When You’re Lost In The Darkness, Look For The Light
When You’re Lost in the Darkness, Look for the Light
Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader
Synopsis: Your ex, Spencer Reid, has just lost his girlfriend due to her being murdered. When all else fails with the BAU team helping him get through this loss, the only person left to help is you.
Category: Angst, Fluff
Warnings: established past relationship, maeve arc, takes place after 8x12 “Zugzwang”, mentions of death and suicide, technically an AU for 8x13 “Magnum Opus”, spencer is obviously still mourning maeve, mentions of lauren storyline, mentions of breakups, reader was in a past relationship before spencer, kinda sad, hopeful ending(?) let me know if i missed anything! <3
Author’s Note: i feel like this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end butttt i might make a part two to this- just let me know if i should :)
It’d been a few weeks since what happened. Spencer witnessing his girlfriend being murdered right in front of him by her stalker. You knew that he was taking it hard, of course, who wouldn’t after seeing something like that?
The team had been frequently visiting him. Garcia had stopped by with her ninth gift basket on his doorstep, since he never answered. JJ had offered to bring the boys over to cheer him up but Spencer would never answer. Even Hotch, and Morgan tried to get him to get a breather outside of his apartment but of course, Spencer never answered. Blake and Rossi knew that he needed his space, knowing that a loss like this wasn’t easy.
Everyone on the team had tried, everyone except you. And honestly, why would you? Your breakup with Reid was enough reason not to go and see him.
You two had broken up when he’d found out you’d known about Emily taking her death. (You weren’t even supposed to know about it, you had just stumbled across Hotch and JJ having the conversation after you’d found out that your best friend was dead.) After she’d come back when they had a lead on Ian Doyle’s son, Spencer had later confronted you and told you he couldn’t forgive you for knowing for ten months and not telling him about it.
You expressed just how much it pained you not to tell him but that she couldn’t risk telling him. He had to understand that. Frankly, he didn’t.
And it seemed that he still hadn’t forgiven you since then.
It’d been over a year since you last had a full conversation with him since then, only opting for small talk or only talking when it was relevant to whatever case they were on.
And then you found out about Maeve. There were whispers around the office, Spencer was smiling more in the office, he was secretive and not to mention the case with the payphone that you and Blake took him to after needing answers regarding a case. You and Blake badgered him, wanting answers as to why he was being so secretive.
And then his words confirmed it for you — “Because I don’t want them to know about her, okay?”
And so, he had a girlfriend. And you were perfectly okay with that. Of course, it hurt that he’d moved on but someone had to, eventually, right?
Since then, you had avoided him any chance you had. If you two were alone in the kitchenette, you were the one who left first. If there was a spot on the jet open next to Spencer, you’d offer it to someone else quietly. You figured pushing him away — even professionally — was the best thing you could do for your own mental health.
But then Spencer’s girlfriend had gone missing. And you weren’t exactly forced to work a case but it sure felt like it when Hotch said that you guys would be working on your free time. You had half the mind to walk out of the bullpen right then and there. But then you looked at Spencer. Spencer, who looked like a kicked puppy dog with his sad eyes, messy hair and anxious stance and pleading, begging the team to help find her. And you knew that he’d always be your weakness, no matter what. And you’d like to think that maybe he’d do the same for you if the roles were reversed.
It’d taken a few to discover that Maeve’s stalker was Diane Turner, a research assistant at Mendel University where Maeve used to work. Diane applied and was rejected for a PhD after submitting a doctoral thesis about spontaneous cellular death in suicide patients, due to said thesis being biased as it contained references to her own parents, who’d committed suicide. She targeted Maeve, believing she was the one responsible for rejecting her PhD.
You remembered the minute you heard gunshots in the building, heart dropping at the possibility that it may have been Spencer who was shot at, since he offered to trade himself for Maeve. And thought it was better if the team were to wait outside of the building.
You remembered trying to talk him off the ledge but he simply ignored you and went into the building anyway without a vest.
You remembered Spencer trying to talk Diane down as she held a gun to Maeve’s head and growing anxious at the fact that Diane was getting more and more angry.
You remembered what Maeve spoke to him — her last words — “Thomas Merton, he’s the one you can never take away from us.” The proof of how much she loved him.
You remembered Diane pulling the trigger on herself and Maeve and Spencer’s painful pleading as both Diane and Maeve landed on the ground in a puddle of their own blood.
And you hated it but you remembered Spencer falling to his knees, sobbing over Maeve’s body. You could hardly believe it, even when it happened right in front of you. You’d fallen beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him the best way possible. And he grabbed your hand. Granted, he probably didn’t know or didn’t care enough to know who it was in that moment, but he took your hand anyways.
And since then, not a word from Spencer. And it was starting to worry the rest of the team.
But when you arrived in the office a few weeks after, staring at Spencer’s empty desk, JJ had spoken up and said — “Everyone else has tried but you. And I think you’re the person he needs right now.”
You’d responded, telling her that you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now in his time of mourning. But JJ had encouraged you. You’d known him in ways the team didn’t. Hell, you dated him. And you also knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.
A few years before you dated Spencer, you had had a boyfriend. You were dating him for three years until he lost his life in a car accident. You were heartbroken from the lost and you didn’t go to work for over a month after. The only person that gotten you through that had been Spencer. He always had a way with words and you remembered him being there for you the entire time you dealt with it. A couple of years later, you and him finally began to date.
And now here you were, standing outside of his apartment, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this mess. You’d told Hotch that you needed to take care of something and that you wouldn’t be joining them on this upcoming case. It was true and it wasn’t like you to just call out of work unless it was an emergency. It technically wasn’t a lie, Spencer was your emergency. And you knew that Hotch would understand.
You’d hesitantly knocked, so quietly. “Spencer? It’s me,” You’d spoken up, your voice hoarse. “I, uh, I know I’m the last person you probably want to talk to right now… but… I’m here. If you need anything, I’m right here.” You assured.
To make your point, you moved two of the gift baskets away from the door so you can plop right down on the floor to sit against the door. “And I’m not going anywhere.” You rested the back of your head against the door. “And we don’t have to talk. We can wait however long you need to. I’ll be here.”
“But, please, give me something so I know that you’re alive in there.” You asked and quietly pleaded, “Please.”
You’d waited thirty seconds before you lost hope entirely and then three soft knocks came from the other side of the door and you smiled to yourself in relief that at least he was conscious.
And soon the minutes turned into hours, with you resting your head against that door and shifting a couple of times to get comfortable. Spencer still hadn’t budged since he’d knocked on the door. You’d taken the opportunity to help yourself to one of Garcia’s gift baskets since Reid hadn’t seemed to claim them. You’d opted for one of the fresher baskets since the others had probably been sitting for about a few weeks now. There was a basket with the mini chocolate chip muffins that you snacked on while sitting there.
And after hours and hours of still waiting there with no peep from Spencer, your eyes began to flutter closed at how sleepy you were getting. Sleeping outside of Spencer’s apartment wasn’t the best place for your back or your neck but you had slept in worse places.
You’d probably succumbed to sleep at least a few hours later until you had a rude awakening involving Spencer finally opening his door.
You hit your head right on the floor, which had woke you up. “Ow.” You muttered and looked up, seeing Spencer’s ghostly figure standing above you. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming. “Spencer?”
“You’re still here?” He asked, confusion in his voice. You finally stood up from the floor and nodded at him to answer as he began to walk away from the door and went back to the couch.
It was then that you got a look at his apartment. There were books on the floor everywhere. If you knew better, you’d say Spencer may have thrown them out of anger, pain. Old takeout boxes on the kitchen counter and living room table. It smelt like death — (but it actually might’ve been Spencer). You had to squint to look around since it’d been so dark. “Oh, Spencer…” You mumbled and turned to him on the couch. He was in a fetal position on the cushions, his hair falling in front of his face with an evident frown engraved on his face. He looked like a fragile child and it ached your heart to see him like that.
You found yourself kneeling in front of him and brushed the hair away from his face — like it was second nature to you. Like you’ve done it before. And you have.
You looked around, wondering what you should do, what you can do. And you finally find something small to start with. “When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” You asked and Spencer didn’t answer. You expected that.
You stood up from kneeling in front of Spencer and walked to his room, grabbing a few clothes — a plain t-shirt, a pair of underwear, plaid pajama pants and a pair of mismatched socks. You then went into the hall closet to pull out a towel and a washcloth for him and walked towards the bathroom to start running the water. He always liked it not too hot or not too cold but just warm enough.
You walked into the living room and found Spencer sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you hop in the shower? I’ve got it running the way you like it.” It took a few seconds but Spencer nodded at you and began to trudge to the bathroom. He’d left the door a crack and you wondered why he did. But then it occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to feel quite alone for a minute and you were right there if he needed anything. And he knew you had a guilty conscience, knowing that if he had closed the door and he’d done something to himself, you’d never forgive yourself. And you wouldn’t want him trapping himself in the bathroom either.
As Spencer went into the shower, you’d taken care of the rest of the apartment. You started with opening the blinds to bring some sort of light in and then with the kitchen counter, clearing out all of the old takeout boxes and washing dishes and wiping down the table and putting the books back on the shelves. All except for one. The Narrative of John Smith, it’d been the one book that he was clutching onto the entire time she’d been here until you told him to get into the shower. You knew he needed to put that one away on his own terms.
You fixed the couch up, laying the throw blanket neatly over the couch and then walked to his room, setting up his own bed. Wanting for him to be as comfortable as possible.
When he finally exited the bathroom, you didn’t hear him. You hadn’t heard his footsteps as he looked around the living room, seeing how you tidied up the place while he was in the shower. He almost thought you left, until he heard your humming from the other room. You were singing to yourself, a habit you picked up often doing casual things like laundry or spring cleaning. He missed the nonchalance of your presence and as he walked towards the door and found you making his bed, he missed it even more. Missed you even more.
You finally noticed that you weren’t alone, looking up to see him in the doorway and you smiled towards him. “Oh, hi.” You said and he walked into the room, looking down at his newly made bed. “Are you feeling better?”
He didn’t answer verbally, just shrugged.
You didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, you look down at his perfectly made bed and say, “Why don’t you get some rest?”
Spencer nods at you weakly and gets under the covers. You almost want to tuck him in, like he’s a child, but you refrain from doing so. You look down at him and felt like you’ve done everything you could for him. Made sure he showered, tidied his apartment. Surely he’s sick of you being here now.
You ease the awkward tension, sucking in a breath and patting your knees. “Well… I’m just… gonna… see myself out. Get all of the rest you can, Spencer. No rush to come back, just take your time.” You assure finally and silently plead him to ask you to stay longer. Because you don’t exactly feel accomplished at the fact that you haven’t done anything except ask him to take a shower and clean his apartment. It didn’t really feel like a win. Instead, you felt more heartbroken for Spencer.
And somehow, by some miracle, you felt him grab your hand and you turned to face him and his gleaming eyes. “Can you…” The words trailed off from his lips as he stares into your eyes. “Can you stay?” You look at him, with wide eyes. It was like he read your mind. “Please?”
You look at him and try to maintain your composure as much as you can. Because this is the first time he’s asked you to stay the night since you two were together. “Yeah, of course, Spencer.”
He moves towards the other side of the bed to make room for you and you’re shocked by the gesture. You hadn’t shared a bed with him since you were together, either. You sit up against the headboard and he gravitates towards your thigh, resting his head on it and closes his eyes and your hand finds his hair, running a hand through it and trying to maintain his curls at the back of his neck.
Then, you remember. You look towards the drawer next to the bed on your side and wonder. You open the drawer and sure enough, there it was. The brown comb you left behind. You often used it to brush his hair, especially when it was shaggy down his shoulders and he’d often rest his head on your thigh like he was doing now and you’d run your hand through his locks until you’d finally bought a comb. It surprised you that he still kept it. You would’ve thought it ended up in his ‘Y/n box’ like how everything of his ended up in your ‘Spencer box’.
And like second nature, you began to brush his damp locks with the comb, trying your best to angle your arm to not interrupt his rest. You softly smiled at the scene, his eyes closed and nose scrunching every few minutes or so.
You’d suspected that maybe he’d fallen asleep to you combing his hair because his breathing evened and he was quiet with his eyes still remaining closed. But you still found yourself still combing through his hair despite getting the tangles all out.
“I miss her,” He admitted and for a moment, you stopped your movements, not only because his words shocked you but also because you thought he was asleep. “I miss Maeve.” He added and you notice as his lip quivers at his own mention of his dead girlfriend and you do everything in your power to keep your lip from doing the same.
“I know.” You say, your voice so soft and nurturing as you continued to comb through his hair.
Spencer doesn’t say anything else but you were glad he’d spoken out just what he was feeling in that moment. You lean against the headboard, wishing to say more but what Spencer really needed right now was someone in his corner, not someone who wanted to give their own opinion about the situation or relate to him — just someone to listen to him.
You continue brushing until you finally decide that his hair is silky smooth and place the comb on the table next to you and look down at his resting face and instead of the frown you’d seen earlier, you finally see some sort of look of peace. Of course, the sadness is still etched on him from a mile away. But you glad to grant him some form of peace in a time where he’s most desperate of it.
