alastorssimp

[alastorssimp]

Behind the mask

Spencer reid X reider

Minors DNI

⚠️ Trigger & Content Warnings

Please read carefully before engaging.

No use of Y/N, reader is described as fab. No description of features..

-Dark Romance / Dubious Consent: The scene involves power imbalance and heavily blurred lines of consent. Consent is implied but not explicitly given or discussed. -Stalker Themes: The male character has been implied to be stalking/obsessing over the reader, including reading private material (e.g., a journal). -Choking / Breath Play: Includes physical choking with control over the reader’s ability to breathe. -Degradation Kink: Verbal humiliation including terms like “pathetic,” “used,” and “cock sleeve.” -Praise Kink: Verbal praise is also present, often in contrast to degrading language. -Non-Removal of Mask: A nod to anonymity/fear/identity play that may feel dehumanizing or unsettling. -Rough Sex: Includes aggressive thrusting, overstimulation, and total physical dominance. -Possessiveness / Obsession: Heavy use of possessive language (“mine,” “you belong to me”), bordering on unhealthy fixation. -Overstimulation: Reader is pushed past the point of orgasm, with no break or care afterward. -Emotional Manipulation: The male character uses the reader’s fantasies and vulnerabilities for control. -Name-Calling / Objectification: Language includes “toy,” “slut,” “cock sleeve,” etc. If i missed any please let me know 🥰

W.c 1.4k

The coffee in your cup had long since gone cold, but you didn’t care.

You were halfway through telling Garcia about the latest filthy fantasy book you’d devoured—your voice low, eyes alight with mischief, completely unaware that Spencer Reid, resident genius and secret eavesdropper, had paused just around the corner with a stack of case files and a rapidly escalating heart rate.

“—he just grabs her, Pen. Like, out of nowhere. Masked, completely anonymous, all shadowed in the doorway. Says something like ‘You're mine now, little bird,’ and then he takes her.” You giggled, sipping from your cold mug. “I swear to God, I have never clenched so hard over a damn book. I want that. Just once. Just—dark, and rough, and masked. No names. No expectations. Just… want.”

Garcia’s mouth dropped open. “Girl. Are you okay? Do we need to get you a cold shower? Because I’m sweating just listening to this.”

You both cackled like teenagers.

And Spencer?

Spencer was not okay.

He spent the next three nights in a deep-dive spiral, reading stalker romance books like he was decoding the Zodiac letters, eyebrows climbing his forehead at least fifteen times. He made a spreadsheet. He had a column titled ‘Choking: why it works’ and ‘Praise kink — see: "good girl" usage frequency.’

But more than that—he started imagining you.

Not his—not technically. But God, he wanted you to be.

He saw you curled up in your reading nook, eyes wide with anticipation. Saw your thighs press together when you thought no one noticed. Saw the way your breath hitched when he got too close. He noticed everything.

And if you wanted to be taken by a stranger in the dark?

Well… he could be whoever you wanted him to be.

Two Weeks Later

It started with a note. Slipped into the cover of the new paperback you’d left on the kitchen counter.

Be home at 8. Don’t turn on the lights. Wear that silk robe. Leave the door unlocked.

— For the little bird who longs to be caught.

Your heart practically galloped out of your chest.

There was no signature. No handwriting you recognized. But the nickname…

Little bird.

Oh god.

You swallowed hard. You should be scared. Right?

Instead, your thighs were pressed together before you even finished reading it again.

8:01 PM

You sat in the living room, legs folded beneath you, robe clinging to the curves of your body like temptation incarnate. The only light came from the hallway outside—flickering, fading.

Then the door creaked open.

Your breath caught.

He stepped inside, dressed in black from head to toe. Combat boots. Gloves. A black hoodie zipped up. But it was the mask that made you whimper. Smooth, black, featureless. Like something out of your most twisted fantasies.

He said nothing at first.

Just shut the door behind him.

And locked it.

You swallowed.

Then he moved.

Like a predator. Controlled, calm, certain.

You didn’t even realize you were trembling until he stood in front of you.

He leaned down, gloved fingers brushing your chin as he tilted your gaze up to meet the blank stare of the mask.

“Did the little bird think her cries would go unheard?” The voice was modulated. Low. Dangerous. But familiar.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs clenched.

“Yes,” you whispered. “But I hoped.”

A low chuckle.

“You wanted to be taken, didn’t you?”

You nodded.

