is make your intentions clear. Either have established that you like them, or make it clear when you ask. Try to ask them to do something, just the two of you, that is a shared interest between you two.”

He hums.

”For example, you like film viewings and stuff, right?” He mumbles a soft agreement. “So, it could be something like ‘Hey, I got tickets for this movie on — and then whatever day —, I was thinking the two of us could go. I’d like to see it with you.’”

”That easy?”

”That easy. Sometimes I like to say ‘it’s a date,’ when they agree, just to make sure they’re clear on my intentions. Never a bad idea to be explicit in your communication.”

”You go on a lot?” He asks curiously. “Of dates, I mean. You said that’s something you like to say,”

”Not recently, but in college,” you smile softly. “Not everyone was 16 when they were in higher education,”

Spencer chuckles. “You’re right. Are they any… fun?”

”You don’t know?”

”No one ever asked me out. Or maybe they did. I’m not good at that type of stuff. What do people even do on dates?”

”Talk,” you chuckle. “Enjoy one another’s company. Really, it’s just any old hangout with different emotions.”

Spencer sighs, voice petulant when he speaks again. “Emotions are confusing,”

”I have an idea,”

“What is it?”

”How about I take you on a practice run date? So you know what it’s like.”

”Isn’t that weird?”

”If you make it weird,” you tease. “It’s up to you. We’ll treat it like a date but go as friends, just so you can get used to that type of environment and its expectations,”

Spencer clicks his tongue, and you picture him pursing his lips in contemplation. “You promise I won’t feel weird?”

”I can’t control your emotions, Spence, but I promise to treat you like normal.”

He’s silent for a bit. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat with a smile. “I’ll plan everything. Just tell me if you change your mind,”

.°. ݁₊ . ݁ ⁺₊

When you and Spencer finally have time, it’s when you’re off work for a day after a rough week in Montana. He’s dressed pretty normally, but he took more time than normal to try to tame his hair, and he’s fidgeting with the cuffed sleeves of his undershirt as you walk up.

“Spencer,” you call and he looks up, smiling nervously. “You ready?”

“What exactly should I be ready for?”

“I decided we should go to an aquarium. That okay?”

“We have a shared interest in fish?” He asks, incredulous, recalling you saying a date had to be something both parties liked. “It’s fish.”

“The information,” you poke his side. “You like learning. It’s cool, I promise. And you can even point at the ugly fish and say they look like me.”

Spencer tilts his head. “Why would I do that? You’re not ugly.”

You smile, unsure of how to respond. “Come on.”

He listens, and it’s a little awkward, him silent and studying you. There’s so much tension that you’re unexpectedly and uncharacteristically a little quiet, looking at the way the cyan lights in the tanks flicker and reflect in his eyes, making them into inky pools of brown, black, and bluesin the low lighting.

You realize he looks pretty… cute.

“Spencer,” you whisper, snapping him from his laser focus on a sign about knobbed whelks. “You’re meant to talk to me.”

“Sorry,” he whispers back. “I just—”

“Think they’re cool?” You ask lightly.

“Yeah.”

“You want to go see the otters?” You question, grabbing his hand in yours. “They hold hands like this when they’re asleep, so they don’t drift apart and lose each other.”

He stares down at your hand, mouth dropped a little as you dragged him. “Is that why you’re holding mine? So I don’t get lost or separated from you.”

“Yeah.” You grin at him and he smiles back, letting you pull him along.

The otters are cute, and he’s fascinated by them. “I never knew they were so vicious…” he trails off as he reads the sign, looking at one with big round eyes that stares at him through the glass.

“Maybe we can profile our next unsub as an otter.”

Spencer snorts. “Yeah, whenever we get a killer who throws their victims on rocks repeatedly. That’d be a signature.”

You smile and look at his profile in the glowing light.

“What?” He asks, shying from the intensity of your gaze.

“People normally look at the person they’re on a date — fake… date — with.”

“Do they always look this intently at them?”

“Sometimes,” you fix his collar where it’s flopped over a little. “When they want to kiss them,”

You trail your fingers from his collar over his neck briefly before dropping your hand, and you feel his pulse racing.

“Do you kiss people on fake dates? Or practice dates?”

“Most people don’t go on those, Spence. But normally, you ask if you can kiss the person — through body language or verbally, and kiss them.”

Spencer falls quiet, following you towards the sharks slowly before catching your wrist in a dim part of the corridor, and you can barely make out the way his tongue darts over his lower lip.

“How does that body language look? So I can identify it,”

Your heart races, and you step closer to him, breathing in the scent of his cologne. Your eyes partially close just from the anticipation. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, meet his gaze before lowering it to his lips and dragging it back on, curling your fingers on his collar. “Like this.”

Spencer swallows, and moves his hands shakily to your waist.

He waits for you to look at him, and then copies you, eyes falling to your mouth before sliding back up your face.

You kiss him and he startles a little, stiffening under you before sighing and awkwardly trying to match you.

His eyes shut instinctively and remain like that even as you pull back, cheeks so red you can see it despite the lack of light.

“I don’t know… how… to kiss.” Spencer mumbles. “I’ve read a lot, but you’d be surprised how little there is other than facts that roughly 60% of couples tilt their heads to the right to kiss, and that many recipients of kisses will tilt to the right if the person kissing them is doing—”

You kiss him again.

“Later, Spencer. We’re on a date.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “A real one?”

“Unless you kiss everyone you hang out with, yeah,”

“No, no, I don’t.” He clears his throat. “But did you know it’s—”

“Safer than shaking hands when it comes to the amount of pathogens transferred. I know.” You hold his hand firmly in yours. “Now we’re doing both.”

not proofread, like always. i'm trying to improve my characterization still so please forgive that it's still clumsy. i am also a stickler for cute awkward spence so. expect that too

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #cm spoilers #requested

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reidmotif · 8 months

Text

"Technically" Not A Student

Summary: Reader is Alex Blake’s TA, and after a guest lecture, Spencer seems to take a liking to her .

Prompt:You’re Alex Blake’s TA when a Dr. Reid comes to guest lecture. Things get heated quickly when you're alone.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, guestlecturer!Spencer , age gap (roughly 10 years), car sex, heavy making out, unprotected sex, slight female masturbation, Spencer is smart and that's HOT, heavy sexual tension

Word Count: 5.1k

Being asked to be Alex Blake’s TA was the opportunity of a lifetime, and when it was presented to me as a first-year graduate student at Georgetown, I took it eagerly and never looked back.

She had personally approached me after I’d finished a semester in her forensic linguistics class as a freshman, and commended me on my dedication to the material and my general work ethic, and then inquired if I’d ever consider filling out an application as her teaching assistant starting the next semester.

I immediately agreed. It was a no-brainer. Blake was a seasoned professional in the career field I wished to enter, not to mention she’d been one of the best professors I’d had whilst taking classes at Georgetown. Knowing I’d be working so closely with her absolutely thrilled me. It provided opportunities I'd have never gotten otherwise.

For example, getting to sit in on the class the famed Spencer Reid would be lecturing on.

She usually kept me quite busy, having me develop assignments and quizzes for her class when she had other responsibilities to attend to. I’d heard horror stories from other TA’s in which their supervisors would delegate ninety-nine percent of the work to their juniors, having them essentially teach the class for minimal recognition or pay. Blake wasn’t like that, and I was thankful. This time around though, she had very different instructions for me.

“You don’t need to prepare any material this time around.” Blake explained to me, and I nodded, listening diligently. “I’d just like you to sit in, and possibly take notes, as you see fit.” She added, and I flashed a polite smile, nodding.