You begin to run your hand through his hair, massaging his scalp like you often used to do when you were together. And for a moment, it’s like you two are dating again and it’s like it’s casual, like you’ve done this before — which you have. But it’s been so long, you never thought you’d be in this position again.
Eventually, he falls asleep on your thigh and his soft breathing is more even than it was before and his mouth is slightly parted as he sleeps. And you don’t care about the crick you’re going to get in your neck from this headboard, you don’t care that your leg is dead and that your pant leg is slightly damp from his wet hair. What matters more than anything right now is him getting the rest he deserves.
And what mattered more than anything and your goal was that Spencer was going to fight through this gaping hole of darkness and find his light eventually. And somewhere deep down inside of you, though you’d never admit it out loud — you hoped that that light was you.
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privacy, interrupted
waking up next to spencer on vacation is the perfect morning, until rossi walks in without knocking
pairing: spencer reid r x shy!reader warnings: fem!reader, post prison spencer, reference to sexy time the night before, reader is naked, kissing, established relationship, fluff prompt: here wc: 0.8k
You sense him stirring beside you, all cautious and considerate, like he’s navigating some delicate truce neither of you signed but both seem bound to uphold. Your limbs protest with sleepiness, practically begging you to ignore it, but your brain has other ideas, wide awake simply because it’s him.
Your subconscious has apparently decreed that Spencer Reid isn’t permitted to be awake alone without your awkward, fumbling company.
And, honestly, you can’t bear the thought of him quietly awake, probably counting obscure facts or memorizing solitude, so, inevitably, your internal clock (diligently trained, very Spencer-oriented) kicks in every morning like some sort of lovesick, overly attached alarm.
Your eyes blink sluggishly open, and yeah, you’re already mentally cursing about the loss of precious sleep.
That is, until Spencer comes into view, giving you a sleepy-soft smile as soon as he sees that your awake that somehow justifies this sappy morning ritual you’ve cultivated.
“Hey there, beautiful girl,” Spencer murmurs, warm enough to render you mushy.
You manage exactly one very brave, extremely fleeting glance into his eyes — long enough for you to panic at just how intense his adoring gaze feels — before you promptly conclude that the only dignified response is burying your burning face straight into his chest.
“Morning,” you mumble, barely audible, and okay, sure, it's a weak greeting, but you're pretty sure he knows that your social capabilities are severely limited before coffee.
“How’d you sleep?”
His fingers leisurely map trails along your stomach, occasionally dipping lower, grazing along your thigh. Your breath stalls at his touch, instantly bringing you face-to-face with the very naked reality (literally) of your current state, and you're vividly aware of why you slept better than you have in years.
You squirm against him awkwardly, deeply thankful your mortification is safely concealed in the crook of his neck. You’re fairly certain there’s no scenario — no alternate timeline or parallel universe — where you’d confess out loud just how blissfully Spencer can apparently knock you out.
“Fine,” you mumble evasively.
Spencer’s fingers move to cup your chin, lifting your face until you’re forced to meet a pair of amused eyes.
“Just fine?” He eyes you skeptically. “You were snoring pretty loudly for someone who slept just fine.”
You splutter out a laugh, embarrassed and giggling all at once, shoving lightly at his shoulder.
“Spencer!” you squeak indignantly. “I absolutely, categorically, undeniably do not snore. Take it back right now.”
“Oh, I’m afraid the science disagrees,” he begins casually, hands running absentminded passes over your side as he explains. “Almost everyone snores at least occasionally. It happens when your throat muscles relax during deep sleep. It’s completely normal.” He pauses. “Some might even say cute.”
He punctuates his little speech with a tap on your nose, grinning when you wrinkle it at him.
“Spencer’s, that’s —” you begin to argue, reader to counter his science, when he suddenly silences you with a kiss, stealing your voice mid-protest.
You try valiantly (well, sort of) to keep arguing, words stubbornly squeezing out between soft kisses that blur your logic.
“I’m serious —” kiss “— you don’t get to —” kiss “— to win arguments —” kiss “— like this,” you mumble, dissolving into breathless laughter as he continues, smugly aware he’s already won.
You’re giggling into yet another stolen kiss when a brisk knock at the door startles you apart, no time to process before Rossi strolls into the room.
“Hey, kid, we’re making coffee downstairs if you —” Rossi stops midsentence.
You barely have a second to manage a yelp before Spencer moves quickly, positioning himself like a very protective, and slightly panicked, human shield in an attempt to salvage your rapidly disappearing dignity.
“Oh my god, Rossi,” you groan from your makeshift hiding spot behind Spencer’s shoulder.
Rossi lets out a thoroughly entertained chuckle, clearly relishing in your horror. He doesn’t immediately move to leave, instead pausing in the doorway.
“Well, it appears you’re both quite awake already,” he remarks, mouth curving into a smirk. “But just in case you decide to join civilization at some point, I’ll put another pot on. Take your time.”
Spencer clears his throat awkwardly. “Thanks, Rossi,” he deadpans. “Maybe next time knock and actually wait for an answer?”
Rossi grins shamelessly, lifting his hands in exaggerated innocence as he backs toward the hallway.
“I’ll consider it, right after you two consider hanging a do-not-disturb sign.”
The second Rossi shuts the door, you collapse against Spencer, sighing miserably, “That’s it. Vacation over. Social life destroyed. We’re never leaving this room again until the end of time, or at least until everyone forgets what just happened — which, spoiler alert, they won’t.”
“End of time feels a little excessive,” he teases gently, nudging your jaw with his nose. “But if it means I get to spend a few more uninterrupted days with you, I might just let you have your way.”
You roll your eyes internally, half-heartedly pretending to be annoyed at Spencer’s ridiculously charming response. Honestly, it doesn't make sense how easily he dismantles your panic with one sentence and that stupidly cute smile.
Still, your pride demands at least some resistance, even if your heart is enthusiastically voting yes to the bed-hibernation plan. So, fine — maybe hiding here forever (or at least for a couple days) wouldn’t be the absolute worst way to spend your vacation.
Actually, scratch that — it might just be your ideal outcome.
join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!
day 2 extras
💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)
maria's spring break getaway masterlist
RAHHHHHH BREEDING KINK GO BRRRRR
Love You More
As newlyweds, you and Spencer can’t hold back the urges of wanting each other at all times [ 6k ]
Includes female reader; husband Spencer, kinda unit chief Spencer if you’d like; smut (+18): phone sex; p in v unprotected sex; breeding kink; reader is loud and talkative; (and so is he); a bit rough but still sweet and domestic and fluffy bc am who I am; multiple orgasms; after care; discussing baby names; brief infertility talk; Diana and reader are besties. did I mention how domestic this is?
Totally self indulgent but also this is my appreciation post to the lovely @reidgif thank you Eva for always blessing us with the best Spence gifs to ever exist <33 we love you and appreciate you tons mwaahhh💋
A framed picture of you sat on his desk.
Your happiness radiated through and made him smile every time he looked at it, taking him back to that day so vividly—when he asked you to be his girlfriend, three years ago. You’d captured that moment on your phone without him noticing. (He rarely noticed anything around him when he was with you). It was the hug right after you said yes to his question—chin tucked over his shoulder and your smile slightly covered by a few pieces of his hair that flowed with the salty beach breeze. The beach has turned into one of his favorite places on earth since then.
Now, as newlyweds, he thought of updating your picture, or finding a companion piece for it, and framing one of you from the day he asked you to marry him, to keep the tradition going. If he did that, though, he would also have to find one to put there from the day you got married, which could end up looking like an altar of you.
That wouldn’t be too bad considering he had his own office now. The shelves behind him were still pretty empty.
Spencer sighed as he glanced at your smile for another second, then went back to his paperwork. He flipped through endless pages, and his wedding band flashed under the lamplight every time.
“Still not used to it, huh?” Luke’s voice entered the office.
Spencer glanced up just to find Alvez leaning on the door frame, his eyes glancing down at Spencer’s hand. Only then he noticed he’d been rolling his ring with his thumb.
“Yeah,” Spencer merely breathed out, rolling the ring once again.
“I meant the office,” Luke chuckled as he stepped in and looked around, one hand tucked in his pocket while with the other he adjusted his backpack’s strap over his shoulder. “Still a bit empty.”
“Garcia said she was gonna take care of it while I’m on my honeymoon, so it won’t be like this for too long.” Spencer gave him a tight-lipped smile as he nodded.
“Now that’s gonna be interesting,” Luke softly laughed. “Where are you guys going?”
“Uh, Spain,” Spencer said with amusement.
“Huh,” Luke smirked. “It was her decision, wasn’t it?”
“Like everything else, pretty much.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed. He was happy with anything as long as it made you happy.
“Well, let me know if you need some Spanish classes, te puedo enseñar algunas palabras.”
Spencer quirked his brows. His Rs were much slurred than Luke’s, but he still tried. “Gracias?”
Luke frowned his lips as in not bad, then added, “Alright, just wanted to stop by and say goodnight before heading out. You should go, too. You have a wife at home.”
Yes, he did, but unfortunately…
“I still have a few more things to do.” Spencer waved Luke goodbye.
A single ding coming from Spencer’s pocket got his attention. It was your signature message sound, so he squeezed his phone out without a second thought.
It was time for a short break, anyway.
Y/n (wife) sent a video
Spencer smiled before opening the message, bringing his mug with steaming coffee to his lips. He was waiting to see your beautiful face with one of your usual reports about how the remodeling of the house was going. He had to admit, he felt guilty that he couldn’t be there and work on it too, but Morgan offered to help (since the house was one of his few remodeling projects), so you weren’t entirely on your own on this.
The preview was blurry, and what started playing was not what he expected.
At all.
Your hand—the one with the wedding band—massaged your bare left breast and ended with you tweaking your nipple and stretching it out.
The video lasted just five seconds, yet it was enough for his body to react almost immediately. Blood rushed to his cheeks, neck, and groin in an instant.
All while he spilled some coffee over his lap, choked on his last sip, and coughed most of it all over his paperwork.
“Shit,” he barely managed to breathe out between more short hitched coughs.
Ding!
Y/n (wife): Are you coming home soon? I miss you :(
God, you were the death of him.
He glanced down at his pants, then at the open door, and rushed to close it—lock it—and drew down the blinds.
His phone rang.
Y/n (Wife) is calling…
His thumb hovered over the green button until the third ring as he cleared out his throat to speak properly.
Still, his voice came out tight and slightly panicked. “You can’t just do that.”
Your devilish and adorable laugh tickled his ear.
“Hi, handsome. Did you like it?”
“Y-yeah, of course I liked it.” He cleared his throat yet again. He was madly obsessed with you. ”You look, god, you’re so beautiful, but I’m at work, wha-what if someone else saw it?!”
“I’d say they’re very lucky because one of those can be very expensive.”
As soon as he heard your tone, his demeanor changed, and his choked-up breathing came back to normal. He glided his fingers through the blinds just enough to peek outside.
Everyone was gone, so there was no need to panic, yet he said, “Stop it.”
And you completely ignored him. “Where are you now?”
“My office.” He matched your tone.
“Look at you, so official now. I should surprise you one of these days so we can fuck on your desk,” you said and the mere thought of doing that fueled something in him. ”Would you bend me over and fuck me from behind?”
He didn’t answer right away as the image of him doing exactly what you’d said popped into his head. He’d love that, actually, sweeping everything out of his desk, bending you over, spreading your legs open as he undid his belt, dragging your pants down to your ankles…
“You know I’d much rather see your face,” he said. “And kiss your pretty mouth while we fuck.”
Every time, he let you know how much he enjoyed seeing every single expression of yours as he plunged into you.
Let me see your face
God, you’re beautiful
Show me your smile
There she is
“Is that a yes, then?” You challenged him.
Spencer paced toward his desk and leaned on it, facing the door just in case. “I can’t promise you we’ll fuck because you’re so loud.” He smiled to himself. “You could get me in trouble, but we can definitely do something, yeah.”
“Would it be okay if I showed up one of these days unannounced?”
“So many questions,” he said through a soft laugh, almost to himself, then continued, “I, uh, yeah. Yes, you can always visit me. Whenever you want, just… don’t forget the condoms. We don’t want to get messy here. And I don’t think it would be appropriate if I kept some in my drawer.”
“And if I forget them on purpose?”
“You’ll have to use your mouth to get rid of the evidence,” he responded without hesitation.
You’d polished this side of him. So openly unbrazen to say out loud all of his darkest thoughts.
Your provocative yet shy laugh softened him everywhere. “I’d be happy to.”
“I know you would.”
This wasn’t the first time you’d teased him during working hours, but it usually was when he was away for a few days and when you knew he was alone in a hotel room where he could peacefully take care of himself. And since the first time you did it, he learned what you liked and why you did it. You were frustrated, and you missed him and needed him to help you get off in one way or another.
“Was that a recent video?” He asked.
“Yeah, you think I pre-record videos?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should.” He teased you. “Are you still naked?”
“Mmm, almost. I’m wearing one of your shirts.”
Of course, you were, and you sounded so needy.
“Would you do something for me?” He reached for the picture at his desk and turned it so it’d face him. There was your smile. Your so beautiful smile that lit up every place you walked into. Even the most somber corners of his mind.
“Mhm.”
“Where are you now?” He asked, just to picture you better.
“Couch. Watching a movie.”