“You wanted someone to ruin you like those filthy books you read.”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Then tonight, little bird, I’m going to break you wide open.”

He didn’t take off the mask.

Not when he had your wrists pinned above your head with one gloved hand, your body squirming beneath his like you thought struggling would save you.

Not when his other hand slid between your thighs and found you already soaked—needy, slick, practically begging for him with every trembling breath.

And not when he undid his belt.

You heard it first.

That slow, controlled clink of the buckle.

The deliberate zip of his fly.

Then silence… right before the low, cruel sound of your own gasp as he pushed his pants down just enough to free himself.

Because—

Oh God.

He was huge.

Thick. Heavy. Sinister. Like something out of one of those smutty books you pretended not to read—but Spencer knew you did. He knew everything. Every dirty thought. Every late-night scroll through porn. Every time you touched yourself while whispering his name.

He gave himself one slow, agonizing stroke—gloved hand wrapped around the thick length like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

"You scared, little bird?” His voice was low and distorted through the mask, but the smirk underneath was almost tangible.

“You should be.”

“Girls like you don’t walk away from nights like this.” he says as he pulls your panties down your legs.

You whimpered, thighs trembling as he dragged the flushed tip of his cock through your soaked folds, gathering your slick with a satisfied groan.

"So fucking wet for me already,” he growled. “Pathetic. Been dreaming of this, haven’t you? My little bird dreams of Being used. Owned. Fucked like you’re nothing but a tight little toy."

Then—without mercy—he thrust inside.

And your body snapped, arching like you’d been jolted with live electricity.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was everywhere, stretching you open inch by brutal inch, splitting you in half until your throat was raw from the scream that never made it out.

"Jesus fuck,” he groaned, voice feral. “Tight little hole’s tryin’ to suck me in."

“This cunt was made for me. You hear that? You were built to be ruined.”

And ruin you, he did.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask if you were okay. Because he already knew. You were dripping. You were pulsing. You were a broken, needy mess underneath him—and he’d barely started.

His thrusts were vicious, the rhythm feral, like he'd waited too long and snapped the second he was inside you. The couch creaked violently beneath your bodies, the force of his hips slamming into yours like he was trying to fuck you into the fabric.

"You like being used like this?" he snarled, hand tightening around your throat.

“Being nothing but a warm, wet hole for me to fuck? You want to be a good little cock sleeve for your stalker, sweetheart? Then take it.”

You were sobbing—shaking—your thighs trembling from the onslaught, but your pussy just kept squeezing around him, clenching like your body didn’t know whether to run or beg.

“Say thank you,” he snapped, voice sharp.

“Thank me for giving this filthy body a purpose.”

You tried. God, you tried.

But your voice was lost to the scream that tore out of your throat as your orgasm slammed into you, violent and blinding. You clenched so hard around him he growled, the sound inhuman—hungry.

And still, he didn’t stop.

“You think we’re done?” he hissed.

“One orgasm’s not even a fucking appetizer. No, baby. I’m not stopping ‘til you forget your own name, Until all you know is me."

He fucked you through it—through the spasms, the tears, the overstimulation—like he owned your body now. And maybe he did. You weren’t sure anymore. Your mind was a haze. Your legs were jelly. You were his, completely—helpless and wrecked.

Only when your cries turned silent, your body limp, did he finally slow.

One gloved hand gently cradled your cheek. The other still curled tight around your throat.

And beneath the mask, he whispered—soft and low, like a promise burned into your skin:

“You belong to me now, little bird”

You blinked up at him through bleary lashes as he reached up and pulled off the mask.

And there he was.

Spencer.

Flushed. Sweaty. Breathless.

And smiling.

“I—” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. Hard. Desperate. Grateful.

“You read my books?” you whispered against his lips.

He smiled.

“I wanted to know how to touch you the way you deserve.”

“You could’ve just asked, nerd.”

He chuckled. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Later

He made you tea. Rubbed your sore thighs. Let you wear one of his cardigans while you curled up in his lap.

“You gonna call me little bird all the time now?” you teased.

“Only when you beg,” he murmured, smirking behind his mug.

And something in your belly twisted all over again.

Because you knew…

That wasn’t going to be the last time he wore that mask.