“No problem whatsoever. I’ll sit in the back so as to not bother any students as I do.” I replied, offering her as much convenience as I could within my actions.

Secretly, I did want to catch more than a glimpse from the back of the room. I wanted to experience the esteemed colleague Blake had often spoken of with incredible fondness. I was aware he was slightly older than I was, and a bit socially inept from the way she described him in his stories, but I was also aware the man was a goddamn genius. She’d describe in precision the way Reid would pick up on patterns and leads faster than anyone else on the team, and his immense knowledge in multiple fields beyond criminal profiling. When she’d told me he had three pHDs, I had to hold back a gasp. I hadn’t even started my own doctorate, but the idea only exhausted me- and he had three?! Color me impressed.

Blake, being as brilliant as she did, could sense the hidden enthusiasm in my eyes in meeting this man.

“Honestly, I’d rather you sit in the front. If you’re taking notes for any student unable to attend, it’s more imperative that you know the contents of the lecture, rather than anyone else.” She said, smiling kindly.

“That’s absolutely alright with me.” I say, even quicker than before, nodding, thoughtfully. In reality, the only thing I was thinking about was how close I’d be near the man. I had no idea what he looked like, what he sounded like, but something about him made my stomach flutter.

“I’m sure Dr. Reid would be interested in meeting you, as well. He takes special interest in anyone pursuing our line of work.” Blake added. She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the words made my cheeks light up with a hint of embarrassment.

I don’t know why, but he intimidated the hell out of me. The idea of him taking interest in a conversation with me made my heart beat slightly faster, and I nodded. I tried to convince myself that my nerves came from a purely professional standpoint, but regardless of my intentions, I was absolutely exhilarated by our imminent meeting.

While I knew there'd be initial awkwardness when I'd meet him, given my idolization of the man, I didn’t account for how terrible it’d actually be when I realized how fucking attractive he was. It was almost unfair. I was already tripping over the words I planned on saying in my head, and now he looked like that?

It was cruel.

The soft, doe eyes paired with sharp cheekbones. The slope of his nose, and the mess of brown curls atop his head. Every word out of his mouth was made even prettier by the soft curve and pinkness of his lips, and I found myself wanting to lunge over the table and kiss the hell out of him.

Needless to say, not the right thoughts to have about your professor’s (older) coworker.

While I was initially going to introduce myself to Dr. Reid before his lecture, hopefully establishing myself as a serious individual regarding my studies and eventual career, I shied away, opting for Blake to introduce me instead, nodding politely when he made eye contact with me, exchanging a quiet “hello” and taking my seat in the front.

That was it. And probably how it should be, considering I genuinely couldn’t think straight around him. Students began filtering in, and I took my spot at the front of the room, crossing my legs and beginning to outline his lecture as he began to speak.

He was a brilliant lecturer, and it was honestly criminal he didn’t do this for a living. He gesticulated wildly throughout the whole of it, but every word of his was punctuated with a genuine passion that even some of the best professors on campus lacked. I did my best to diligently keep up with every point he brought up, but with how fast he spoke, it was difficult. Still, an effort was made.

If that wasn’t enough to deal with, I swear the man kept making eye contact with me for the duration of his lecture. At first I believed I was imagining it, that his eyes kept drifting to mine by coincidence, but by the third time, I’d realized that everytime my eyes left his figure to scribble something, I’d look up to see his dark eyes boring into my soul, almost as if he was trying to solve me with a glance. It was intense and made my stomach turn in a way which wasn’t entirely unpleasurable, but I forced myself to remain professional.

Blake did not need to see me absolutely lusting after her coworker, even if he was utterly fit.

Anyway, he was probably only making eye contact considering I was in the front, and probably in an optimal spot for his eyes to focus on whilst addressing the whole of the class. Still, the way his gaze was trained on mine, reaching the deepest parts of my soul didn’t help the growing heat between my legs.

I forced myself to focus on the board, my notes, anything but those godforsaken eyes for the rest of the lecture. Anytime we made eye contact afterwards, I’d quickly look down, like I’d been caught doing something terrible.

Was anyone else seeing this? Was I insane and made delusional by my unexpected attraction to this man? Was he seriously making me wet just by looking at me?

Yes.

Sooner than anyone wanted, the lecture period had completed and Dr. Reid was finishing up. The students were absolutely enamored, especially the girls, as expected. Of course it wouldn’t be just me who’d noticed that in addition to being accomplished in his intelligence, he was also ridiculously easy on the eyes.

Blake stood in the corner, watching her students vacate the space, while some held back to talk to Dr. Reid as he packed his things. He seemed a bit shy at all the attention, but didn’t hesitate in explaining concepts to seemingly eager students, giving them all a soft, shy smile.

God help me, he was adorable. How was I falling for a man I’d never even spoken a word to?

I’d never left the classroom before Blake did, so as she stayed, I did as well, until the three of us were the only ones left in the room. Blake smiled, walking up to Dr. Reid with her hands in her pocket.

“You worked up quite the fanbase, Reid.” Blake said, a little playful.

Reid replied somewhat bashfully. “You have a great bunch of students.” He flashed a small smile at her as they spoke, still packing up his things.

The dynamic between my superior and the man was obviously sweet. They almost looked familial, which made sense. Blake had commented here and there that she managed to spend more time with the BAU with her actual family. I’m sure the latter was the same for Spencer. He probably had a doting girlfriend at home, ready to welcome him in her arms and I mentally kicked myself again for being so attracted to him.

He was nearly ten years older, for god’s sake! Enough! I screamed at myself.

I was brought out quite suddenly from my thoughts when Blake spoke in my direction. “This is (Y/N), my teaching assistant.” Reid came in my direction as I got up and approached him, offering a hand to me. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Blake told me who you were, but we weren’t properly introduced.”

I gave a firm shake to his hand, which I noticed was calloused and smooth at the same time. God, even his hands were pretty. He had long, slender fingers with short-kept nails. They were veiny, and looked strong. I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like inside of me, buried in the heat of my core as I begged him for more.. more..

I forced the thought out of my head, only nodding again at the handsome man. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” I say, forcing myself to be professional.

Stop thinking about fucking him!

“Spencer works just fine.” He says, imparting a kind smile that nearly made my knees weak. Did he have any idea the embarrassing effect he was having on me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake looking at the two of us with a bit of a strange expression on her face. I let go of his hand and took a step back. Oh god. Could she tell? If she could, she said nothing. She gave us both a kind smile, before grabbing her own things.

“(Y/N)?” She called out, starting to walk to the door. “Mind locking up for me tonight?” She said, already throwing her keys to me.

“That’s fine by me.” I say, grabbing her keys mid-air. I was used to this. Blake often wanted to leave a bit quicker than I did, and I was more than happy to assist in any way possible. What I didn’t realize, was that this left me and Spencer in the room alone, something I wanted to avoid, considering how fucking awkward this man was rendering me with so much as a glance at me.

I heard Blake leave, and as she quietly closed the door behind her, I leaned against a desk, keeping my eyes down as Spencer continued to pack his own things. I tried to not let my gaze drift to him, as I waited for him to finish up.

I let my thoughts wander to the lecture, and couldn’t shake the feeling he’d evoked in me when he looked at me like that. This was honestly ridiculous. The man had barely spoken ten words to me, and here I was, absolutely mooning over him. It was a new low for me, but in my defense being a graduate student meant I didn’t have much time to get my .. needs fulfilled.

“That’s why” I convinced myself. I just hadn’t gotten laid in a really long time. Nothing more, nothing less.