“Turn the volume down.”
The background sounds faded, and then it was just you, your breathing, and him.
“I wanna… talk to you about something.”
He didn’t, but his focus on finishing his paperwork was wholly gone, and since you became a part of his life, he promised himself you’d be at the top of his list, always. So he had to distract you to gain some time and get home as soon as possible because you needed him.
“Oh, okay?”
“Remember the last time we fucked on our couch?” He asked.
He sandwiched his phone between his shoulder and ear and was quiet to gather his things—the reports he was now going to finish at home.
“You mean last night?”
“Last night, yeah,” he sweetly replied.
Last night was glorious. You’d decided to take the next step. Or at least, put a tentative date about when you could start trying to get pregnant. He still refused to finish inside you (despite you being on birth control), but he fucked you with the idea of beginning a family with you at that exact moment.
You had moaned his name until your mouth went dry and came around his cock four times.
You just… Couldn’t. Stop. Coming.
He could still feel the ghost of your throbbing cunt around him.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget last night.” You sighed.
Everything he needed was inside his messenger bag, so Spencer locked his office from the outside and hurriedly strolled to the elevator as he kept talking. “Me neither.”
“I… touched myself when I woke up this morning without you, you know, thinking about last night.”
“You did?” Spencer said before putting himself on mute for a moment just before the elevator dinged open. He entered it and pressed the button that would take him to the parking garage.
“I don’t know what it is, but every time you’re away I… I touch myself thinking about you…” Your voice was shy as you continued to tell him about your fantasy. He was two floors away from his stop. “Baby? You still there?”
Come on, come on, he muttered to himself, staring at the changing numbers.
2
1
-1
Yes!
“Even after we started dating,” he spoke immediately, sliding between the opening doors, then muted himself again. He took long, long steps toward his car, and after he swiftly got in, he turned the key. He hoped the purr inside wasn’t too loud as he put you on speaker.
“Oh, god, yes,” your voice filled the air of his car, and he already knew this was going to be a fun ride home.
“You’ve never told me that before.” He replied once he unmuted himself for good and started his journey back to you. He gripped the steering wheel tight.
“I know. I… I would even touch myself thinking of you, come with you in my mind before our dates.”
So he didn’t imagine that scent when he kissed your knuckles on those first dates. It drove him crazy—your pheromones—and forced him to jerk off as soon as he got home.
He hadn’t confessed that to you yet. But maybe it was time.
“That’s— wow, I didn’t know that.” He stopped at a red light and took the chance to untighten his pants by the crotch. Blood had been rushing through his erection since the video you sent him, and the more you talked… it just kept on growing.
“I know, crap, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I thought it could be hot, but now I’m mortified.” You muffled yourself against something. “Why do you sound weird? Distant. Am I on speaker?”
“No! No, just… bad signal.” He swept your thoughts away. He couldn’t let you feel this way when he’d done the exact same. “What if I told you I did the same thing?” Your reply was a sigh. “Not before our dates but definitely after. I- I would picture you there in my bed, or in the shower, and I just… had to.”
You said something out of breath, then, “And you looked so innocent.”
Spencer smirked to himself. “I never was.”
“Yeah, I know, you proved it to me. Many times.” Your smile was so present through those words… “Would you tell me how you did it? What… you did?”
His mind went straight to the first time he did it, and he had no trouble telling you all about it.
“It was… after our second date,” he confessed, then went on, in no hurry, as he kept on driving. “The night of our first kiss. When we agreed to take things slowly yet you still sat on my lap to kiss me. And we kissed, all night, just to kiss each other. You tangled your fingers in my hair, and I hoped you couldn’t feel how hard your kisses made me. How all of you had me. It was a cold night, but it felt like summer inside. I- I still feel awful for not staying that night as you’d asked me to, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to have you like that, but then, when I got home, I got in the shower and my mind went somewhere. A moment we hadn’t had yet but knew would happen eventually. I pictured you there with me, and I was already hard but wanting you there with me…” he trailed off as he heard you curse under your breath.
“Keep going, baby,” you said, and he smirked.
So he kept going.
“I… hesitated at first. You were the one good thing happening to me at that time, and I didn’t want to… stain you by objectifying you, but before I knew it, I was stroking myself. And it felt good. So good,” he almost whispered.
He was good at this. He knew he was so he kept going, telling you all about that first time he touched himself thinking about you.
The usual fourteen-minute quiet drive turned into 9 minutes of not-so-usual dirty talking, and soon, he was walking through the door of his home with the phone call still ongoing.
It smelled brand new. Like paint and wood and incense.
You were supposed to be here on the first floor, in the living room, but you must’ve moved to the bedroom at some point because he didn’t find you there.
“…my god, f-fuck.” Your heavy breathing echoed between his ear and phone.
You’d given him a clear sign that you’d finished one time already—sweet, sweet moans filled his car a few minutes ago, and he had to make a quick stop at the side of the road or else he would’ve crashed—and now you were going for a second one. And he was right there to help you through it.
From the empty living room, he heard your blissful noises and he followed them upstairs, bewitched by your voice.
The call remained ongoing, but his phone was long forgotten in his pocket. Your harsh breathing was closer and closer with each step, and once he reached the bedroom, he stayed by the door. Inside his home, he allowed himself to be like this: a pervert, sometimes, he admitted. But it’s what you liked and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this, too.
The door was cracked open, and he peeked through to delight himself with the view. He had to muffle a long sigh, but his face flickered with immediate pleasure. Brows melting, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, nostrils flared ever so slightly.
There you were, lying on your stomach in the middle of the bed, naked from the waist down with his shirt riding up your back as if you’d stopped yourself from taking it off, legs spread open and a pillow between them. You were grinding it in perfect, short and controlled rocking motions. Back and forth. Side to side.
You whimpered against the mattress. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come again I—“
His cock throbbed. Jolted inside his pants, and his hand went there to calm the swelling.
“I need you so badly,” you breathed out. “So, so—“ your hips stuttered and began to roll and rub against the pillow until you released all the pleasure you’d been building.
Shit, he muttered to himself.
He needed you, too.
Reaching for his phone without tearing his eyes off you, he murmured, “You do?” quietly enough, pushing the door open with one finger and putting one foot inside, then another, as he walked inside stealthily like the perfect intruder.
He didn’t want to scare you, but also didn’t want to spoil the surprise, so he remained out of your possible eye range, by the end of the bed, and god, this point of view was so much better. You were something else like this. So immersed in your pleasure that you still hadn’t heard him coming inside.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, now loud enough for you to hear.
But you didn’t. You were drowning in bliss; your hips never lost rhythm, riding the pillow, and your eyes remained closed, a slight frown over your brows and an exquisite smile.
That sight. He needed to fuck you right there.
Without a second thought he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants with one hand while he stretched his other arm and reached for your ass, giving your right ass cheek a tight squeeze to finally let you know he was there.
You gasped, and your eyes fluttered open, ready to stand up and fight whoever came here without a warning, but the moment you realized it was him—
“Baby,” you breathed out and let your body fall onto the bed with relief. “I thought– I– my heart almost gave out.” You then laughed a little.
Spencer walked to your side, leaned to kiss your temple and squeezed your ass one more time, murmuring in your ear, “Hi sweetheart, stay right there for me, yeah? Don’t move.”
All you did was nod. Willing to let him handle you however the fuck he wanted.
He took off all of his clothes right there and settled on the bed behind you, with his knees at either side of your hips, stroking his still growing erection to become fully hard when entering you.
You adjusted the pillow underneath you for support to keep your hips up and wiggled your ass onto him, using your hands to spread your cheeks open for him.
So damn inviting.
“Jesus Christ.” He stared and gulped and kept staring, and his mouth watered.
You were so ready for him. Wet and puffy. But he tortured himself for a moment, and instead of slipping his cock right in, he let it hover over your ass, smacking each cheek with it persistently, creating a sinful sound in the dimly lit up room.
These bed lamps were new.
“Spencer, baby, please.” You lifted your ass towards him and blindly reached for his erection, but he pinned your hand close to your hip. You closed it into a defeated fist.
It was time to torture you now and let the tip of his cock simmer between your folds. Nestled there. Slippery and warm and soft. His hips stuttered instinctively and he almost slipped in, the gentle squeeze of the entrance of your cunt giving him a loving kiss.
Always looking down, Spencer decided there was no point in holding back anymore and slowly–so very slowly–pushed his hips forward, delighting himself with the view of his cock being swallowed up. His gaze flickered up at your face then, that gorgeous needy face, and kept his eyes trained on you until he was fully inside. You angled your face toward your shoulder, shooting him a glance through fluttering lashes and a drunken smile.
You bit your lip. “I think ‘m gonna come already, f–uck.” You tightened your walls around him and motioned your hips in a way that withdrew some of his erection and bent it slightly downward. Then you did it again, and your cunt began to pulse ardently.
“Shit.” Spencer held onto you, hissed between clenched teeth, one hand tight on your hip while the other still held your hand in place by the wrist, now closer to your back.
It felt too good. You felt so damn good, and an early flutter grew in his balls and lower stomach, all while you turned into a whiny, moaning turmoil under him. Ever smiling.
Right then, as you used his cock, all he could focus on was not coming just yet even though small drops started to drip out of the tip, but the pleasure snowballed too quickly for him to stop it. Spencer groaned, weakened, and let his body fall over yours, his hips just pressing and pressing against your ass desperately as you sucked everything out of him. Spurts of cum shot inside you with each jolt of his cock, and as his body naturally did that, the deliberate part of him searched for your hands and locked his fingers with yours, tight, pressing them on your sides and his lips and nose hovering along your jaw.
“That’s it, baby, come inside me, yes, yes, y-yes,” you encouraged him, and he grunted some more. “That’s so good, you feel so good, give it to me, please, please f-fuck!” Your voice went high-pitched, loud as you ever were, and he was sure you were coming again–pulsating and pulsating around his erection.
“Show me your face,” he whispered breathlessly at the back of your head and slammed into you. You cried out as an instant response. “Let me see your smile.” He slammed into you again, and harder. You turned your head, gluing your chin to your shoulder. He licked your earlobe, dragged his lips to the underside of your chin, then to your lips, capturing them into an open-mouthed kiss. You whined into it and glared at him from up close, nose to nose, and smiled sweetly.
Every part of him softened with love.
“There she is.” He smiled, too. “There’s my girl.”
“I love you so much, baby.” You breathed out.
Sweet nothings slipped through his lips to your skin about how much he loved you too, how good you felt, how good you were to him, and he stayed there, intentionally twitching his cock inside you as another way of showing you his love.
After a moment, he gave you one last messy kiss and straightened up with a grunt, allowing his cock to slip out. His cum dripped out of you like melting caramel, cascading down to the pillow that was so flattened out now, there was no purpose for it anymore. He yanked it out, tossed it to the floor, and snatched you close by your hips to lift them up, ready to go for a second round. A single spank there on your cheek to let you know that this was still going.
You’ve trained him for this—coming multiple times in a row. It was torture the first few times (a good kind of torture, of course, one he much enjoyed), then it was the only way sex always went. Finishing once, then coming back inside you for a second one and third, giving his cock no chance to soften.
No exceptions.
He used his own cum as lube, smearing it all over—up to your clit, between your swollen folds and back to your opening. Pushed the tip in, then drilled into you. Fuck, you were somehow tight now, sensitive by your many orgasms most likely, but you gave him no sign of discomfort. Instead, you took the lead and withdrew to slam back onto him, ready to keep going, too.
Then he continued. The globes of your ass bounced and smacked against his lower stomach with each new thrust and this desperate rapped out cadence had his thighs stinging. But it was thrilling, so exquisite it went on for a long while, and you never ceased to let him know how much you were enjoying this. Moaning, whining, gripping the bed covers, and every once in a while reaching for the hand holding onto you.
Until you got tired from being with your face pressed down to the mattress.
There was no need to vocalize any of it, and agreed with a glance followed by a kiss that it was time to change positions.
With even more kisses in between, Spencer lay down with his upper back pressed to the headboard and made himself more comfortable with a few pillows behind him, ready to have you riding him. You finally took off your shirt and settled on top of him. He couldn’t help but sit up right to take one of your breasts into his mouth, just to show you how much he loved them. Nuzzled his nose into your flesh while you sank into his erection. He hummed around your nipple and wrapped his arms around you into a hug to bring you with him as he settled back.
“I’m gonna move fast, baby, I need to thrust so badly.”
“Go ahead,” he replied, peeling off your breast and looking up at you.
You were beautiful like this, in charge yet so cock-drunk.
You supported both hands under his ribs, not quite pressing but rather holding onto him, and did as you’d said—as you’d warned him. The prowess of your hips turned him into a groaning chaos. His feet tensed and his thighs clenched and unclenched trying to hold it together, but fuck, you were so good at this.
“You’re so h-hard, Spence, fuck.” Your eyes fluttered closed and bit your bottom lip through a smile and little laugh.
So good, so fucking good, so hard, baby, you continued to praise him through clenched teeth.
He was, he so fucking was, it was a matter of a few more thrusts that he came again.
His face twitched with the almost unbearable pleasure you were giving him, bouncing your ass up and down and giving him rolling motions in between that allowed your cunt to wrap around every curve of his cock.