Not by a long shot

~Please like, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed it.~ 🥰

[alastorssimp]

I'm not crying your crying

So sweeeet

Leaving on a jet plane

Summary : You wake up just as Spencer is getting ready to leave for work. It's still early, and when you ask for a kiss, it seems like there's something he wants to say to you. You reminisce on the day you met.

word count : 3.7k

Notes : No content warnings, this is all tooth rotting fluff, as per usual. I don't know what got over me, but this is the cheesiest shit I've ever written. Anyway, enjoy <3

Oh and there's no description of the reader, gender neutral.

same fic on ao3

masterlist

(title from the song by the same name by John Denver)

This is my first time writing x reader, I hope it's not too bad

₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go

I'm standing here outside your door

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn

The taxi's waiting, he's blowin' his horn

Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you'll wait for me

Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane

Don't know when I'll be back again

Oh babe, I hate to go

⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

The first thing you felt was warmth covering your cold shoulder. You snuggled deeper into the blankets, before noticing the weight lifting from the mattress. One eye still stubbornly closed, you peeked through the other to find the other side of the bed freshly empty.

Groaning softly, you looked over your shoulder to where your boyfriend was buttoning up his shirt, his belt hanging undone at his hips.

"What time is it ?" you mumbled through the grogginess you felt, rubbing your knuckles to your eyes.

Judging by his startle and the apologetic look in his eyes, that was when Spencer noticed you were awake.

"It's five thirty. I'm sorry I woke you up." he murmured gently as he tucked the stripped button up into his slacks.

"'S fine," you shook your head, "I want you to wake me up before you leave."

"You need the rest," he whispered as he tightened his belt.

"Did I say I'd stay awake ?" you huffed, "I just don't want to wake up and find the bed empty."

He nodded with a soft smile, and you sat up in bed.

"Don't get up or you'll wake up too much," he hummed, "feet and are the fourth most sensitive part of your body, with around two hundred thousand nerve endings per foot, which means if you stand up, you're giving your brain a bunch of information at once, which isn't ideal if you plan on falling back asleep."

You smiled and tilted your head to the side, your eyes filled with a fondness that your boyfriend was still getting used to, if the color of his cheeks and ears was any indication.

"What ? It's true." he mumbled as you gestured him closer.

"I know it is. I just love when you worry in nerd language," you grinned, "come over here then, since I'm not allowed to come to you."

He mumbled something along the lines of "It's not that you're not allowed," but complied, coming to sit on the edge of the mattress, back pressed to your legs.

You tugged him closer, grabbing each end of his tie and carefully knotting it.

"I can do it myself, you know ?" he murmured.

"I know," you replied, adjusting the knot, "I just like doing it. Gives me an excuse to have you close."

He let out an amused scoff, "As if you need an excuse."

You pulled him closer by the back of his neck and kissed the plush of his cheek, "I don't, but it's nice to have one anyway."

You had been together for over three months now, but apparently ninety days weren't nearly enough for the doctor to adjust to your affection. It wasn't that he didn't want it, on the contrary, he was a sucker for any kind of closeness you were willing to provide. But it didn't stop him from being completely flustered at any and all contact or compliment from you.

His inability to hide it didn't seem to bother you though. In fact, judging by the look of pure glee in your eyes at any sign of a stutter in his voice or a flush on his skin, you loved every bit of it.

So when you proceeded to kiss every available inch of his face, it was all he could do to attempt at keeping his composure, failing miserably as he melted like ice cream in your arms. You giggled as he his his face against your chest, arms tight around your waist as you carded your fingers through his hair.

"I have to be in the jet in 20 minutes," he said, voice muffled by your shirt, "I want to stay with you."

His voice tugged at your heart, and you leaned your head down to kiss his hair.

"I wish you could too baby, but there are people out there who need you even more than I do," you knew that objectively, this was true. But as you said it, a part of you yelled that no one could need him more than you did. So before you could help it, you added a small "maybe."

He looked up at you, "Maybe ?" he teased.

"Shut up," you looked away and pulled him tighter against you, his laugh vibrating through your rib cage.

After a few seconds, Spencer pushed you to fall back onto your back, and you let out a small yelp of surprise. He prodded himself up with his palms on either side of your head, grinning down at you like the cat who caught the mouse.

"Hi" he whispered lovingly.

"Hi," you whispered back with the same amount of affection, before hooking your arms around his neck and urging him closer.

He obliged, bending his arms to rest on his elbows instead of his palms, allowing his fingers to carefully brush a few strands of hair off of your face.

"You look pretty," he whispered.

"So do you." you replied.

"Liar," his accusation made you scoff.

"What do I have to do to make you believe it ?"