“So, you’re a criminology student?” Spencer says, suddenly, breaking me out of my trance.

I looked up, nodding. I responded on pure habit and instinct. ‘Yes, I’m in the process of getting my Masters in Criminology.” I said, nearly robotic.

“That must be interesting.” Spencer replied, flashing me a sweet smile that caused an entirely new slew of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. “I never studied criminology specifically, but the classes I took interested me.”

“Blake told me you had three pHDs.” I acknowledged, trying to return his smile, but in all honesty, I probably looked like an idiot. I was nervous as hell, and hoped he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t my fault. He was awe-causing. A sight to behold, if you will, in intelligence and appearance.

He laughed good naturedly, “Yeah. Three.” He must’ve noticed the stars in my eyes, because he continues. “As well as a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Sociology. And I’m working on another in Philosophy.” He finishes with a smug, boyish type of smile.

What was previously stars in my eyes, was now full blown shock all over my face. “Wow, Spencer.” I said, a little dumb-struck. “That’s.. a lot.” I add, a little stupidly, giving him a little laugh.

He sweetly scratched his neck, revealing his self-consciousness. “Yeah? You think?” He says, a small smirk in his voice, and I laughed again. “You think I should stop after Philosophy?”

“Totally. Save some knowledge for us.” I teased. It was comfortable. He was surprisingly easy to get used to. He was affable, despite how daunting his knowledge was.

“Hey, you try graduating before you’re a teenager.” He defends himself, playfully. “Not much to do, really.”

I laugh. “I don’t know.” I say, throwing my hands up a little. “Play ball? Run around?” I joke, and he makes a face at that, scrunching up his nose.

“Not my thing.” He replies, smoothly, and I laugh.

“Alright, fine. Keep your degrees doctor man.” And he laughs at my joke. Like, a real laugh. I didn’t even find my own rhetoric particularly humorous, but knowing that I’d gotten him to react like that made my cheeks glow.

He finished packing the last of his things and slung his satchel bag over himself, starting to walk over to the door. I made sure to gather all my things, and walked to the door with him. He held it open for me, and I nodded my head in thanks, and he let it shut behind us. I turned around to lock it, using Blake’s keys and placing them in my bag securely, before looking at him.

“Well, Spencer. It was nice meeting you, thank you for the lecture it was-” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Can I walk you to your car?” He interjected, looking a little shy as he did. I smiled a little confusedly, wondering why he’d want to do so, but I gave him my answer, nonetheless.

“I don’t have a car. I usually take the bus back to my apartment.” I explained, smiling softly.

“The bus?” He says, quirking his mouth to the side. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” He replies, a hint of concern in his voice.

I gave a little sigh, “I mean, it’s fine.” I say, trying to laugh a little. “I’ve done it before.” I add, attempting to ease the worry out of his voice. “It’s not that late.” I say, but he simply shakes his head.

“No way.” He says, still adamant on this. “I.. I can drive you home, if you’d like?” He says, his words going slightly on the higher pitch as he rolled out his proposal, and I gave a small grin at that.

“Really? If it’s a hassle I can seriously just take the bus. I wouldn’t want you to keep anyone waiting at home or-”

He interjects again. “No hassle. I promise. I want to.” He pauses, before adding, “No one at home. You’re probably going to be the last person I see today.” He seems to blush at his final admission, and my eyes widen in interest. No girlfriend? Score.

“Alright, Spencer.” I say, smiling again. “Lead the way.”

He led me to his car, an old-fashioned Volvo and I couldn’t help myself from gawking at it.

“God, you have a cool car too? Is there anything about you that isn’t interesting?” I say, aware I was probably stroking his ego a bit, but honestly I wanted to. The man was just so damn intriguing, and every new bit of information I learned about him only made me want to unravel the whole of him. To truly know him, in and out.

He laughed, using his keys to manually unlock the door. “Oh, trust me. I’m plenty boring. The car is probably my only saving grace.” He joked, and I laughed again as I got into the car.

“Oh, I highly doubt that, but if you say so.” I say, sweetly, and adding a light tone of flirtatiousness in my tone. He seems to blush at this again, and I begin to think about the events of day. The stares in class, the perpetual rosy tint on his cheeks that had been there since we began our conversation, the way he joked and laughed at my (admittedly, unfunny) jokes.

Oh god. Did he like me?

Only one way to find out.

As Spencer got in the car and began driving onto the main road, I looked at him, trying to put on my best, innocent smile. “So, you said you’re not going home to anyone?” I say, a softness to my tone, but an undeniable hunger in it as well.

“Uh.” He responds, that damned blush coming on, strong. “Yes.” He replies, nodding as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“So, you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask, a bit forwardly.

Now he’s really blushing, stuttering a bit. “Oh, no. No girlfriend. Not much time, given the BAU and our schedule.” He said, almost clinically, and I nodded.

“I mean, Blake has a husband.” I point out, a little smugly.

“I guess.” He says, sighing a bit. “But, you know.” He says. He vaguely gestures to himself, and I look at him a little confused, tilting my head at him.

“Spencer, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.” I say, with a little giggle. “But trust me, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” I continue, before I can stop myself.

He looks at me, giving me a soft smirk, and a raise of his eyebrows. He didn’t look uncomfortable, and honestly looked just as thrilled as I did, and I knew that this night had a good chance of going the way I wanted it too.

“Ah, you’re sweet.” Spencer replies, “But no. I just mean, I’m.. me. You know?” He says, trying to explain his (non-existent) shortcomings, but I just shake my head.

“You don’t give yourself much credit, you know?” I attempt to say with that amorous tone from before, but it was more overcome with genuine respect and admiration. “You’re smart, funny and nice to be around, I mean.” I pause. “Did you not see the absolute crowd of girls around you after the lecture? Trust me, Spencer. I bet you’re more than easy to be with, even easier to like.” The words rush out of me, and I watch him tentatively for his reaction to my words.

Instead of the sweet side smile he’d been offering me all night, he finally looked at me. The car had come to a stop at a red light, and his face was dangerously sexy as it was illuminated by the colored glow around us.

“And what do you think?” Spencer says, in a low tone, making direct eye contact with me.

I feel my stomach turn at the sudden directness in his words, his gaze nearly devouring me whole. I felt my mouth go dry and I swallow, trying to keep my tone steady.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice having a slight shake to it.

“I mean, what do you think about me? Do you.. like me?” He says, licking his lips slightly, and the action causes the previous heat between my legs to come by in full force.

“Oh, I mean.” I say, my previous confidence dissipating in an instant. “Well, yes, Dr. Reid. Everyone liked you today.” I say, trying to give more of a conservative answer now.

The man had a way of making me feel totally comfortable around him, and then flipping the switches, rendering me dumb and stuttering. Like I was now.

“Oh, so I’m Doctor Reid now.” He says, clicking his tongue and saying the words with an air of lighthearted teasing, but I only bit my lip, hurriedly trying to explain myself.

“I mean, it's your title.” I say, quickly, trying to justify myself. “I mean, you said it yourself- three pHDs. It’d be pretty shitty to just discard the years taken to achieve that. Um. Well. You’re a genius so probably not as long, but still! Calling you doctor is a sign of respect for your accomplishments and-”

“You're cute.” He interrupts, and I look back at him to see his eyes back on the road, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

The light around us turned green, and he started the car. I picked at my nails slightly, trying not to display any more signs of nervousness around him. I wanted to do something with him, at least, and that couldn't happen if I was a bumbling mess.

We drove in relative silence for the next few minutes, as I tried to gather my thoughts and possibly continue what we’d been building up to these past few hours, but a quick glance at the windows and the road we were on caused me to furrow my brows.