“’m gonna come again mm—!” Your cunt tightened and stayed tight while you kept moving, then those familiar pulses caressed his erection. “My god, you feel so fucking good, so b-big.”
Your hips lost rhythm, only spasmed persistently, but kept his cock curved in the way you so much liked and as you kept moving, you went silent. Focused. Eyes closed, brows low. Shaky breaths caged on your throat.
“That’s it, use my cock,” Spencer encouraged you. His mouth was dry.
Then you released it. All at once. A shaky yelp, relaxed and silky cunt. “Oh, sh-shit, baby, I’m coming, y-yess!”
So was he. Fuck fuck fuck he was so close to coming too. He loved it when this magical synchronization happened.
“Don’t stop,” he breathed out. He needed to come with you, so he built his pleasure some more by taking you in, all of you, and chased it and began to express it before it struck him fully. With short breathless groans and loving kisses on your arms, now that you were holding onto him by his sweaty shoulders. “Don’t stop, feels so good.”
Your voices blended together in the air and soon, your orgasms did, too.
“fucking god.” Spencer groaned, staring down at where your bodies met.
His hands roamed across your sides, from your ribs to your hips and thighs then back to your ass and the arch of your back.
“One more, baby. You can come once more for me,” you told him, cupping his jaw. “Yeah? You just feel so good, I don’t want this to end.”
He knew he had it in him. A third one, it was right there even when he was barely out of the second one.
Baby, please, you begged next to his ear.
Yeah, he definitely had a third one.
He harshly handled you so you’d be lying down instead, and he settled between your legs, entered you and ruthlessly pounded into you, mouths clasped together as you both moaned into each other, sharing a single, agitated breath.
“Yes, yes, yes baby!” you cried out. “Come in me again.”
Spencer tucked his face on your neck, blindly hooked his arms under your thighs to bend your legs and bring them up and with his eyes closed he still pictured you, as if he wasn’t right there on your arms.
“Ah, sweetheart,” Spencer exhaled a groan. “You make me crazy.” He then hummed and nibbled your neck and spoke into your hot skin. “So fucking crazy.”
“Kiss me,” you breathed out. “Keep talking to me.” Spencer lifted his face from your neck and glued his lips to yours. “Like this, yeah.”
You swept your tongue along his and as he kept plunging into you, in and out, creating a wet mess between your bodies, he said, “I want to get you pregnant so bad.”
“Yeah?” you replied, so damn whiny.
“Yeah, baby.” Spencer tugged your bottom lip between gentle teeth and morphed it into a kiss. His balls tightened; his cock spasmed. “Ah, fuck, there it is. I’m c-coming again.”
“Yes, baby, do it, come inside me, please.”
Come in me, you repeated, and he clung into your embrace, thrusting and thrusting and groaning until he released inside you through a low and deep grunt that you gladly kissed and moaned into, too. Then the pleasure ripped through him so hard it almost jumped through his skin.
There was nothing left inside him anymore. He felt drained in the most exhilarating way, so he stayed there in your arms for a moment. You gently tapped his arm so he’d let your legs go, and you relaxed them right away. Your muscles were trembling.
“That was so good, baby.” You panted, and clammed your cunt around him as you adjusted your body under him. While still inside you, Spencer kissed your neck then brought his mouth to your lips. Your hands traveled to the back of his neck and pulled him closer to receive his lazy kisses with much more strength. “Thank you.”
You then peppered kisses all over his sweaty face, which gave him enough fuel to move a little, falling on your side at last.
He took the longest, joyful breath.
“Tired?” You asked him.
You were quick to reach for wipes and began to clean yourself and him. An excess of cum pooled around his now softer cock and with so much care, you cleaned it all.
“Sleepy,” he replied, and continued cleaning himself with another wipe as his eyes closed. His voice was barely there.
“Do you need something?” You pecked the corner of his mouth.
“I’m good.” He shook his head.
“‘Kay.” You kissed him again. “I’ll be right back.”
You slipped from his side with a huff. An exhausted huff. He squinted one eye open to get a glimpse of you, and your legs wobbled as you bent to pick up something. He couldn’t hold back a mocking laugh.
You laughed along, shooting him a teasing smile. “You’re proud, aren’t you?”
“Mhm I am.” He raised his brows at you.
His breathing was more regulated when you came back from the bathroom break. Still naked, you joined him in bed again, lying on your stomach.
Just to stare at him.
And play with his hair.
And steal some kisses.
“What did you do today?” He asked you, turning to face you. His hand mindlessly went to your back, and caressed you along your spine with his fingers with feather-light glides.
“I went tile shopping with Derek.” You brushed a piece of hair away from his forehead. “A cream tone for the kitchen and a light blue for the guest bathroom. Savannah and little Hank joined us for lunch, then I came back to paint the kitchen cabinets.” You then sweetly shrugged.
“Sage green?” His hand stopped briefly.
Your face lit up. “How do you know?”
“I know things,” he said with a cocky grin and continued his motions along your back. He just saw the paint in the living room. “What else did you do?”
“I talked to Diana.”
“I called her today, too,” he raised his brows at the coincidence.
“Well, she called me.” You countered with slight humor. “I thought she’d gotten the numbers mixed up, but she didn’t.”
The proud look on your face was… endearing.
“And what did she say?”
“She was wondering when I was going to visit her.”
“She didn’t ask about me?” He asked, mildly offended.
You shook your head and didn’t give him much time to think of it as you continued, “So, I was thinking, after Spain, we can make a stop in Vegas for a few days?”
“I like that, yeah.”
“And did you tell her, perhaps, about us and babies?”
“I don’t think so.” He quirked his brows. “Why?”
“She hinted at something, but maybe I’m thinking too much of it.”
“Tell me.”
You held the thought for a second, your eyes wandering around to explain, “She told me about how this woman from her home had a son and that he’d recently brought his newborn baby to meet her. She said how she could almost picture you doing the same someday.” You shrugged. “Then proceeded to say how the baby’s cry annoyed her.”
A heartily laugh rolled from his chest.
This, knowing how his mom called you to just chat, was a dream come true.
“Anyway, I don’t know why I asked her if she knew the baby’s name, but she didn’t, which made me think of baby names. For our future baby.”
Spencer leaned and teased you by your ear. “You did?”
“Mhm.” You nodded. “I don’t know why, but I feel like… We’ll have a girl first.”
First. So you wanted more than one.
His chest fluttered. “And what’s her name?”
“You’re gonna laugh.” You covered your face with your palms.
“Tell me.” He reached for your fingers and gently peeled one hand away, bringing it to his lips. To kiss you. To nibble you.
“Sage.” You said, and your eyes glimmered. “I saw the name when I was searching for paint colors and something about it felt… right.”
“Sage,” he said in deep thought.
“Mhm. Sage Reid. Or Scout. I like that one too. Or Sadie. Definitely a name that starts with an S.” You drew lines over his chest. “I really like your initials.”
Spencer planted a kiss on your cheek and spoke right there with his lips brushing over your skin. “She could have my initials, but I’m sure she’ll have your eyes.”
You hummed, then something in you shifted.
“Spence, what if… we struggle to get pregnant?”
He frowned, pulling back to stare and try to read you. Something told him this uncertainty has been there for a while.
“Is this something you think about a lot?”
“No?” You frowned. “Not a lot, but it’s definitely a thought, I guess.”
“We’re not in a rush.” He lifted one hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek. “So, I don’t think struggle is a word if it takes us a while.”
“Yeah.” You let out a long sigh and snuggled into his embrace, one leg propped over his. “Do you think it’s late?”
“It was late when I left the office, so probably.” A soft kiss on the top of your head. “Why?”
“I haven’t eaten.” You grumbled. “And I have to shower, again.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, kissing your temple. “Let’s shower first, then we’ll make something to eat.” You groaned again in protest. “Just stand there. I’ll soap up your gorgeous body.”
“And wash my hair?” You lifted your head to look at him.
“Double shampooing if you want.”
Eva if you made it to the end, I know it’s not exactly what we once talked about, but this was the result 🥹 I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless 💋
Dear reader, please don't hesitate to let me know what you thinkkkk. I'd love to read all of your thoughts
SPENCER REID MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTRELIST
happy valentine’s day everyone
yk i never realized his eyes have a little green in them 🙈
my god this was HOT
𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?
Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.
wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk
A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)
Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.
You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.
And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.
"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.
"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.
His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.
But not tonight.
You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."
His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.
He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."
You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."
"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."
"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."
His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.
"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."
You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.
“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.
Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.
The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.
“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”
A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”
You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”
A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.
“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.
That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.
“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.
“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”
His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.
“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.
“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.
Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.
“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”
It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.
Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.
“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.
The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.
Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."
You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."
Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."
He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."
matilda’s writing is to die for 🤧 i want him to call me angel so bad 💳💥💳💥
𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend decides he’s going to start calling you a cute pet name, but the problem is, none of them seem to suit you perfectly
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x baumember!female reader, so sweet you'll puke, case in the background, unsub is abducting elderly people, text messages, reader is kinda clingy, use of y/n because i had to
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k
𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling <33 sorry if it ended up a bit too long again, but im starting to suspect that im physically incapable of writing a drabble lmao
"I'm tired. When will this week be over?"
"It's 9:13 on Monday."
With a groan, you leaned back against the seat in the corner of the jet, feeling the caffeine craving slowly take control of your body.
"Just the thought of going to sleep sends intense shivers through me, caused by a heart-wrenching longing, and heavy tears slowly start gathering in my eyes," you complained, resting your head to the side.
Slightly turned, so you could look at Spencer sitting right next to you. His eyes, behind his glasses, also seemed a little tired, though he didn't manifest it as loudly. When you sat down next to him, he partially closed the book he was reading and rested it against the edge of the table in front of him.
"When you're sleep-deprived, you tend to get a bit dramatic," he pointed out in an analyzing tone, though you could catch a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.
"It's not drama, silly. It's the personification of pure exhaustion speaking through my lips."
"I love it when you try to argue with me and end up agreeing with me."
"You just love being right, don't you, smarty?" you huffed. "You love me too, but that's just a side note."
"Oh, now you're teasing. That's good. Means the sleepiness is wearing off," he diagnosed.
Sometimes you were genuinely amazed by how well he knew you, despite being together for such a short time—though maybe you shouldn’t have been. He was a profiler, just like you. Both of you were exceptionally good at reading each other, picking up on moods and small, everyday habits. You used to worry a little that this might make your relationship boring, stripped of surprises. But you quickly realized there’s nothing more captivating than another mind that matches your own and deeply understands its struggles. And sometimes, that feeling itself was a pleasant surprise.
"Next weekend, we're not going anywhere, okay?" you asked in a dreamy tone. The day before, you’d gotten back way too late, which was mostly to blame for your sleepiness. "Not even out of bed."
A look crossed Reid's face, somewhere between eagerness and a grimace.
"I’d love to," he assured with a genuine sigh, but then quickly added, "But I’m afraid I’ve already got something planned."
You tried to keep up the facade of your role, not showing too much excitement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"I'm starting to suspect you have plans for every weekend for the rest of our lives."
"Actually, just for the next fourteen weeks," he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t anything to be impressed by.
You weren’t sure if he was joking, and you didn’t get the chance to find out.
"Hey, lovebirds," Morgan called from the other end of the jet, where the whole team was gathered around a small table, ready to start discussing the case. "We're waiting for you."
For a while, you kept it a secret from them that you were starting to expect, but eventually, you had to come clean. Especially when Penelope, who knew everything, started taking every chance to send you suggestive glances or drop not-so-subtle comments. The rest of the team’s reaction wasn’t particularly emotional. They didn’t start screaming in surprise or jumping up and down in disbelief. They were profilers—they had figured it out. But they had enough decency to wait until you told them yourselves. No hard feelings, sweet Penelope.
You took the empty seat next to Gideon, right across from your boss and JJ. Reid settled into a chair on the side, where Morgan immediately poked him with his elbow.
"So, how’s it going in love land today?" Morgan asked, smirking. "Are puppies falling from the sky, and is it going to rain hearts this afternoon?"
You’d gotten so used to these kinds of jabs that, in perfect sync, you both rolled your eyes and opened your mouths to defend yourselves. It wasn’t like you two were constantly all lovey-dovey, exchanging kisses and holding hands at every chance! Morgan just loved to tease you, knowing how much it irked both of you when someone accused you of being unprofessional.
“Take it easy, it’s just the honeymoon phase," Gideon warned, not even looking at you as he adjusted his small square glasses, focusing instead on the folder in front of him. "You grow out of it."
On the laptop screen, Garcia’s face appeared, complete with an orange rose headband in her blonde hair.
"Well, hello there, babygirl," Derek greeted her, a small smile spreading across his lips.
"Hello, you charming, sweet, handsome thing…
Hotch exchanged a knowing look with Gideon.
“As you can see, not always," he muttered under his breath so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. JJ, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, briefly lowered her amused gaze, trying to hold back a smile. "Shall we get started?"
The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if with the snap of fingers, when you began discussing the case. This time, it was a series of murders targeting men around the age of seventy-four.
"Are we sure this is the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, his earlier light tone replaced with focus and seriousness. "I mean, looking at it, these guys don’t have much in common aside from their age."
“They’re all from the same area,” you noted, flipping through the victims' files. “But yeah, they don’t have much else in common. Different jobs, some married, some not…you think age is the reason the unsub picked them?”