He seemed to think about it for a second, "I don't know. You could start by kissing me, but I can't promise it'll work."

You rolled your eyes and lifted your head just enough to brush his lips with your own. Hearing his breath hitching, you paused, a wicked grin adorning your face. When he chased your lips, you dropped your head back, and pressed one of your hands to your mouth.

This made his brows knit together, "What are you doing ?"

"I'm gonna get you to believe me," you hummed, your breath hitting your palm, "I'll only kiss you if you say it convincingly enough."

"Say what ?"

"That you're pretty."

Spencer huffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh come on."

You looked at him expectantly, and he sighed in defeat.

After a moment, he murmured, "You're pretty."

You chuckled and swatted his shoulder, "That's not what I asked !"

He joined in on your laughter easily, "Yes it is ! You said, and I quote, 'I'll only kiss you if you say it convincingly enough' then 'you're pretty'"

"You're forgetting a very important 'that', smart-ass."

"No idea what you're talking about." he tried to sneak in a kiss, but his lips landed on your cheek as you turned your head to the side. He let out a quiet whine.

"Just say that you're pretty you rascal," you giggled.

Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, he sighed, "Fine, fine…"

"Look at me," you whispered.

His eyes found yours again as he lifted his head back. Then, he spoke, his voice uncertain and quiet, "I'm… pretty"

You tsked and shook your head, "Not good enough. Again."

"Oh come on ! It's embarrassing to say and you know it." he complained, his voice a whiny melody that would've more easily been attributed to a pre-teen than to a twenty-seven FBI agent with 3 PhDs.

"I don't care." you shook your head, "It's true, and a man of science and facts such as yourself should be able to state such truth with utter unshakable belief."

Spencer grumbled a few moments before trying again.

"I'm pretty." he said, his voice still hesitating to make itself known.

"Again baby," you hummed.

"I'm pretty," he murmured, his brown eyes scanning your face for any sign of approval.

"Better," you smiled, "One more. Give it all you got."

The young doctor breathed in like he was about to dive into a bottomless lake before speaking again.

"I'm pretty." he said, with an adorable firmness.

"There you go," you chuckled and cupped his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Spencer didn't seem entirely satisfied with the peck you gave him, chasing your lips again. You allowed the contact this time, your fingers finding the hair at the back of his neck.

His knuckles traced your jaw reverently as your lips crashed together again and again, the action made violent by its overwhelming tenderness.

The doctor only pulled away when his lungs started feeling like they'd been compressed by an unfathomable deep sea pressure, and even then, he didn't stray very far. His forehead pressed to yours, his nose nudging yours as you chuckled breathlessly.

After a few moments, allowing the both of you to catch your breath, you felt Spencer's thumb caress your shoulder.

"There's something I want to say," he whispered, and you found his eyes closed when you open your own, "but I'm afraid I might scare you off."

"I doubt you could ever scare me off." you just replied. You had an idea what weighed on his mind. It weighed on yours too.

"Still." he breathed softly, "I… I'm afraid to risk it. People always warn not to say it too early on, but they never tell you when 'too early' actually becomes 'too long'."

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing the soft skin under his eye. His eyelids fluttered open at the gentle touch.

"There's no too early, and there's no too late. You just say it when you feel like you can't hold it in anymore." you reassured him quietly, "Just don't force yourself to say it."

He shook his head before you even finished your sentence.

"No I– I've been fighting to hold it in for almost as long as I've known you."

Your heart stuttered, and you held your breath without realizing, "We met six months ago, Spence."

He leaned into the touch of your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.

"187 days, 7 hours and…" he glanced at the clock, "34 minutes."

You scoffed, incredulous. "There's no way you actually kept track. I have no way to check."

He raised an eyebrow, "Oh, you don't trust me ?"

"I do, I just– That's too precise, there's no way you'd know that."

"I can prove it." he whispered before slipping away from you.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, craning your neck to track his movement in the dim room. He reached into a drawer of his dresser, which, without too much shock, you saw was filled with worn notebooks. Spencer pulled out a pile of them, before grabbing one at the bottom of the drawer.

"What are all of those ?"

He picked one up and sat back next to you on the bed, "They're just notebooks. Some journal entries, some more random notes." he hummed as he flipped through the pages.

"Of what use are those if you already remember everything ?"

He looked at you then, "I don't exactly remember everything. I only say that because it's simpler than to explain how my memory works. And it's close enough to the truth that it isn't a lie."