“Oh, this isn’t the way to my apartment.” I remark absentmindedly, looking at the window beside me, then in front. “I live near the train station, off east?” I offer, expecting him to fully make a turn back towards the direction I’d prompted him towards, but he didn’t even flinch, continuing on the more secluded road we’d entered.

“I know.” He said, glancing at me once more, actually applying more pressure to the gas pedal, causing us to go faster down the terrain.

Okay, fuck. He was an FBI agent, so I didn’t have to worry about him murdering me, right? Wait, no, that’s stupid. He could probably get away with it. No! He’s Blake’s friend. Her coworker. For the goddamn FBI. He wouldn’t murder me. What the fuck was going on?

I watched as Spencer pulled off to the side of the road, darkness surrounding us entirely. There weren't any other cars around, and it was silent in the car before I bit my lip, and started to speak.

“Did I.. offend you?” I ask, cautiously. No reply. I try again. “Why did we stop?” I add, trying to test the waters with him to see what he was thinking at that moment.

“I thought I could wait before we got to your place, but I need to know now.” He replied, a sudden urgency in his voice. He turned towards me, watching me with a dark, intense gaze, similar to the one he'd given me in class that day. “Do you want me? Am I reading this wrong with you? Because if I am, we can completely forget it and I can drop you home but (Y/N)..” He paused. He made direct eye contact with me and once again I found myself wanting to swim in those dark eyes of his. “I want you.” He said, his voice low and raspy.

I didn't give it much thought as I gave into my urges and surged towards his lips the best I could in the car. He responded immediately, bringing me closer with his hands and placing them on either side of my face, moving his lips against mine in a perfected rhythm. I used my fingers to quickly undo my belt, before climbing over the console to sit in his lap, getting closer without our lips disconnected once. He understood my actions and intentions immediately, pulling the seat back so I could rest more comfortably in his lap as we continued to kiss.

I knotted my hands in his hair, giving an experimental tug which elicited a low moan from his mouth. I grinned against his lips and his hands moved from my face to his hips, bringing my clothed core to rest right against his growing bulge, which I immediately moved against. He let out a sharp breath as I did and broke the kiss.

“Oh god. I’m sorry.” He said, breathlessly, hands on my hips. “I don’t know what came over me and-”

He looked almost frantic, and incredibly guilty, so I quickly leaned in for a peck, stopping him mid sentence. I brought my hands to his shoulders to rub them soothingly, and he seemed to relax in my touch.

“Spencer, calm down.” I say, nearly purring. “I want this.” I continue, rubbing patterns into his arms now. “Please.”

“You’re Blake’s student.” He murmurs, using one of his hands to run through already messy brown curls. “What am I doing?” He says, almost to himself, looking ready to stop our tryst.

I realize he was attempting to backtrack from this, and before he could continue his train of thought, I quickly leaned in from my position on his lap to start kissing his neck, trailing wet hot kisses down the column before whispering. “I’m not her student.”

He pulls away to look at me, biting his lip. “What?”

“I was her student last semester. I’m her teaching assistant now.” I smirk a little, licking my lips. “Technically not a student of hers.”

He seemed to take in my words for a moment, and then something in him shifted, and he lunged at me again, kissing me with even more ferocity. He absolutely devoured me, his hands everywhere at this point. Caressing my sides, in my hair, on the small of my back. He brought me closer to him in any way he could, pressing our bodies against each other in a frenzied manner that caused the wetness between my legs to increase tenfold.

“Wanted you.. as soon as I saw you.” He murmurs against my lips as we caught our breath in between kisses. “Knew it was wrong but..”

I nodded. I understood. I was the same.

“Fuck.” I moaned, as I felt the bulge resting below me get even harder. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait.”

“Impatient.” He remarked, smirking, now beginning his own line of kisses down my neck, making me moan in pleasure.

“Please.” I breathed out, my words being reduced to a squeak as he bit my neck gently, and my eyes fluttered shut. I was melting right in his damn hands, just like he wanted.

His hands started to work at the buttons on my jeans, and I sighed in relief, lifting up my hips to allow them to be tugged off, leaving me in my underwear. His slender fingers traced the seam, leaving me shuddering with pleasure for the man in front of me. I tried once more, breathlessly murmuring at him.

“Please. Please.”

“Use your words, baby.” He whispered, a devilish smirk on his face. I was too far-gone to care about what I looked like. I needed him so badly.

“I need you to fuck me, now.” I say, clearer. “I need it, Spencer.”

Something about me using his name, nearly moaning for the man when he’d barely touched me stirred something in him, and he started to undo his own slacks, freeing his cock from the confines of his briefs. I watched in fascination as it sprung out, and took in a sharp breath of air. I licked my lips before making eye contact with him, begging for us to get on with it at this point. He nodded, understanding my desperation and I smiled dumbly, beginning to lift my hips. He guided his cock to my heat and placed his free hand on the small of my back, slowly guiding me down his member.

I moaned softly as I felt him enter me, providing me with the most delicious stretch. I threw my head back in pleasure as he brought both his hands to my hips urging me down.

“That’s it. God, fuck. You feel so good.” He moaned, which only made me want to take more of him. I lowered myself down a bit faster, and he released a heavy groan as his hips met mine. I whimpered slightly, his length filling me up perfectly. A thin sheen of sweat had gathered on my brow and I leaned my forehead, adjusting to his size.

“You good?” He breathed out, using his hand to brush a piece of hair that had stuck itself on my brow, and I nodded.

“Yeah, just.” I took a deep breath, before licking my lips, looking up before nodding.

I slowly lifted myself off, letting the head of his arousal nestle in me before I slammed back down, eliciting moans from both of us. He began to match my movements in tandem, thrusting up into me wildly. I held onto his shoulders, burying myself in his neck as we went faster. I could feel his tip hitting my cervix every time, causing me to cry out with pleasure every single time.

I felt my orgasm rapidly approach, and Spencer seemed to sense this as well, considering the involuntary clenches I was giving around his cock. He let his hand slip down to where our bodies met and rubbed tight, fast circles around my clit, encouraging my release.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come all over my cock. You can do it.” He breathed out, watching my every move with a hunger I'd never experienced before.

It took a few more thrusts from him, combined with the insistent fingers at my bundle of nerves before my thighs began shaking, and I let out a chorus of moans, most of them sounding like strangled versions of his name as I coated his cock in my wetness, spurring him on to go faster inside me, bucking into me like a man possessed.

He continued to jut into me wildly, until I felt him finish inside me, coating my walls with his release. He breathed shakily, holding me close to him as I slumped over his shoulder, my chest heaving up and down as I came down from the intensity of the previous moment.

He affectionately removed me from his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, the tenderness and gentleness in his actions contrary to what we had just done. I pulled back with a dazed smile, taking in how pretty he looked.

“If it’s alright, I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime.” He said, still a bit breathless, and a shy smile appeared on his face.

I giggled. He was literally still inside me, and was asking me out on a date with a boyish nervousness that made him even harder to resist.

“For you Dr Reid? Anything.”

ahh! writing this was a beast, and i imagined it to be longer but i got what i wanted in less words haha. i hope you guys liked this. any reblogs, comments, likes are so so appreciated i know it sounds totally stupid, but your guys' support means a lot lot lot!! thank you!!! <3

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kiss-inthekitchen · 1 month

Text

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him.

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone.

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet.

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum.

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?”

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.”

“Yeah.”

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do.

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics.

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice.

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.”

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.”

“But I think I should be right more often than that.”

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock.

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.”

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?”