“Looks that way,” Hotch said.
“About two weeks ago, his granddaughter reported him missing,” JJ informed you, pointing to a photo of an older man. “Ben Murphy, seventy-six years old. He’s from the same area, and all signs point to him being the unsub’s next victim. Each of the victims was held for an estimated three weeks, so there’s a good… a good chance he’s still alive.”
A brief silence settled over the room, heavy with the pressure of time.
“But why keep them alive for that long?” Spencer muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “None of the bodies show signs of physical torture. They were killed with a lethal dose of insulin. If he chose that method, it doesn’t seem like he wanted to hurt them directly. The motive…the motive is unclear.”
The rest of the discussion revolved around trying to find connections and similarities to other crimes you were all familiar with, but you didn’t come up with anything groundbreaking that would significantly push the investigation forward. However, this didn’t stress you. You were just heading to the place where everything had taken place; you hadn't yet spoken to the victims' families, which often turned out to be crucial.
Just before the jet landed, you found yourself next to Reid, resting your elbow on his shoulder like it was some kind of convenient armrest while you pondered which card to discard from the ones laid out by JJ. This position made it much easier for him to sneak peeks at your cards, which he took full advantage of whenever he thought you weren’t looking (you were looking), so you had to hold them in a very awkward way to prevent him from seeing.
“C’mon,” JJ urged, as the time you were taking to think started to drag on.
You bit your lip.
“Easy for you to say. You’re winning,” you huffed, to which she flashed you a confident smile. “Great minds need time to come up with a solution. Right, Spence?”
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head slightly.
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…”
"Ugh, I wanted you to defend me, you silly..."
“Guys, do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Morgan appeared above you, pulling his headphones off his head.
“Scientists haven’t figured out a way to peek into other people’s thoughts yet,” Reid answered him, staring at the card you had just discarded and raising an eyebrow. Seriously? You shrugged. You knew it was a pitifully bad move. “So no, we don’t, Morgan.”
“I went over the case files again…” Derek continued, completely ignoring the ironic comment from his friend. “Mr. Murphy went missing right after a date with his wife…”
“...And may I ask why you’re sharing this incredibly sad fact with us?” you interjected.
“They went to the botanical garden,” Derek continued. Everyone stopped, staring at him with completely baffled expressions. “Then they hit up the American Revolution Museum. And I couldn’t help but think of you two. Sounds like the perfect date for you, right?”
You were the first to react, rolling your eyes dramatically. You placed your cards face down in front of you, then rested both hands on Reid's shoulder, leaning your chin on them. You let out a long sigh.
"Can we get just one day without fighting off the nerd allegations?"
"Hey, I'm not mocking you," Morgan said, raising both hands in the air. "Just pointing it out. So, what did you two get up to over the weekend?"
Reid turned his face slightly toward you, exchanging a look. Given how you were positioned, the frame of his glasses lightly brushed your forehead. Well, if you answered your teammate's question honestly, you’d be proving him absolutely right. Before you could manage to turn the question back on him, you were preempted.
"We went up to the hill to try and watch the meteor shower," Reid answered, sticking to the truth. Morgan tilted his head, staring at both of you with interest. "But the sky ended up being too cloudy, so we ended up finding a night exhibit at the museum about space..."
You could see the victorious expression slowly spreading across Derek's face.
"You’re sinking us, silly," you muttered into your boyfriend's arm.
"She's right, silly," Morgan echoed the nickname with exaggerated emphasis. "Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Enjoy your game. Oh, and by the way, JJ peeked at your cards when you weren’t looking…"
"JJ!"
"That’s a lie—"
"Did he really come over here just to compare us to a pair of retirees?" Reid wondered, watching Derek walk away.
"And to expose a cheater," you added, shooting a look at your friend across the table. You’d lifted your chin from Reid’s shoulder, but your hand still rested there, your fingertips lightly brushing against him—not that you even noticed. Did that even count as touching?
You pointed at JJ with determination. "We’re starting over."
"We’re about to land," she noted, placing her cards on the table and revealing her hand. "So I’ll let it go. But you’re getting your rematch, trust me."
"Oh, I can’t wait."
She walked off, leaving the two of you alone in the corner of the jet. You noticed Reid had been watching you for a while, his expression unreadable. When you finally caught on and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he just shrugged and gathered the cards from the table. His fingers shuffled them with effortless precision, the motion smooth and almost hypnotic.
You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from the cards and focusing on his face again.
“What thoughts are you hiding in that brilliant mind of yours, smarty?”
“Those exactly,” he replied almost immediately. He fell silent for a moment as he tucked the cards back into the box. You watched him closely, curiosity piqued, waiting to hear what he’d say next because you didn’t fully understand his response.
“You always call me something,” he added after a pause. “You know…”
“Pet name,” you supplied the term he was missing.
He nodded, and you stayed quiet for a brief moment, wondering if you really used them that often. You’d never given it much thought—they just slipped out naturally when you were teasing him. He’d never reacted to them before, and it had never even crossed your mind that it might cause him any discomfort.
Your expression grew a bit more serious as you shifted in your seat to face him directly.
“Does…does it bother you? Because, you know, if it does…”
“No!” he denied quickly, a faint hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, as if wondering whether he’d been too eager. He shifted into a calmer expression, letting out a small sigh. “No, that’s really not it. Actually…I like them. I like when you use them.”
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he admitted it. But the question still lingered in your mind—if that wasn’t it, then what was?
"I just realized…" he continued slowly, with a hint of hesitation. You noticed that both of you had lowered your voices compared to the lively chatter during the card game. It was as if, unintentionally, you'd created a small bubble, separating this moment from the rest of the team.
You liked his whisper. Sometimes, it felt stronger than his regular voice, mostly because whenever he lowered it, it was usually tied to some genuine emotion.
"That I never use them myself. I mean, I don’t call you anything other than your name."
"I don’t…I don’t expect that from you."
"I know. I know, it’s not like I thought you were expecting it. I just started wondering if maybe you'd like me to... to start doing it too. I admit, it’s not something I’m used to—"
"If you’re comfortable with it," you interrupted him without meaning to, feeling the need to emphasize it. Until now, it hadn’t mattered how he addressed you; it didn’t bother you when it was just your name. After all, hey, it’s not really the most important thing in a relationship. But when he suggested it, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "I’m serious, Spence. Don’t force yourself if it feels unnatural," you added, slowing down a bit, feeling the slight tremor in the corner of your lips. You noticed how his brow furrowed slightly when he caught that movement. Usually, it meant there was an idea forming in your head, and this time, it was no different. "But if you really want to…you should know I have some requirements in this area."
"Requirements?" he repeated, sounding confused, as if he thought he misheard. "Sorry, but what kind of requirements could you possibly have when it comes to pet names?"
“Oh, you have no idea how many,” you scoffed, leaning slightly toward him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Reid blinked, clearly both curious and a bit apprehensive. “I know you, your mind... so I guess you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m expecting you to be creative. I mean no babe. No honey.
Spencer stared at you for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he let out a soft laugh.
"Alright, I’ve got it. No babe, no honey. Anything else to add to your list of demands?"
"Hmm, let me think," you murmured, to which he rolled his eyes. You didn't actually have anything else in mind; you just wanted to keep him in that state of uncertainty. But then, an additional thought occurred to you. "Oh, I know. It has to really fit with me. And with you. I want using it to come as naturally to you as possible. And I don't want you complaining to Penelope later, saying I forced you into it."
"Seriously, do you think I'd complain about you to Penelope behind your back?" he asked, pretending to be offended. He shook his head as if disappointed. "It's obvious I go straight to Morgan with stuff like this..."
You lightly tapped his arm.
"Is everything clear?" you made sure to ask, keeping your hand on his shoulder.
He glanced at your hand briefly before nodding.
"As clear as the sun. Has to be original and fit," he recited the two demands in their briefest form. He left his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to add something, as if he was about to come up with the perfect nickname, but clearly, he hadn’t thought of one yet. He let out a short sigh of surrender. "This...this might take a while."
"Take your time, babe."
"Hey, you said we're not using that..."
"I only said you’re not using that”
"So what’s the point of giving me all these demands when..."
You both fell silent only when the jet neared its landing.
*
Working on the case had put a bit of distance between you. Well, it wasn’t unusual—there were often plenty of witnesses to interview, multiple locations to visit or search, and the team simply had to split up. Whenever Hotch assigned you somewhere, he always paired you up in the most complementary way possible, ensuring that your skills and experience balanced each other out. As the youngest members, relying more on brains than brawn, you and Reid rarely ended up partnered together.
And this time was no different.
You sat in the front seat of the car beside Gideon, who was driving. The two of you were headed to one of the victims' homes in silence, and you used the moment to glance at your phone—only to spot a message from none other than Reid.
spence: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on the jet, and I think I have a few suggestions that meet all of your conditions.
spence: Sorry for texting, but I’m not sure if we’ll get a chance to see each other today, and I wanted to tell you that.
y/n: tell me
y/n: i mean u should be thinking about the case rn not about me
y/n: but i’m just gonna assume ur brain is multitasking enough to do both
spence: Because it is.
y/n: wow so humble
y/n: so???
y/n: what’s with the pet names
y/n: surprise me, genius
spence: Sorry, I don’t have time to write proper explanations for all of them or explain why I think they suit you.
spence: But a few of them are love, dear, darling.
y/n: sweet, but kinda basic
y/n: anyway up to you
y/n: u’ll be the one saying them
spence: Yeah, but you’ll be the one called them, and it has to be something you like. What do you think?
spence: Maybe something less typical like pumpkin
y/n: pumpkin HAHAHA
spence: ?
y/n: sry, i just can’t picture u saying that out loud
y/n: u browsing some top 100 pet names for ur gf site rn?
spence: No
y/n: i’m telling garcia to check ur browsing history, silly
y/n: don’t even delete it she’ll find it anyway
spence: I admit, pumpkin is awful
spence: I really like daisy, but i know you're allergic to pollen
y/n: how do u know i’m allergic to pollen?
spence: 👍🏼
It was truly an exhausting yet enlightening response. Anyway, you didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes he just knew. Together with Gideon, you had already arrived at the right address, so you shoved your phone back into your pocket and got ready to get back to work.
*
The words we are ready to deliver the profile were a milestone in every case you worked on.
They marked a gathering of the entire team, where you would collectively organize the information you had gathered during the investigation. Together, you had managed to uncover the unsub’s identity, but there was still the task of determining their motive and locating where they might be holding their still, as you hoped, victim.
"The unsub spent most of his life caring for his severely ill, mentally abusive grandfather, of whom he was the only relative, which is why he now targets victims of a similar age," Derek began, crossing his arms over his chest. "He holds them for twenty-three days, mirroring the twenty-three years he dedicated to caring for him."
"He sees it as lost time, wasted. He never finished school, he was socially withdrawn. By repeating the same pattern with his victims, he believes he's getting something back," explained Reid, standing beside you, tapping one hand thoughtfully.
"This is all we have,” you muttered under your breath. ‘But we're missing the most important thing. Where is he? Where is he holding this man?”
“Garcia is working on that,” Hotch reassured you, pressing his finger to the earpiece.
“Give... give me some time,” Penelope asked in a distant tone, drowned out by the sound of keys being pressed rapidly. “ I think I have something... I need to check...ugh, fifteen minutes!”
After those words, she fell silent, leaving you all in anticipation. With a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping she would find something. Reid stood by your side, slightly separated from the rest. Yet when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a murmur.
You stepped closer to hear him better.
"Vivi," he said softly.
You frowned at him, and his gaze hesitantly met yours—but once it did, it refused to let go.
"From the Latin vivus," he explained. "Full of life, vibrant."
You remained silent for a moment, savoring the echo his words left behind and the look on his face—just a hint of uncertainty creeping in as he waited for your reaction. If it weren’t for the fact that your team members were bustling around and the circumstances weren’t exactly romantic, you might have slipped under his arm. Instead, you settled for a small, sweet smile.
"That’s really pretty, Spence," you admitted, catching the faint shimmer in his dark eyes. "You think it suits me? Do you like it?"
He nodded slowly. You couldn't shake the feeling that something didn’t quite fit, that it didn’t sound natural coming from him. Maybe it was just your imagination? Or perhaps he was distracted, lost in more important thoughts while you were bothering him with pet names? You didn’t really have time to figure that out. At that moment, Garcia’s raised voice cut through the line, announcing that she might know where the unsub is holding his victim.
In the next moment, you were already on your way to the given address, listening to instructions on how to get inside without causing harm to the elderly man being held captive. When you and Reid reached him, he was loosely tied to a chair with rope, his head hanging limp against his chest. You crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It seemed like a simple loss of consciousness, likely caused by the stress and exhaustion of being held captive for over two weeks.
"Untie him," you said automatically to Reid, even though he had already started doing it before you spoke. "Can you hear me, sir? Damn it, I think we’ll need an ambulance..."
"Since when do angels curse?" A hoarse, weak whisper escaped the man's throat.
You exchanged confused glances with Spencer, momentarily frozen in place. The man's temples twitched before he gently lifted his head. His gaze landed on your face, and very slowly, he began to regain full consciousness.
"I died. And you're an angel, right?" he asked.