You glanced at the messy handwriting and adorably creepy doodles filling the pages.

"An eidetic memory is a photographic memory. Also known as total recall–"

"Like the movie ?"

"Like the movie," he nodded, before continuing, "I can remember things in extreme details, and I can picture the things I hear, which helps my auditive memory." his fingers traced over a few lines as he finally found the page he was looking for.

"But I can only faintly recall what I actually felt through a given event. I can only vividly remember what I felt in moments that deeply affected me. Like when my dad left, when I was taken by Hankel, when Gideon…" he cut himself off when you caressed his hair. "And when I met you."

You smiled tenderly, but didn't speak. He continued.

"Except– Well, sometimes I wish I could forget some of those. But never you. Not even then. So I…" he bit his cheek and handed you the open notebook, "I wrote it all down. Just in case."

As your eyes drifted to the page, you read the date. It was indeed the day you'd met, you'd been late to your first day as a professor at the faculty. After a nerve-wrecking morning, you'd decided to walk to your favorite coffee shop, hoping it might bring you some well needed comfort. You'd breathed out in relief at the warmth of the cup of hot chocolate seeped through and gently burned your palms.

Unfortunately, the shop had been busy, leaving only two seats free. One right next to the door, where a woman was still wearing her winter coat, her expression a clear painting of her regret over the choice in seating. The second one was a table by the corner, the nook you usually bee-lined for on lighter days. Except today, it was occupied by a man, the pen in his hand frantically moving over the pages of a green covered notebook. His tie hung loose from the collar of his soft-looking cardigan, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose as he frowned in concentration.

You opted for the latter seating option, telling yourself it was a practical choice to avoid the cold, but a warmth in your chest hinted at another reason.

"Excuse me ?" you had murmured, trying to avoid scaring the man.

From the way he'd jumped, your attempt had been a fail.

"Oh– Sorry– Yes ?" his eyes were wide as he pushed his glasses up with his pen.

"No, I'm sorry– I didn't mean to scare you. I was wondering if you minded if I took the seat across from you ? The café is packed, and I really don't want to get back to work just yet." you'd smiled nervously. God, he had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

"Oh– Of course, go ahead." he nodded quickly before hesitantly going back to his notes.

You'd noticed his struggle to fall back into his previous focus, his eyes darting up to you every few seconds. Whenever his gaze would meet yours, you'd smile at him, and he'd look back down, his ears a bright red. Amused by his reaction, you allowed yourself some more looking. His brown curls fell loosely over his eyes as he kept his gaze trained on the notebook, even as he felt your own burning through him. His handwriting was tilted, long and a little messy, but he was fast.

"You don't like coffee ?" his voice pulled you out of your observation.

"I– No, not really. Too bitter, no matter the amount of sugar you add. How did you guess ?"

He simply nodded toward your cup, "Hot chocolate. It fits you."

You chuckled, "Fits me how ?"

The man looked at you over the frame of his glasses, his cheeks flushed a light pink.

"Your perfume smells like cinnamon. You have a picture of your cat on the back of your phone. You have a heart locket around your neck. And– well, you just– you just seem as sweet as your taste in beverages."

It was your time to blush as he described you, which seemed to make him panic.

"I– Sorry, it wasn't meant to sound like a weird pick up line– I mean, you do seem really sweet– I'm just– I'm sorry–" he stammered, quickly cut off by your chuckling.

"And if I wanted it to be a weird pick up line ?" you grinned, "Would it become one ?"

He blinked, "I– I'm not one for… Well, pick up lines."

"So you're not going to tell me my father is a thief ?"

"What ?" he frowned.

"I'll do it if you won't" you warned playfully.

"I don't–"

"Is your father a thief ?" you hummed, "because he stole every star from the sky to fill your eyes with them."

The man flushed, before whispering, "My father left when I was 8."

Your eyes widened, and without meaning to, you burst into laughter.

"Oh god– I'm so sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just very unfortunate–"

"I know," he replied, not sounding nearly as offended as you thought he'd be. When you glanced back up, he was smiling.

"Sorry–" you reiterated quietly, and he just shook his head gently.

"It's alright. I have stars in my eyes ?"

You couldn't bite back your smile, "It's just a cheesy line," you explained, though you couldn't help but add, "But honestly, yes."

"I do ?"

"I'd say so."

"Oh"

He seemed like he didn't really know what to do with the information. His fingers brushed over the knuckles of his other hand.