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.”

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while.

“Spence?”

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door.

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.”

“I’m already inside with the door locked.”

“Man, I’m good.”

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already.

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.”

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.”

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.”

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice.

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic.

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does.

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster.

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.”

You laugh. “For the whole day?”

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.”

“Okay, rest day all day.”

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.”

“Maybe the floor.”

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?”

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.”

“Say no more.”

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?”

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.”

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.”

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke.

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.”

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?”

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.”

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.”

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates.

You let out a little gremlin laugh.

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone.

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’.

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs.

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.”

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’”

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.”

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part.

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.”

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.”

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.”

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.”

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird.

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him.

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice.

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh.

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it.

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes.

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.”

“We did.”

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy.

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him.

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters.

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #my fics #your honor im obsessed with him

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joshlmbrt · 1 month

Note

Spencer needs someone that listens to him yap about his silly little facts! Someone that looks at him in adoration while he explains the most complex shit no one understands. He is so not used to having someone actually listen to him and not just tell him to shut it or brush him off.

oh, anon, this is so true !!! ‘stop being yourself for just a second’ is my roman empire because how can you tell ANYONE that ? but thank you for this request!!! i hope you enjoy this love! <3 also this is season five spencer OGGA-BOOGA w; none !! just fluff !!

“did you know that a woodpeckers tongue actually wraps around its brain?” spencer asks so casually. he’s reading a book while you watch a show. you turn your head towards him, smiling when your eyes land on his face.

the glasses he wears in the comfort of home only now slips down the curve of his nose, his fingers pressing them back up.

“really?” you tilt your head.

“mhm. it’s so it can protect it’s brain while it hammers its beak into a tree.”

“that’s cool. do you have any more interesting things to tell me?” spencer thinks your being mean, but you’re turning off the television and scooting closer, slotting your fingers through his long hair, working through the knots.

his heart tends to beat a bit faster when he can smell your perfume because he knows your close, now it’s lodged in his throat because of how much invades his nose and he loves it.

“this okay?” your fingers stop quickly - you sometimes forget that he doesn’t like being touched. you never want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“more than okay,” he nods. “and… you really want to hear more facts?” he looks towards you. you nod quickly, your free hand pushing his metal frames up.

you need to tighten those up for him in your free time.

“yeah. i love hearing you talk about anything. it could… it could be something so gross and i’d listen because it’s you talking.”

he flushes and a small smile pulls at his lips as he looks away quickly. you giggle softly.

“why, dr. reid, are you blushing?”

“no.” he lies.

“i might not be a profiler… but i believe i have you all flushed, handsome.” your nose trails along his cheek, smiling as you press your lips against the warm skin.

“i… yes,” he mumbles.

“i know.” you giggle in his ear. he smiles at the sound and turns towards you.

“it’s just… i feel like i talk too much. i get too excited and start to ramble about something stupid. people tend to tell me that.”

“what ever comes out of your mouth isn’t stupid, spence. you have a brain of knowledge and that’s a beautiful thing to have - you should be proud of it.”

he looks up at you and smiles. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“letting me be me.”

#cherry writes ✿#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff

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zombiefiilm · 4 months

Text

Next to You

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: sharing a room with the person in the bau that hates you the most makes you go through more emotions than you thought possible

warnings: kind of enemies to lovers, arguing, crying, no use of y/n, smut, nsfw - 18+ only, apology sex, soft sex, fem oral, protected p in v, praise, typical criminal minds death and unsub mentions

word count: 2.7k

Last minute cases in desolate towns in the midwest often meant that there was nowhere for the team to stay. It wasn't uncommon for you to have to pair or group up with other team members in dodgy motel rooms.

The most recent investigation had brought you all to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, a long day ending with a drive to an motel that housed 7 rooms in total.

You, Reid and Rossi were the last to arrive so when Prentiss handed you a room key and told you that you would be sharing with Reid, it was already too late to complain.

"It's for your own good" she she grinned, picking her go-bag off the floor beside her.

"I hate you" you sighed.

"Sure you do" she was already walking off. You've been face to face with serial killers regularly, and this was just surviving a few nights in the same room as Spencer Reid, you could do this.

You walked back outside to find Reid standing in the dark by the car, right hand in this pocket and his left leaning against the black SUV.

"Looks like you're with me, Reid" you announced and the way that his face instantly dropped almost knocked you over. It was almost like you'd told him you were about to kill him.

"Come on" you began walking down to room 4, Spencer following shortly behind as you unlocked the door.

Being met with just one double bed though was enough to bring tears to your eyes. The couch looked like it had been through the war and there was no way on earth you were even touching it. And the sigh that Spencer let out made you want to rip your own hair out.

"I'm gonna sleep in the car" you quickly turned around to walk out of the door.

"You're not sleeping outside with a killer targeting women the exact same age as you on the loose" he stopped you in your tracks. He was right. "I can take the couch".

You were a little surprised at the chivalry but thankful none the less. "Are you sure?"

He didn't answer, instead dropping himself onto the couch.

Feeling content with his actions, you dropped your own bag on the floor beside the bed and told him you were going to use the bathroom before cleaning yourself up and changing into the oversized t-shirt you were using as pyjamas.

Coming out of the bathroom again, you were going to tell Reid that he was free to use the bathroom now but he simply glared at you.

It was as if he wanted to make your life hell. He always scowled at you, made snarky comments on little details about you, gloated whenever you got anything wrong. He always drove you up the walls, since you first started at the BAU, and you never knew why.

It's not like you had done anything to him, from what you knew at least. You smiled and shook his hand when you met him and even thought he was cute, you treated him just like you did with everyone else on the team, but you quickly noticed how differently he treated you.

You gave him plenty of time to warm up to you before you let yourself develop any solid opinions on him. You were warned about how he took to knew people, and you were understanding at first. But after you were several months in, and now years, and he still treated you like an outsider, you were no longer shy to expressing your dislike for him.

Other people on the team noticed it too, you, JJ, Garcia and Emily often discussing it with each other, but if one of them ever mentioned Spencer's attitude to himself, he'd deny everything and brush it off.

You really tried to not let it get to you, especially with the support from others, But man, did it upset you.

Spencer eventually got himself ready in the bathroom and came back out, silently setting himself up on the couch as you sat in the bed and did some research. There was a nice silence for a while, and then:

"Could you stop turning the pages so loud" he sounded irritated already and you hadn't even spoken to each other in the past 30 minutes.

"What?" you matched his tone, was he really trying to start a fight with you right now?

"I can't even think with how much noise you're making"

"I'm not making any noise, Reid, what's wrong with you?"

"You're flicking the pages, I can't pay attention to anything else"

"Oh so the sound of paper is able to stop boy genius in his tracks?" you mocked, pissed off at what he was choosing to do do.

He glared at you in response, he looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

"I don't know how to help you here, Reid, I'm trying to work on the case"

"Yeah, trying, it's not like you've ever actually done anything important for one" his voice had raised slightly.

"What?"

"You're practically incompetent, how you got recruited to the bureau, I'll never know" you hadn't even noticed him standing up, but it suddenly made you feel uncomfortable so you got out of the bed too, standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Excuse me?" you were completely shocked now, how had he gotten so far.

"You heard me. You have no place on this team. All you do is mess things up, you can't figure anything out and then you go and let our unsubs go"

You knew exactly what he was talking about. During one of your first cases, you had unintentionally informed an unsub that the FBI were searching for him during an interview with his wife and he got away. He was dangerous and you had never forgiven yourself for the people who had died before he was finally caught.