You sighed with a certain sense of relief. He was a bit delirious, but it seemed nothing serious was wrong with him.
"Don't worry, you’re not dead, sir. Actually, you’re perfectly fine and will be home soon..."
"Whatever you say, angel."
You saw Reid, who was untying the man, try to hide a amused expression on his face. Even after two weeks spent in captivity, Mr. Murphy managed to muster a bit of stubbornness. He told the arriving paramedics that he would only get into the ambulance if the angel who freed him went with him. And since you felt really sorry for the elderly man who had been kidnapped and whose mind was a bit frail, you did it.
You didn’t get back on the jet until late at night. Throwing yourself into the seat next to Spencer, you struggled to suppress another yawn. You didn’t even realize when your temple lightly rested against his arm, but through your partially closed eyelids, you noticed him closing the book he had been reading and placing it in his lap.
"Long day, huh, angel?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, brushing your ears as you leaned against him.
"So, you spent the whole day trying to come up with the perfect pet name and ended up just going with the one some confused old guy called me?"you asked, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. Or rather, from the position you were in, at his jaw. "Watch out, Spencer Reid. I might accuse you of being lazy."
"I'm not lazy," he denied. "I'm just looking for inspiration in unusual places. Besides, it fits, don't you think? Angel."
"Mhm. Lazy."
With those words, you closed your eyes again, snuggling against him more comfortably. Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, using his free hand to tuck the hair falling onto your face behind your ear.
"Sweet dreams, angel."
“Who’s Cameron?”
NEEDS ME A PART TWO ERIKA
𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader Category: smut 18+ MDNI, angst Summary: Attending Rossi's wedding while nursing the betrayal of your boyfriend, you find solace (and revenge) in the arms of Dr. Spencer Reid. Content: 7.7k porn with a plot. Mentions of smoking and drinking, reader wears a dress, heels, and make up, and cheats on her shitty bf, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), softdom!Spencer, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, reader is called naughty girl and good girl, very slight degradation, lots of praise, big dick!Spencer, size kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, rumination and references to sin and Eve and religion in general, probably blasphemous, Jeid mention, unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is kinda toxic but it's sexy I swear (I HOPE; yell at me nicely if i missed anything) A/N: this fic had been MARINATING for more than a month. Probably overwritten and self-indulgent, years of Catholic trauma rlly just spilled onto my docs ya know. Tried very very hard to make the smut worth it because there's so much build up and I'd hate for the smut to be meh. Lost the plot multiple times. Reached the point of i’m sick of this fic pls let it end but ultimately it's a piece that I’m actually proud of. Dedicated to user @notlongtolove for the yap fest and brainstorming, iykyk!!! Pls enjoy while I rejoice; this mammoth is finally over. Special request to leave a comment so I feel accomplished, pretty please tyyyy.
Rossi's wedding had been your opportunity to introduce your new boyfriend to the team. You've taken great pains to keep your relationship private, a feat that makes you proud because the amount of things that gets past Penelope Garcia is next to nothing. But somehow, in the past four months, you've managed. You've passed the threshold, the personal rule of three months of privacy, of keeping things on the down low, and you had been excited to stroll up to Rossi's fourth wedding in the arms of Cameron, your boyfriend of nearly five months.
Unfortunately, you'd caught another woman's underwear in his car nearly a week before the day of the wedding. He still hasn't admitted to his betrayal, no matter how many times you've pleaded and talked to him. You already know, anyway. It's easy enough to tell from his body language. The twitch of his lips he does whenever he's nervous, the way he overuses the phrase come on, every single one of his tells point to his infidelity. You've used every trick in the profiler handbook— interrogation, an attempt to seduce, anger— none has worked.
Your pathetic boyfriend would only repeat that he loves you so much, why are you acting like this?
So you're a depressing cloud on Rossi's big day. You hide it behind a big smile, which would normally be unconvincing, but everyone is too wrapped up in the festivities to look too closely at your hastily erected facade.
And it’s worked, for the most part. You know it’s not because of your acting skills, but more because there’s too much going on to pay attention to you. And disappearing as part of the crowd allows you to observe and stew in your betrayal, fingertips tingling with the desire to get even somehow.
You wish you could say he’d tempted you. Pursued you with gentle brushes of his hands on the exposed skin of your back, bewitched you with his dimpled smile, so inhumanly beautiful you just couldn’t say no. How could you resist temptation when it is being presented to you by someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself?
Because Spencer Reid has always been something akin to divinity, at least to you. As the BAU's newest recruit— appointed and transferred by the infamous Linda Barnes herself—you've had to fight tooth and nail to earn the team's trust.
Now, Linda Barnes is gone, you have a spot on the team, and Spencer Reid remains elusive.
His reputation preceded him, of course, one of the smartest active agents, incarcerated for something he didn't do. He's kind in the moments you've spent with him, with a bumbling earnestness that you've found endearing.
He's also incredibly beautiful.
So who could blame you if you did give in to his advances? People stronger than you have succumbed, after all, and you, in your vulnerable, lovelorn glory, would not have been responsible if you decided to take a bite from the forbidden apple, right? Giving in to temptation is the lesser sin, more forgivable, would absolve you of guilt especially after the betrayal you've gone through.
Except Spencer Reid hadn’t pursued you. The meeting had been accidental, at least that’s what you tell yourself. You’d seen him leave towards the end of the ceremony. Of course you did, you had been watching him all night. Sometime towards the end of the ceremony, while the minister was talking about the importance of second chances, he’d slipped away.
You had been the one to go after him. In your defense, you’ve been itching to get your hands on a cigarette since you got here. Weddings have always made you giddy, excited. It’s a celebration of love, after all, a declaration of two people’s commitment to each other. In sickness and health. But Cameron's infidelity weighs heavily upon your shoulders, and though you've borne more than this—you're a BAU agent, after all, you face horrors on a daily basis—it's still difficult to set aside the burn when you're surrounded by happy couples.
So you’d put your focus on Dr. Reid: handsome in his suit, but something about him seemed distracted. Perhaps he'd been banking upon the wedding as a distraction, just like you had been. Everyone is too busy with the happy couple to pay attention to two lonely souls.
But he's wrong. You've got your eye on him, and you see something in his amber irises that reflect your own.
Loneliness.
Why is Spencer Reid lonely?
It’s the intrigue that ultimately leads you out into the hallways. And when you stumble upon his brooding form, your excuse is truthful, “I'm trying to find the bathroom.”
He kindly escorts you to the correct wing, making small talk. Something about wedding dresses not being white historically. You smile and nod, thanking him graciously as you slip into the ladies room. When you leave the bathroom after basically inhaling a stick of cigarette, he’s still lingering outside. Waiting by the wall, smiling upon your return.
“Oh,” you return his smile, “You’re still here.”
“Figured we could walk back together.” his nose wrinkled a little as you stepped closer, the smell of your cigarette apparently not sufficiently disguised.
You're smile becomes sheepish, shaking your head, “I thought I was being slick by spraying perfume, but apparently not.”
He laughs. It reminds you of the church bells that rang for the wedding. Rich and lilting.
“Not to judge, but why the need for a smoke break?”
“Why should there be a reason?”
“You've told me you only smoke when you're stressed out.” Fuck. “Why are you stressed out?”
“Just having a bad day.”
It's the wrong answer, because his gaze zeroes in on you, oozing with an intense curiosity. “On Rossi's wedding?”
“Not because of it,” You laugh airily, but in the quiet of the hallway, it's much more difficult to pretend that everything is okay. Two can play at this game though. “Why are you out here?”
He averts his gaze to his shoes, brows furrowing in a way that makes you blood spike. He’s hiding something.
“I just needed some fresh air.” he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, lifting his gaze from the floor and dragging it through your form, taking in your appearance in the cocktail dress you’ve donned for the wedding. His voice is strangled when he speaks again,, “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you yet.”
“Thank you. You look very dashing too.” A pause stretches between you. In that quiet moment, it seems like the universe has presented the perfect way of retaliation for you. The nicotine had made you bold, audacious. And if you’d read him correctly, then he’s in need of relief as much as you are, the kind of relief a simple cigarette wouldn’t fix. You step closer, looking straight into his eyes, “Truth be told, I’m not in any hurry to go back.”
You see his jaw clench, the beautiful brain of his going a thousand miles per minute, likely computing every possible meaning of your words. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you decide to help him out, taking another step forward and tilting your head up.
When you kissed him, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss you back. Mouth parting, fingers tightly clenched at your waist, pulling you closer and closer until space felt like a foreign concept altogether. He is an insistent kisser, leaning his whole weight into you as his lips opened and sucked at yours.
The dark corner isn’t ideal, but it was the closest space at your disposal. Neither of you are willing to spend more time looking for somewhere to hide, not when you could spend that time running your hands and lips in places undiscovered. Your lips across the strong angle of his jaw, his stubble tickling your skin. Spencer tonguing the space beneath your ear, fragrant with traces of your perfume. Your hand massaging him into an erection through the fabric of his pants.
He lets out the prettiest moan when you drop to your knees in front of him.
You don’t miss the irony of it as you tugged and undid his belt and zipper, fully conscious of the act you’re about to commit. Kneeling in a chapel, for all the wrong reasons.
“Are you sure?” the words spill from his lips so sweetly, as if he isn't standing before you with his erection only inches from your face. Long and thick and already leaking precum at the tip.
You take him into your mouth as an answer, condemning yourself to your fate. Spencer is beautiful like the devil, and you’re Eve succumbing to the first sin.
Two wrongs do not make a right. You know this. Everyone does. A lesson as old as time itself, written in languages you can’t comprehend. Even mathematics dictates that adding two negative integers does not cancel them out—the negative value merely increases. You should not retaliate on your boyfriend by committing the very sin that hurt you in the first place. By all accounts, nothing good should come from it.
Yet here you are, on your knees for a man as pretty as the devil himself. A man very much not your boyfriend.
Even fucking worse, your coworker.
Tucked in some dark corner—not even given the dignity of a dusty closet. That at least would have given you complete privacy. No, you’re on your knees in some seemingly abandoned hallway, half hidden by a combination of the dim lights, and ostentatious pillars, and him. His lean body shields you from general view as your lips stretched around his throbbing length.
You learn that he is a contradiction. A large hand gathers your perfectly styled curls, holding them at the crown of your head. Gentle, careful. The other rests just beneath your jaw, holding your head still as he slowly pushes his hips forward. Your nails grip his pants as your mouth stretches around his girth. The fabric wrinkles under your clutches as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, then begins to push beyond it.
Only half of his length in and you're already choking.
Wide, panicked eyes dart up to meet his deceptively honeyed ones. You consider pulling back, just to catch your breath but you can’t; his hands are holding you steady. Oddly enough, the look in his eyes helps you relax. There’s something inherently trustworthy about those ochre irises, despite the fact that his pupils have blown up so much and nearly eclipsed them. Maybe you’re too used to indifference from Cameron, too used to sex being so clinical and borderline perfunctory, that the unbridled lust in his gaze excites you instead of scare you away.
Still, it doesn’t help the little choking issue you’re currently having.
“Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. You blink back the tears that have gathered at your lashes, still maintaining eye contact with him. Spencer sighs, pulls his cock out. Mercy. It's not something you deserve, but you take advantage of the moment wisely, following his instructions and breathing through your nose.
The stench of sin is musky and stale. You fill your lungs with it all the same, just as he rams his cock back down your throat and fills your mouth. He hisses when you gag around him lightly, but doesn’t stop. You realize that you’d probably chase after him if he does anyway.
His thumb caresses your cheek, “That’s it, good girl. You can take it.”
Well fuck.
It’s a little too much, balancing on your knees like this while he uses your mouth and throat, but you push through because he says you can. You fancied yourself the seductress, but somehow, the tides have turned and you’re little more than putty in his hands.
His cock glides in and out of your mouth with ease, painting chapped red marks from your lipstick along the veined length with every push of his hips. Finding your balance, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, stroking up what you can't fit into your mouth. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to match the rhythm of his hips.
What a pretty figure you make, on your knees, looking up at him with fluttering lashes. You moan around his length, sending vibrations up his spine, and are rewarded by his mouth falling open, a wordless expression of pleasure. He continues to fuck your mouth, never breaking eye contact as he eases his cock deeper with each thrust. Tears gather at your lash line every time he goes down your throat.
You’re sure your throat is distending in order to accommodate his girth, and it makes your own pussy clench at the idea. What would it be like to have such a large cock inside your walls, filling you? It makes you moan again, and Spencer’s hand tightens at your hair. His pace quickens, and you hollow your cheeks, urging him to continue.
You hear his undoing before you feel it, strained groans tumbling from trembling lips, before his hips thrust forward and suddenly your nose is pressed to his crotch, and there’s an explosion at the back of your throat. He holds you there, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your ruined mouth as he blows his load deep in your throat.
Yeah, he definitely needed that.
You swallow what you can, but that’s difficult when there’s a huge cock obstructing your throat.
It ends up being a mess, combination of your saliva and his cum dripping out of your mouth and onto the floor. How fitting. In the back of your mind, you’re just happy that only a few drops landed on your dress. Easy enough to clean. Miraculously. Your conscience, however, is an entirely different story.
Still, some part of you can’t even begin to feel bad. Cameron had cheated first, he’d broken the bounds of your relationship first.