You just broke down in tears after that. It felt like he'd re-opened the wound right there and then.

"Fuck you" you spat through tears. You couldn't even look at him now, turning your back to him to sit on the bed.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" it was like he had suddenly snapped out of the unexplained rage he was just experiencing.

You felt the bed dip as he sat down behind you, and then a hand rest on your shoulder.

You were edging on losing the ability to breathe. It wasn't even just remembering the worst experience you had on the job, it was the fact that Spencer had used it against you just to get a reaction out of you. You wouldn't have even expected that from him.

He just sat behind you as you attempted to regain some sense of composure, not saying anything else. Was he finally feeling some sense of remorse for how horribly he had been treating you?

Once he noticed that your breathing had slowed, he called out your last name, your work name. It felt so impersonal in that moment. Not that you'd ever been on a first name basis with him, but you gave no reaction to him.

He tried again, squeezing your shoulder this time. You gave him nothing.

But then he whispered your name. Your first name. It was quiet, apologetic.. desperate.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from under your eyes before you turned around to look at him. He was sitting right behind you in the bed now, his big brown eyes practically burning a hole in your head. You knew you probably looked like a mess now, face red and wet, eyes puffy, and hair mangled.

"God, I'm sorry" his hand reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek "I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I said that".

You flinched at his touch, not saying anything back to him.

"If I could take that back I would, I did not mean it. It was just in the moment" he tried to hold your face in his hand but you avoided his touch.

"In the moment?" you repeated "What even was that moment. It's like you wanted to have an argument with me for fun".

"I don't want to argue with you, I just.."

"You just hate me" you finished.

"No! I don't hate you, I'm just stupid and don't know how to deal with how I feel about you"

You looked directly into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "How you feel about me?"

You managed to catch his gaze as it briefly flicked down to your lips. It felt like something was drawing you closer as you moved towards him.

"Please, let me make it up to you".

"No. Are you saying you've treated me like this because you can't figure out what to do about your feelings for me? What are you? Twelve? You've made my life miserable."

The tears spilled out again, what was he even saying?

"Please, just let me show you how sorry I am"

His voice was laced in what could only be described as desperation, it was making you want to hear him out, forgive him, and you didn't quite know why.

"Please" his voice was on the verge of breaking.

Your walls were crumbling down, it was like he'd cast a spell on you

"please"

You only nodded, allowing him to to lean in closer to you, finally cupping your head in his hands and softly pressing his lips against yours.

It was like he was purposefully avoiding any roughness as he gently kissed, from your lips down your jaw and then down your neck. He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question. And you nodded.

He loosely grabbed the hem of your shirt, and you let him lift it up over your head.

He didn't touch you yet, kissing your lips again as he began to slide your underwear down. You manoeuvred enough for him to take them off you completely. He was so gentle that you didn't even think of feeling self-conscious being completely undressed in front of him.

He urged you to spread your legs and quickly laid down on his stomach in between them.

You barely had time to blink before his lips were on you, kissing up the inside of your thigh. as his hands wrapped around you, holding you down.

Then, he was softly licking up your cunt, softly moaning to himself as he tasted you. He avoided your clit, dragging his tongue everywhere except where you needed him most.

"Spence" the nickname drove him crazy, he finally felt like maybe you could be his.

He finally flicked his tongue over your clit and you couldn't help but push your hips against his face, a whine slipping from your lips.

He only egged you on, using your legs to pull closer to his mouth. He kept circling your clit, increasing the amount of pressure he used as your squirmed under him.

Every few moments, he'd bring his tongue down again, dipping into your hole gently, gathering your slick, before suckling at your clit again.

Slurs of his name, swears and a few 'oh my gods' were the only coherent sounds that could leave your mouth. He had gotten you incredibly sensitive and you felt like you could tip over the edge at any moment.

Spencer himself couldn't stop himself from moaning at your taste, your sounds, how your skin felt under his hands. The vibrations pushing you further.

He suddenly sucked a bit harsher, almost nipping your clit before going back to his previously gentle movements.

The contrast between the rare harsher movements and his gentle attention had you bucking into his face, only to be stopped by his hands pushing you down.

All of a sudden, you felt your release. You moaned much to loud as you writhed under Spencer's mouth, him carrying you through your orgasm.

Just as you felt yourself come down, you went to pull yourself away from Spencer, but he refused to let you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as he let himself taste your release.

"Spencer, please" you were so incredibly sensitive at this point, your body jolting at every small movement. You had to bite the side of your hand to stop yourself from yelling out from the pleasure.

He suddenly pulled off of you with a soft *pop* ad sat up, quickly kicking his trousers and boxers off as you reached forward and loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Now that he too was undressed, you felt more equal, it was almost metaphorical as if he was agreeing to end the weird tension between the both of you.

He sat between your legs again, lifting your legs around his hips. You hadn't noticed the condom he had taken out from his pocket until you heard the crinkle of the foil as he opened it.

He quickly rolled it down his shaft as you finally got the chance to look at him. You felt yourself clench in anticipation.

He finally lined himself up and you were subconsciously pushing your hips down towards him.

"Please, Reid" you practically begged as he leaned forward but he stopped at your words.

You looked into his eyes, pleading for him to fill you up, but he didn't.

"Spencer" you whined, and he quickly rutted his hips into you.

"Thats it, good girl" he praised as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He started slow, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to finally caress your skin. It was like he was trying to memorise the curves of your body with one hand. He grabbed at your hips, held your waist, squeezed your breasts, as he slowly picked up his pace.

He couldn't get enough of feeling your body as he pinched your nipple, marvelling at the way it hardened further.

"God, you're so beautiful" his hand finally fell down to your clit, rubbing small circles in time with his thrusts.

You couldn't even get a single word out at this point, too tired and desperate to say anything.

"I'm so sorry baby" if he didn't have your attention before, the name had definitely gotten it now. "I'll be so good for you from now on" you could tell he was close from the waver in his voice, but you too felt your 2nd release approaching.

"You're so perfect" his rambling was interrupted by groans, "never want to leave your side ever again" his thrusts had last there rhythm as he circled your clit quicker, desperate to get you to cum before him.

It didn't take long for the coil in your stomach to snap, vision blurring as he continued his thrusts. Not much after, he plunged into you one last time. You could feel him coming inside as he filled up the condom, his chest now flush against yours.

You both laid there for a few moments, enjoying the hot, sticky embrace as you caught your breathe.

Silently, Spencer pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash before pulling his boxers on. He then got you cleaned up, helping you put on your own underwear afterwards, before you got into the bed.

He tried to walk over to the couch but you were not letting that happen. “Get in here Reid" you muttered, laughing quietly as he practically jumped in beside you.

As he faced you in the bed, he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "I'll make it up to you, I'm sorry, about everything" he kissed you once more, it would take more time for you to forgive him, but for now you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x you smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencerreid #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fluff

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nereidprinc3ss · 22 days

Text

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you.

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better.

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either.

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring.

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there.

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows.

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?”

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.”

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside.

“Nice, nice. What else?”

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.”

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening.

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.”

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself.

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.”

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.”

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.”

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice.

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.”

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.”

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry.

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.”

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless.

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.”

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart.

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.”

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again.

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle.

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life.

“Then I’m on my way.”

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime.

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

You shake your head and gasp a small sob.

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders.

His hand smooths over the back of your hair.

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear.

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.”

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight.

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?”

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.”

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea.

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave.

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.

At least, until he goes home.

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up.

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you.

“That among other things.”

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?”

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does.

“Okay.”

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

His lips pull into a melancholy smile.

“Anytime.”

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist.

“I can’t do that, honey.”

“Why not?”

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently.

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is.

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down.

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.”

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.”

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke.

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.”

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again.

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.”

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales.

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.”

When he kisses you, it feels like home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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strawbeerossi · 6 months

Text

Mine

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever the police chief gets a little too friendly with you, you find yourself having a very strict conversation with Spencer at the hotel.

Content/Warnings: Jealous!Spencer, unprotected sex, squirting

Word Count: 1.6K

Kinktober Day Twenty Eight: Squirting

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer felt his eye twitching as he noticed the newest chief of police was all over you. There was a child abduction case in Nashville, Tennessee that the BAU had offered their resources to. It was standard, children going missing and parents getting weird texts the longer their children were kept captive. You were spending a lot of time at the precinct with him due to you being the designated member alongside JJ to interview the families and surviving child victims who were let go.

“So agent. I got a few questions on your profiling abilities.” The man stated as he was leaning against the desk he was closest to, your gaze lifting from the case file the team had been building up over the past few days. “Okay, lay them on me.” You were just being friendly, not being the best at sensing when men were hitting on you or outright flirting. It was both a blessing and a curse. “Is it true that kids in abusive homes are guaranteed to be murderers?”

The question was quick but you were faster to answer. “No! Not in all cases. Stressors and triggers from childhood can play a big part in the psychological damage of a serial killer but there are people who came from relatively good homes who have murdered others in cold blood. There’s no exact genetic makeup or reason yet, but one day I’m sure it’ll all be answered in depth.”

The rest of the day went like that. He’d ask a question and you’d happily answer, although he was essentially eyefucking you while you were too enthralled in an explanation to pay close enough attention. Hotch had eventually instructed the team to go to their hotel for the night, the team needed rest after being awake for nearly twenty four hours without so much as a break.

The SUV ride back was dead silent, mostly because of exhaustion setting in. However, you could sense tension in your boyfriend as you rested your head lightly against his shoulder.

He’d been abnormally quiet at the precinct, barely even looking in your direction when you came near him. You figured it was exhaustion. Not only were you up for long hours but cases involving children were some of the most draining things you’d ever have to go through. After arriving at the hotel and everyone disbanding to get to their rooms, you were unlocking the door and getting your shoes off while Spencer quietly walked deeper into the room.

“Did you want to take a shower first, babe?” You asked, offering a smile.

It faltered though whenever your boyfriend was facing you, fury in his eyes. “Are we not gonna talk about how chief Lorn is shamelessly flirting with you? It’s like you're eating it up! I mean come on, babe. Why would you ever assume he would care about profiling related things?” His tone was steady, yet anger bubbling over the surface. You looked confused, an eyebrow raised. “Flirting? Spencer, he’s asking questions. I think you’re just tired and taking your emotions out on me.”

Very good guess and probably true, however Spencer wouldn’t admit that. “No. I’m not taking out my emotions on you for no reason. You think I don’t see you batting your eyelashes or laughing at anything this guy says? You don’t know how angry it makes me to know how blind you are to these signals.” Blunt. The words had your mouth agape in shock. “I’m not flirting with the damn police chief! Jesus, Spencer.”

“I don’t believe you. You look like you are eating up all the attention. You know, I bet he wouldn’t even treat you the way I do. Do you think he’d spend every waking moment dedicating his life to you? Huh? Do you think he could love you like I do?” His footsteps were quick and his path decided to back you up against the wall. “Cause I know for sure that he can’t make you cum like I do.” His honey colored eyes were blown out with lust, his hands immediately moving to grip your hips tight. “Spencer!” You squeaked, your pussy clenching desperately around nothing as you could feel the heat of arousal coursing through your veins. Spencer hardly ever got jealous like this, however you liked this side of him. He was rough and could be a little mean, which really did get the job done. “Tell me I’m lying.” His eyes narrowed, hand under your chin making you stare up at him.

“I-I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I was just being friendly.” Your voice was barely above a whisper while Spencer sighed and dropped his hand from your chin. “Go get on the bed.” He murmured, already working on getting his tie off. You knew what you were in for. Spencer didn’t act like this much but you knew that special incidents would pull this rather uncharacteristic side out of him. You’d done what you were used to, already stripping yourself down as you were crawling onto the hotel bed while preparing yourself for whatever was coming.

You knew that he wasn’t going to give you the princess treatment like usual, instead Spencer was getting right to business as he was reaching in his bag to pull out a condom from the side pocket and using his teeth to tear it open. After rolling on the rubber, he was heading over to the edge of the bed to grasp your ankle, tugging your body down the mattress. His gaze was focused on your pussy, a low hum leaving his lips. “Look at how wet you are.” His fingers were teasingly running through your slick folds to collect your sweet arousal, holding a hand up to show off the glistening digits. “Now, I wonder who did that..” He playfully pondered while giving his cock a few lazy tugs.

As he was situated between your legs, Spencer was grasping his shaft and smacking it against your pussy before moving to run his tip through your folds to further tease you, your hand gently reaching for his hip. “Fuck, Spencer. Please.” You whined.

That was all he needed to hear, his large hands wrapping your legs around his waist as he readied himself, his right hand on his cock while the left squeezed your hip. As the thick tip was breaching your soaked cunt, the male was shushing your whines. “We haven’t even gotten started yet. Tonight, I’m gonna show you just how much you don’t need some idiotic police chief and learn how to appreciate what you do have.” Jealousy wasn’t something Spencer was proud of but the emotion was prominently on display and he wasn’t gonna hide it.

His hips were slamming against yours without warning, a loud gasp falling from your lips as your head was falling back against the mattress. “Fuck!” You cursed, feeling the burn of his cock stretching out your desperate and leaking pussy from being shoved deep into your warmth. “You think he’d have you acting like this? Look at how desperate you are and I’ve barely touched you.” His voice was low as both hands roughly gripped your hips. Spencer was normally more of the soft and sweet side, however in these sorts of moods, he was different than anyone who really knew him could imagine.

His thrusts were relentless, your pussy sinfully squelching from each rough snap of his hips, your arousal adding a shine to his cock. “Is this what you wanted? To be fucked like a cheap whore?” The vulgarity alone was making your stomach do flips. This was the man who was bashful with saying the word bitch, yet here he was, cursing and calling you a whore. You wouldn’t complain at all, mainly because you couldn’t.

With his onslaught of assaulting your cunt, you were letting out a series of moans, shaky whines, and pleas for him not to stop. Your skin was flushed, nails digging into your partner’s shoulders as you were in pure bliss. “Look at you. You like it when I abuse your cunt, don’t you? Want to be used like the whore you are? Fuck,” He huffed out, lips smashing against yours as he wasted no time practically shoving his tongue in your mouth while slamming his cock into your pussy, slamming into the spot where you needed him most.

The feeling of your walls constricting and spasming around his cock was like a dream. Spencer was sensitive, so he loved feeling your gummy walls and being able to have them gripping at his shaft, your desperate pussy making an attempt to suck in more of his dick even though it just wasn’t possible.

You were seeing stars, a familiar heat brewing in the pit of your stomach. However, you weren’t able to speak, only being reduced to blubbering about being close, even so the words were slurred together and still hard read. Thankfully, Spencer knew exactly what you were trying to convey, a hand coming down between your sweaty bodies as he was quick to press his finger against your clit, the pressure on the bundle of nerves causing you to whine desperately.

However what happened next was something that even snapped Spencer out of his jealous haze.