Sure, this is still wrong. You have no moral ascendency to stand on, but who cares about any of that when Spencer Reid is kneeling before you with gentle hands and even gentler eyes?
“Are you all right?” he murmurs, his voice slow and sensual like dripping honey.
Somehow, your voice does not betray you, coming out clear and far more confident than you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He smiles, thumbs wiping away some of the residue off your lips, “Are you sure? You look a little dazed.”
You laugh, “I mean, yeah, but I just need to catch my breath.”
He takes your hand, helps you stand back up. “I think another trip to the bathroom is in order.” he says as he guides you to the bathroom again.
When you get there, you are a wreck of the highest order, curls dishevelled despite his attempts to be careful, lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your chin is still a little moist from the drool and cum that had dripped down. Tear tracks drag down your cheeks, but thankfully your eye makeup and foundation are only a little smudged. Nothing a little dab of a napkin won’t fix.
You fix what you can—quick spray of perfume, reapplication of lipstick. Hands steady as you work. You aren't sure if this is a sign of guilt, or lack of it. You don't really care. He's gone when you leave the bathroom now, and the soft, treacherous side of your heart fills with disappointment. You remind yourself that it's better this way, less conspicuous, if he returns to the wedding before you.
Still, swallowing his load with an obstructed throat somehow had been easier than swallowing the bitter disappointment that builds in the back of your tongue.
The ceremony is just about to end when you return to the makeshift chapel, people standing and clapping as David and Krystall Rossi share the sweetest kisses. A celebration of love and second chances. After what you've done with Spencer, you know this is out of your cards now. You've fallen far beyond redemption, shot the remnants of your relationship with Cameron after kneeling in service of another man.
You catch sight of Spencer, standing in the midst of other agents. Clapping like everyone else, but his eyes are trained upon something else. Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow his gaze, trying to approximate what he's looking at.
Or rather— whom.
If you're correct, then he's looking at someone.
Oh.
Blonde hair, a slim frame in a beautiful red dress that perfectly accentuates the long, muscled lines of her arms and legs. Beside her, a man with salt and pepper hair and kind blue eyes. His arm at her waist. Your coworker and her husband. JJ and Will.
Oh.
Your gaze returns to Spencer, and despite your attempts not to dig deep, not to learn why he's looking so forlorn, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Whether or not this is a full blown affair isn’t important; all you know is he wants her, and she's married to another man.
Is this connected to the previous case? You recall the last case, the hostage situation in LA. He and JJ had been in there for a long time, but neither really shared what exactly happened. Nobody knows except for the two of them, the unsub, and the victims. You aren’t about to pull rank and ask traumatized people about the drama between your coworkers. You’re better than that.
Are you?
Yes. You don’t hold much sacred, but your job is important. It is above you. You aren’t about to jeopardize it over some workplace drama.
But still, the curiosity gnaws at you no matter how much you attempt to tamp it down. Does he have feelings for JJ? Does she, for him? She couldn’t possibly; she has a husband, two beautiful kids. Easy enough to deduce that it’s probably Spencer, then, who is pining after her.
As though he feels your stare, Spencer looks over at you. Hurriedly, you avert your eyes, heart pounding faster than you would like it to.
Was he thinking about JJ while he used your mouth?
The thought knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you banish it to the deepest crevices of your mind. It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't. It doesn't.
You don’t have any room to judge, anyway. You’ve dragged Spencer into your own messy relationship by sucking him off in the middle of the wedding. A relationship he doesn’t even know about. So, with a smile, you clap for the new couple, and follow the crowd to the reception.
Joy and excitement are nearly palpable in the room. A small, intimate crowd of smiling faces surrounded by the tastefully extravagant decor, obviously paid for by the wealthy groom. The air is filled with that soft, electric energy that often occurs when people are happy and sufficiently buzzed with some drinks.
The only thing on your mind is him.
How can it not be, when you can still remember the little tryst you'd had prior. The weight of him in your mouth, the fetid mess of skin and cum and the lingering nicotine.
It passes by in a blur. The food is delicious, you gush to Portia, you look so beautiful; congratulations, to the new couple. None of it is fake, but you are possessed by a single, irrevocable urge to watch Spencer. That glance at JJ has intrigued you more than you should be. What sort of web had you stumbled upon? And instead of trying to get out, you're eager to spin more.
Bringing the champagne flute to your lips, you pretend to sip, allowing the glass to obscure some parts of your face while you continue to watch them. They’ve met up at the bar now, deep in conversation, hands clasped together in a way that’s far too intimate to be just friends. You can't tear your eyes away as JJ leaves, returning to the embrace of her husband, and you watch with an almost sick sense of fascination as Spencer lingers by the bar. Longing, pure and unmistakable, is etched upon every line on his face.
Before you can stop yourself, your feet are moving, gliding across the floor until you're beside him. He startles, brows lifting as he gazes at you. Your name slips through his lips with an exhale.
“You don't have to act like I'm a ghost, Spencer.” your lips quirk up in a teasing grin as the bartender refills your glass of champagne.
He looks chagrined, the implications of your words hitting him like a brick. “I’m not, you just seemed like you were having fun with Garcia.” he says, leaning on the counter. His eyes travel down the length of you again.
“You’re right, but you were looking a little lonely,” you take a sip from your champagne, letting the bubbly drink fizzle in your mouth and wash away the taste of him. “So, what was that with JJ?”
He sputters, eyes wide as his gaze darts back to your blonde coworker—now currently wrapped up in her husband’s arms.
“Nothing!”
“Holding hands when you’re a known germaphobe doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“I’m not that bad,” he protests, shaking his head, “I’d hold your hand too, but that’s besides the point.”
“It is,” you agree, tilting your head innocently, as your voice lowers, “Just wanted to know who you were imaging in place of me.”
He looks horrified to be reminded of your little quickie from before, “No one. It’s not—I wasn’t using you to—god, it’s not like that.”
“I’m not judging you if it was,” It’s true. It’s exactly what you’re doing with him, using him to forget about Cameron, to get back at him. Poor Spencer just doesn’t know about your secrets. Your amused look only makes him fluster even more.
“It isn’t,” he insists, “I just –”
“Listen, it’s okay,” you interrupt gently, fighting the urge to rest a reassuring hand on his forearm. The words are true anyway; you don’t wish to unearth whatever secrets he wants to keep buried. You have your own, anyway; it’s only fair he’s allowed his secrecy. Your reasons for approaching him are entirely different, and perhaps a little self serving. But you’ve already condemned yourself to being the bearer of temptation, you might as well take full advantage of it.
“Don’t look so ashamed,” you grin as you lift the recently refilled glass to your lips, “You know I have a room for the night… in case you want to blow off more steam.”
The invitation makes his eyes darken in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “You’re—we shouldn’t.”
“Who would know?” you quirk a brow in response, “Besides, it’s pretty much tradition for people to hook up at a wedding. Why shouldn’t it be us?” Please, say yes.
“We’re coworkers.”
“We’re adults.” you deliberately don’t say single adults, “It’s fine. Listen, I booked a room because I didn’t want to deal with the traffic, so if you want, it’s 309B. Completely up to you.” with a smile, you leave him at the bar and Spencer Reid is forced to watch a woman walk away from him for the second time.
That night, there's knocking at your hotel door—three sharp, no nonsense knocks that seem to mean business—echoes in your room minutes before midnight. You don’t bother looking through the peephole to confirm who’s on the other side. The moment you open the door, there’s not a lot of build up.
He’s shed his suit jacket; wearing only the white button down, slightly rumpled from the day’s events. His crown of light brown curls, carefully pushed back earlier, had fallen all over his forehead, messy tendrils tumbling across his face.
He takes one look at you—still in your lavender dress, but devoid of makeup and no more heels to add inches to your height. In the dimness of the room, you are diminutive, stripped of the ethereal mystique you bore from earlier. Human.
God, he wants you.
Not even as someone to help him forget about JJ. No, he wants you in your entirety, to possess you even for one night.
He kisses you again, but there’s no rush to his movements now. The previous rendezvous had been hasty in every sense of the word, made within minutes in an attempt to alleviate the desperate need all while staying safely hidden and inconspicuous.
Now, you have the entire night. He intends to make full use of it. He kicks the door closed behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it as the other tilts your face up so he can kiss you deeper. Your own arms snake around his neck, hands burying into those messy curls. There’s no more public reception to worry about; you can tug and twist and mess with it as much as you want.
Spencer groans into your mouth, hands tight at your hips, before pulling back slightly, “Jump.” he mumbles against your lips.
Your body reacts as if it’s wired to obey him, launching off the balls of your feet. His hands help to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his hips.
“You smell so good,” He whispers as he noses through your neck, before his teeth close around your earlobe. You giggle, urging him on by craning your neck to the side. His teeth tug on your earlobe playfully as he crosses the room to your bed. He toes off his shoes and lays you down carefully, his body hovering above yours while his kisses travel down your neck. Soft and sloppy and wet, they mark you like a brand.
Long, eager fingers hike your dress up, bunching it up your thighs, past your hips, and you hear him groan when your bare pussy is exposed to his darkened gaze.
“No panties?” he runs a finger up your folds, gathering your slick, “Don’t tell me you’re been going around like this all day?”
“Maybe I have,” you grin, legs parting even more to accommodate him. You haven’t—you’d just been touching yourself to the thought of him as you waited, but you’re not about to tell him that.
“Naughty girl,” he mumbles, one long finger pushing past your entrance and curling into you, “And so wet, too. You get off on being this dirty, or am I just lucky?”
A breathy laugh escapes your lips, “Which one would you prefer?” you ask, because tonight, you’re not yourself. Not really. You’re whoever he needs to be, the same way he’s exactly what you need right now. A body to which you can lose yourself.
“I’d like to think this is all just for me,” he adds another finger, the pace languorous and teasing.
“It is,” you gasp as he curls his fingers, then withdraws. Torturously slow, he fucks you with two lengthy fingers, hitting the spot inside you with ease. Your toes curl into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, “Faster.”
“So needy,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he takes you in. There’s something addictive in the way you look in this moment, spread out beneath him like something unreal and sublime.
Your hips buck up. Something volatile simmers beneath your skin, desperate for more, “Please.”
Spencer chuckles as he watches you, fingers stilling inside your fluttering walls. Hovering above you with soft brown curls framing his face, he looks every bit an angel come to life. The laughter continues, his lips twisting into a sneer as you push your hips up desperately.
“So, so needy.” he repeats, but he acquiesces to your plea. More than that, he sinks a third finger inside you and speeds up. A cry of surprise and pleasure falls from your lips, head thrown back as he works his fingers inside you, “Oh, you’re taking it so well.”
Shame unfurls in your chest. What are you doing? Begging another man to fuck you with his fingers? Enjoying it? Is this truly what you’ve come to?
It’s not something you can dwell on, as Spencer begins to curl his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit. It circles the nub slowly, adding a layer of stimulation that has your thighs trembling. With a squeal, you writhe, moving to close your legs as the sensations become red-hot, building up closer and closer to a crescendo.
Spencer tuts teasingly, one leg pressing down on your thighs, and his other hand coming to grip your hip and hold you in place. “No, no, darling, I want to see you coming undone on my fingers.” he says, continuing to make come hither motions inside you.
“God—oh, I’m so—ah!” words trip over one another as you approach your climax, the world coming down into one point of focus. “Spencer!”
“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs, laying his body over you as his fingers help you through your orgasm, “There you go.”
You’re thankful for the weight of him; it is a grounding presence in the midst of all the flurry. You’ve come undone at the hands of another man—literally. Never mind that Cameron had betrayed your trust first; you are no better than him.
But if sin felt as good as Spencer Reid’s kisses, then you have no qualms indulging.
His lips are upon you again, traveling down your collarbone and nipping at the skin there. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, sensitive but still eager for more. He laughs against your skin with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.
“Are you always this needy?”
“No,” you’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit earlier. Thrown out of Eden, you’re already past the point of no return. Might as well succumb and have one hell of a time. “Only for you.”
He hums, pushing your dress up again. It gets caught somewhere around your chest and there’s a brief moment of awkward laughter as he tries to tug at it, force it up and off you.
“Zipper,” you gasp when your brain finally works. Lifting yourself up on your elbows allows him to slide his hands to your back, find the dangling piece of metal and ease it down. The dress loosens across your shoulders and chest, and he’s finally able to pull it off altogether.
“Beautiful,” he sighs, descending upon you once again, “So beautiful.”
His words have you preening, and you wonder how something so insignificant as the word beautiful could make you feel so heavy. You used to associate delight with weightlessness, floating and light, but everything about Spencer is lumbering and grounded especially after he came back from prison.
You feel his lips and tongue making their way down, kissing every inch of your body. He tugs your bra down, not even bothering to take it off completely, your breast spilling forth and free for his touch. He takes one nipple and sucks, while his thumb circles and gently tugs the other. Every single act has you gasping, and you wonder when and where the hell did Spencer Reid ever learn how to do this? You shouldn’t question it though.
When his mouth lands upon your hips, you jerk. “Spencer,” you gasp, looking down on him, but there’s no more teasing from him now, no hesitation. Before you can even formulate what to say next—you don’t have to, I’ve already cum, I’m still so sensitive—his mouth is at your core, tongue lapping up what remains of your previous orgasm and all evidence of your arousal.