He was in the midst of roughly fucking into you whenever your legs were shaking violently, your nails dragging down his back as your body arched from the bed while hitting your orgasm. Instead of making a creamy mess of his cock, there was a gush of arousal that painted his thighs, pelvis, your thighs, and the hotel bedsheets below you. Spencer was slowly coming to a stop while staring at you with wide eyes.

“You’ve never done that before!” He squeaked, his eyes casting down at the glistening of your arousal painting his skin. You were fucked out, your eyes glossed over as you opened your mouth to speak, however a moan falling out soon after.

“No, no. We are doing that again!”

3K notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 3 months

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♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence.

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried.

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly.

“But I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again.

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.”

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter.

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down.

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter.

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise.

“And your name is?”

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body.

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?”

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up.

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub.

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason.

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest.

“Good observation, Spencer.”

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head.

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor.

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again.

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him.

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that.

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election.

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace.

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.”

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you.

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together.

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet.

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway.

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him.

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin.

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him.

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-”

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape.

“I-I'm not a student, and-”

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.”

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist.

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex.

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you, desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you.

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper.

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him.

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley.

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?”

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him.

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.”

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin.

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched.

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him.

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust.

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock.

“Did it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.”

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving.

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for.

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to.

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him.

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure.

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.”

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier.

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you.

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there.

You weren't.

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?”

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today.

There was always tomorrow.

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed.

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder.

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there.

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up.

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.”

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words.

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs.

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?”

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely.

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened.

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs.

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head.

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch.

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out.

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug.

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.”

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer.

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.”

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him.

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.”

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal.

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake.

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.”

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts.

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?”

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?”

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there.

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?”

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct.

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer.

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again.

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning.

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?”

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.”

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest.

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled.

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.”

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again.

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his.

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.”

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?”

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans.

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit.

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut.

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly.

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.”

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him.

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue.

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?”

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them.

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.”

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry.

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again.

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock.

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock.

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so.

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time.

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair.

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.”

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 6 months

Text

Wrapped Around Your Finger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: angst, fighting, kind of fluff at the end?

Summary: You and Spencer make it a rule not to bring your work home with you, but you can't help it when he blatantly ignores you on a case. You're pissed at him, and you decide to show him just how long you can stay pissed at him.

Square Filled: "I'm fine." for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

The worst part of being in a relationship with someone you work with is that sometimes, you bring your work home with you. You and Spencer try not to let your work affect your personal life, but you can’t let this one go. Everyone from the office felt the tension between you two before you left, and during the car ride, you prepared what you were going to say to him as soon as you walked through the front door.

“So, you’re just ignoring me now?” Spencer asks and follows you inside.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Spencer. Why do I even tell you things if you’re not even going to fucking listen to me?”

“What you suggested was wrong, and had I listened to you, someone else would have gotten hurt.”

“No,” you whip around to face him, “I told you how to get the unsub and where he was going to be. I told you he was going to be armed so I suggested bringing in the SWAT team as backup. What did you do? You and Derek enter the house alone and disregard everything I told you.”

“Had I gone in with the SWAT team, the unsub would have seen them and started shooting. Morgan and I were able to trap him by sneaking up on him. I can’t very well do that with a whole team behind me.” He sets his bag down on the counter and rubs his face tiredly. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re bugging about this. Everything worked out.”

“You don’t get it,” you scoff. “It’s not about how we got the unsub. It’s about the fact that you didn't even consider what I had to say. You went ahead and did it on your own. If that’s how you want to do things, then fine. I won’t help you ever again.”

You grab a water bottle from the fridge and make your way to the stairs.

“You’re overreacting about this.”

“I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

With that, you leave your husband at the bottom of the stairs alone. He rolls his eyes and decides to let you have this night. Tomorrow, he’s going to make you see that your plan wouldn’t have worked.

In the morning, you’re already at work by the time he gets up. Normally, sleep is a cleanser for you. If you go to bed angry, you’re usually calmed down by the morning. However, he can see you’re going to milk this as long as you can. That’s fine. If you want to play games, he’ll play it your way.

Spencer walks into the office and sees you at your desk. You know he’s here because the chatter gets quiet. Your coworkers are curious to see how this is going to play out. Derek and Emily think Spencer is going to stay strong and stand his ground while JJ and Rossi think he’s going to fold because you have this man wrapped around your finger even if you don’t see it.

Spencer walks past him but you don’t look at him or even acknowledge his presence. He waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he gets a little annoyed with you.

“Really? You’re giving me the silent treatment?” You don’t give him a response. “Okay, fine. I’ll play your games.”

You grab some files and make your way to Penelope’s office without a look back at him. She swirls her chair around to greet you, a big smile on her face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You’ve come to the right person.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“I heard you and Spencer are fighting.”

“I’m fine. There’s no fighting because there’s nothing to talk about. He doesn’t see me as an equal and doesn't want to consider what I have to say. What is there to talk about?” you shrug and hand her some files to work with.

“So, you’re not going to be an adult and have an adult conversation?”

“No,” you wink and leave her office.

The only way you’re going to talk to Spencer is if it’s about work. He thought you were going to give in and apologize after the first day, but you’ve been this way all week. You’re at work before he gets up, you don’t greet him anymore, and you still sleep in the guest room. By the end of the week, you realize you were wrong about how to handle the unsub. Spencer’s plan was the right one. He knew how the unsub was going to behave and made a plan based on that while you based your plan on how to subdue him easily.

The last thing you’re going to do is tell him he’s right.

Now, it’s a game of how long you can do this to him before he breaks. Everyone, including Spencer, knows he’ll be the first one to break even if he doesn’t want to admit it. You’re very good at getting your way, and this is no different. Spencer can tell the shift in energy from you being genuinely pissed at him to doing it on purpose. He knows you too well to know that you’re only doing this to be petty.

He told himself to not go without speaking to or kissing you, but it’s proving to be a lot harder. His love language is touch and he’s craving yours. He hasn’t kissed you in over a week and he’s getting desperate. Like admitting-he-was-wrong desperate.

You have Friday off since you requested it off a month ago, but Spencer was called into work for a few hours to help with something. You’re sitting on the couch reading a book when he walks in. He debates on speaking to you knowing full well you won’t speak to him back. How long can you go like this? You’ll have to speak to him at some point.

He sighs and walks out of the front door to get to work, and you watch him go to the car. He gets in the front seat and starts the car, but he doesn’t drive off. He grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. You wonder what he’s thinking. He looks behind him as if he is going to reverse but gets out of the car instead. He storms back into the house, and you immediately pretend like you were reading this whole time.

Spencer walks over to you, grips your hair tightly but not tight enough to hurt, tips your head back, and kisses you. The book falls from your hand as you kiss him back. This kiss holds a week’s worth of sexual tension. When he gets back from work, you know he’s going to take you to the bedroom for the rest of the day. He slides his tongue into your mouth and massages yours, leaving you wanting more.

When he feels you leaning into him, he pulls away with a smirk. Without saying a word, he leaves the house and this time, he actually leaves the driveway. People say he’s wrapped around your finger when really, you’re wrapped around his.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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luveline · 6 months

Note

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy.

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?"

"You don't? You're the expert."

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question.

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test."

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums."

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–"

"Lovely?"

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him.

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully.

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done.

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did."

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up."

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't."

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down.

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you answer my texts?"

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you."

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…"

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope.

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth.

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose."

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine."

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather."

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing.

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress."

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years.

It only feels like years.

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern.

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath.

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault."

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone."

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this."

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain."

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly.

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you."

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips.

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips.

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart."

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