“Fuck!” you are not responsible for your actions anymore, not responsible for the way your fingers find his russet curls and tug hard, the way your thighs try to clamp shut around his head. He chuckles against you, the sound sending tingling vibrations that travel from your pussy to the tips of your toes and fingers.
“Settle down,” laughter drips from his gentle admonishment, “Or I’ll stop.”
“Please don’t.” you’re past the point of shame and guilt, eager to beg and obey as much as he wants. The positions have turned since the tryst in the hallway. No longer are you on your knees for him, no longer the one servicing him and choking around his length, yet somehow you’re still at his mercy. “Don’t stop, please, so good.”
He laughs, and you feel something sliding past your entrance. You clench around it involuntarily, as if you can tell what it is from the mere feeling, but then his mouth wraps around your clit and you’re reeling into oblivion once again.
“Spencer!” you thrash against the pillows, overwhelmed and sensitive but still eager to take more, “Spencer, oh my god, Spencer!” you lose count of how many times you’ve uttered his name from your lips. It has simultaneously lost every meaning, yet retained all of it. An invocation of fervent desire from a lowly, undeserving sinner. Thankfully, your god is merciful and giving, because Spencer wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down, sucks at your clit harshly and thrusts into you again—fingers, you now realize, all three spreading you open and curling deep inside you.
With everything going on, your climax comes as no surprise. You and Spencer are both expecting it, you’re so worked up after all. What makes you both pause is the fact that something gushes out of you as you arch off the bed and cry out his name.
His movement stills for a split second, before he continues and helps you through your orgasm, tongue lapping at the mess between your legs as your body is wracked with the aftershocks, trembling beneath him. After a few moments, he stops, resting his head at your hip.
Looking at him feels like a risk. Fear keeps your eyes squeezed shut, afraid of what you’ll find. More teasing? Disgust? Doesn’t seem like it, from the way his fingertips are trailing over your thighs. You lift your lids again, eyes meeting his own hazy ones. They are nearly black, but what pulls your attention are his lips and chin. Glistening with slickness.
Your slick.
“Oh god,” your words are half groan, half laugh when the reality hits you, “Did I really?”
He laughs again, light and tender. “I believe you did.”
“I’m sorry.” you mutter, feeling utterly mortified that you just squirted all over your coworker’s face.
Spencer’s expression is one of mischief, but his eyes gleam with something darker. “What for?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Another laugh, “But I wanna hear it,” he coos, pressing his lips to your hip bone, “Come on, darling, what are you sorry for?”
When you don’t answer, he nips at your skin playfully, slowly moving back to your center. Your pussy throbs both in anticipation and overstimulation.
“Spencer.”
“Mhm?”
“Too sensitive.” you try to squirm out of his grip. It only tightens, presses you deeper into the mattress.
A lick, teasing and light. “Tell me why you’re sorry.”
“Spencer!”
“Come on,” He's grinning, the bastard, “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I squirted in your face.”
He bites your inner thigh with more force than usual, “You shouldn't be.”
“Hm?”
“I loved it,” He murmurs, soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue, “Wanna see you do it again.”
You shudder, though you’re unsure whether it’s from his moistened tongue, or his words. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he drags himself up, kissing along your body as he does so, “Think you can be a good girl and do it again for me?”
“I think that’s entirely dependent on how well you do.”
Soft, dewy lips curl into a smirk at your challenge, and suddenly he’s sin incarnate, a devil about to pounce. Once again, how are you to deny this man of anything? How could you resist temptation when someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself is looking at you as though you were the masterpiece? Liquid gold irises take you in, inspecting every inch of your body with unabashed want, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s fully clothed, cock straining through his pants, and you’re in nothing but your flimsy bra that’s been pulled down your chest it’s not even covering anything anymore.
You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, but then his hands come up your sides, ghost over your ribs and your back until he finds the hook of your bra.
“Not really fair,” you say as the last strip of your clothing falls away, your chest heaving from the sheer weight of his gaze, “I want to see you too.” with that, you reach for him, deft fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t help, only continues to regard you with quiet intensity.
Once his clothes are off, he meets your lips again. His kisses are slower this time, an almost dreamy tangle of tongue and teeth, but his body is hot and slick with sweat even as he holds himself on his elbows above you. His cock rests upon your lower abdomen, its heft reminding you of how much your mouth had to stretch to accommodate him earlier. How the length and girth had all but blocked your airways as he thrusted into your throat.
You clench around nothing at the idea of that same cock filling your pussy.
His kisses move down your jaw, down the column of your throat, being careful not to suck too hard on the skin and leave marks. You never know when you might be called in for a case, and he doesn’t want any trouble.
“Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance.
You grin and shake your head, “No, I want to see if you can make me squirt again, or if that last one was just beginner’s luck.”
Laughter. You’re beginning to find sex with Spencer enjoyable on more than just the physical aspect. He drags the tip of his cock over your folds, combining his precum and your arousal into a heady, natural lubrication. He’s big, you already know that, but right now, you’re so pleasure drunk that you have no problem opening up to him.
You can tell he’s being careful, pushing his tip in slowly, and your entrance flutters, stretches around him. There’s a slight burn, but it’s accompanied by awe, overtaken by pleasure. You marvel at how his cock sinks into your slick, velvety heat, the way every slight thrust makes your body conform to his own as he carves out a space for himself.
As if he belongs there.
As if you’re his.
Every single memory about your cheating boyfriend is expelled from your mind with every thrust of his hips. You moan and clench around him at the thought.
“Fuck,” he groans, hips stilling. His cock is only halfway through, and you already look so fucked out, “Careful with that, darling, or this is gonna end sooner than we’d like.”
Your lower lip trembles, but you nod, spreading your thighs apart even further. “Sorry.”
He kisses that expression away, “Don’t be sorry,” two large hands hold your thighs in place, keeping you spread for him as he sinks in another inch. And then another. You’re so wet, and he’s done such a great job stretching you out that your walls engulf him easily.
“Oh god!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you. You hear a chuckle, before he retreats, pulls out almost all the way, and once again you’re clenching around his length as though you’re trying to convince him to stay buried inside you.
“Stop clenching.”
“Can’t help it!”
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” With a soft hiss, he thrusts back inside, still slow and steady. The curse makes you gasp; you’ve never heard him curse before, somehow it’s even more jarring than when he’s murmuring filth into your ears. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you, unblinking and focused, watching your every reaction. “You okay?”
“Fuck yes,” you gasp as his thrusts grow steady. The world seems to disappear around you, the only point of importance is where your bodies are coming together repeatedly. You reach up, hands seeking for something to ground you, and finding purchase at his tangled curls, “Oh god, yes!”
It’s funny, crying out for a god you don’t really believe in. Crying out for a god when you’re in the midst of sin, carnal pleasure and infidelity and who knows what else, you were never religious to begin with. You wonder if this is what religion is, this free fall, the blind surrender. But faith as you know it believes in something unseen, the conviction to the intangible and unexplained.
Spencer is very much here, and you can feel him between your thighs, his very existence present in the stretch of your walls around his cock, the soft curls you’ve woven around your fingers. He keeps his thrusts slow but deep, letting your walls feel every single vein and ridge on his cock.
“Spencer,” you moan, one hand falling to his face, soft palm on the stubble at his jaw, “Feels so good.”
“You too,” he turns his face, pressing his lips to the warmth of your hand. He’s very tender, his movements measured to ensure your comfort, “God, you’re taking me so well.”
Your walls tighten around him in response.
Something seems to ignite in his brain, his hand catching your wrist, pulling it from his face and pinning it to the bed. “You like that, my pretty girl? Like knowing you’re doing a good job for me?”
Fuck. The same rush of heat from when he’d had you on your knees fills your stomach. The heat that compels you to do whatever he wants, take whatever he’ll give in order to hear more of his praise. Like a devoted servant, at the service of a benevolent god.
“Yes,” you gasp, hooking one leg around his hips, while the other is bent at an angle, foot pressed to the mattress in order to allow you some leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s sloppy at first, your body not entirely in your control right now.
“That’s it, my darling, you can do it.” he mutters encouragingly, pausing to allow you to join in this tangled, exhilarating dance. When you’ve gotten steadier, he resumes his thrusts, and you’re finally able to buck your hips up to meet them.
The action sends his entire length buried deep inside you, something he’s been very careful to avoid in fear of hurting you. But instead, you let out a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “Yes!”
“Right there?” he grunts. You’ve never heard him before, voice low and strained as he slams his hips into yours, again and again. The mattress begins to creak from the force of his actions.
“Mhm hmm!” You meet him thrust for thrust, the impact hitting spots deep inside you that you’ve never felt before. Toes curling in on themselves, one hand buried in his hair, the other pinned by his strong grip, “Oh, god, Spencer, yes!”
He loosens his grip on your wrist, intertwines your fingers together, “Good girl. Look at you, so pretty while you take me.”
No words come from your mouth, only his name, repeated over and over that it begins to sound made up, unreal. Perhaps he is divine. Nothing human can make you feel this way, surely.
He shifts, his free arm wrapping around your hips to elevate you slightly, and the new angle has you keening, every single muscle in your body tightly wound and white-hot as he pounds into you. It’s obscene how easily your body accepts every single inch of him, the way your pussy flutters and yields to the throbbing length of his cock.
“My god, you feel like heaven,” he groans, and that’s it, those words have you screaming so loud he starts to laugh and kiss you just to swallow the sound. You’re shuddering beneath him, crying, the pleasure coiling and building until it bursts and snaps, cascading over you with such fervor he has to wrap both his arms around your limp body to help you calm down.
Somehow, your hazy mind registers the wetness between your thighs, the loud, nearly pornographic squelching of his body plunging into yours. He’d done his goal; he’s made you squirt again. You are boneless in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, and chases his own. You only regain agency when he tenses, groaning into your ear.
“Gonna cum,” he says, moving his hips to drag his length out. He’s so long you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist before he’s pulled his cock out all the way.
“No, please, do it inside.”
His body stutters, head falling to the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you, not even bothering to argue or ask you if you’re sure. He thrusts into your sensitive pussy erratically, mouth open and groaning into your neck, “Oh my god, oh my — ah!”
Spencer holds onto you, breathing heavily into your ear as you both come down from your high. You feel simultaneously weightless and heavy, melting into your mattress with sweet, glassy eyes.
“That was incredible,” you whisper against his hair. He’s already half asleep on top of you, mumbling incoherently against your shoulder. You don’t bother to move, letting his still hard cock stay buried inside your pussy as you both drift off into dreamland.
Morning comes with a delicious ache in your lower belly. Spencer has you tucked to his chest, his arm around your waist. The air is heavy with the lingering smell of sweat and sex, but also oddly light with the knowledge of a new day. You shift in his arms, yawning as you will your body to wake up and shake off the sluggish feeling clinging to your bones.
He wakes slowly, groaning into your hair, “Morning.” he mumbles.
“Morning,” you reply, but before either of you can say any more, your phone rings. Mindlessly, you reach for it, not even bothering to hide the screen from Spencer, who’s nosing at your temple sweetly.
Cameron ❤️
Your heart sinks. Before you can hit the ignore button, Spencer turns his head, still half asleep as he catches sight of your screen. The name, the heart emoji, the multiple missed calls shakes off every single sleepy cell in his body.
“Who’s Cameron?”
more size kink fics in the BUD Chronicles. Forehead smooches to the many people who witnessed the conception of this fic and patiently listened and helped me as I crashed out and went screaming crying throwing up, hey nachos, @mggslover (who also proofread ty) @beenreidingaboutyou @reidingandallthat @burymagdalene and @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat good god there's so many, my need for reassurance is actually extremely bothersome and embarrassing but ily guys.
Silver Springs
Blue, green colors flashing…
You have always been in love with William Lamontagne Jr., ever since the two were kids. There had never been a moment where the two were apart. Growing up, you both swore never to be apart and it really wasn't hard to do, considering you two were next-door neighbors. You were thick as thieves, both even deciding to take the same career path in both being police detectives.
And as you two grew, your love for Will didn't falter once, despite how freaking oblivious Will was. To him, you were like a little sister and that worked for him since he was an only child.
He never once saw you for what you longed to be… his. And you wondered if he’d ever see it at this rate.
Spencer Reid had a crush on Jennifer Jareau. But he wouldn't say he was in love with her. Considering, he had never known what love was.
The statistics showed that chances of finding love with someone you're compatible with are slim — therefore he didn't believe it. JJ made him question the odds. He had taken her to that Redskins game just a few years ago and he tried but in the end, she just wanted to be friends. Of course, he respected that but he just hoped that maybe one day she'd change her mind. Maybe he was worth being with in the end— even when he didn’t think so. Especially after what happened with Tobias Hankel.
But you and Spencer had something in common. You were both in love with your best friends. And your best friends are both so oblivious, it's killing you two softly. And before you can take the plunge and admit your bogus feelings, it's already too late.
Because Will had found JJ.
And JJ had found Will.
Time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me…
series coming soon???
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a 20 year old mess | wp: K4REVSREID-spencer reid enthusiast (he’s my hubby)i mostly write on wattpad i just kinda read on here kind of a slut for spencer reid 🪐
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