"Do you come here often ?" you asked, and amusement filled his eyes, "Not like that. Unless you want it to be another pick up line."

He chuckled bashfully, "I… I come here whenever I have a real break from work."

"Are there fake ones ?"

"What ?"

You smiled. He tucked his hair behind his ear like a schoolgirl. You didn't remember ever developing a crush so quickly.

"You said 'real break', that implies there are fake ones."

He nodded, "Oh yeah. Plenty."

"So what, you're also a teacher ?"

His lips quirked up, "Not exactly. Why, are you ?"

"Yeah. Faculty professor."

"And you have fake breaks ?"

"Plenty." you echoed. "Though it's my first day teaching in DC, so I haven't had the chance yet."

"So this is a real break ?"

You nodded, and he hummed.

You talked like that for a while, and before you knew it, you were about to be late for the second time in your first day.

"Shit–" you chugged the now lukewarm last few sips of your drink, before pulling your coat back on.

"You're leaving ?" maybe you'd been dreaming, but you could've sworn you'd heard sadness in his voice then.

"Yeah, I can't exactly afford being late again today." you pulled your bag to your shoulder, before pausing, biting your lip in hesitation.

"What is it ?" he asked, and you decided to risk it.

"Can I give you my number ?" the words stumbled from your lips like a house of cards after a breeze.

The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he found himself nodding before he could think about it.

You quickly snatched the pen from his hand, leaning over the table to scribble your number in the margin of his notebook.

"There–" you started, before your elbow knocked over his coffee, spilling it over the fresh ink.

"Oh god– I'm sorry–"

But the man didn't pay any attention to the growing stain on the page, instead tugging at your sleeve to get your attention.

"Just tell me. I'll remember."

You looked at him, a little stunned, before giving him your number.

"Okay. I'll text you. What should I name the contact ?"

His fingers still gently held your sleeve as you introduced yourself to him, for the first time you realized.

"I'm Spencer. Spencer Reid." he hummed.

"I'm sorry about your coffee Spencer–" you fumbled through your bag for your wallet.

"Don't," he just said, shaking his head, "You'll buy me coffee next time."

You paused, a stupid grin pulling at your lips.

"Right. Next time."

He returned your smile, "Now go before you miss your class completely."

₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

Your fingers traced the edge of the coffee stain, the smudge of ink that had once been your number. Over the brown-ish paper, Spencer had documented his feelings during your conversation, the way his heart had flipped at the mere sound of your voice, then again when you laughed, and again when you said his name so softly. He'd written down the time his watch had shown when you'd sat down, as if he knew, even then, that it was important. Pivotal.

When you looked up, you found him already studying your expression. Before he could say anything, you whispered, your eyes damp with emotion.

"I love you"

Spencer's breath caught, the words stealing his own for a second, before a grin broke free. A silly, adorably wide grin that made his eyes shine.

"I was supposed to say it first."

"When did I ever agree to that ?" you chuckled, blinking to chase away the tears, but as his hands found your cheeks, you couldn't help but let them fall.

"You didn't. But still," his thumb wiped a tear away, "you beat me to it. Fair and square." he tucked your hair behind your ears.

"I love you too" he whispered, and you sprung up to kiss him. The kiss was sweet, a testament to the affection you held for each other.

After a moment, you leaned your forehead against his, "You're gonna end up late."

"Who's fault is that ?"

"Yours, darling."

He chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek.

"Indeed it is. But I'm going. See ?" he walked backward toward the door, "Going."

You grumbled and pulled yourself to your feet, just like he knew you would. Just as he reached the front door, slipping his feet into his converse, you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"John Denver talked about this, you know ?" you mumbled against his chest as he cradled your head.

"What about ? Leaving on a jet plane ?" you nodded, and he continued, "I believe what he wrote was, Now the time has come to leave you, one more time, let me kiss you, then close your eyes, and I'll be on my way," he hummed the song quietly, and you made a mental note to ask him to sing you to sleep when he got back.

"Kiss me, and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me, hold me like you'll never let me go. 'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again…"

He pressed a kiss to your hair. "oh babe, I hate to go"

So you did. You kissed him, smiling as he pulled back. You told him you'd wait right there, your arms still tied around his waist. Then you made him promise to text you throughout the case, and he assured you he wouldn't survive if he didn't.

When the door closed, you could feel your ears burning with how cheesy it all was.

But it was yours.

It was all yours.

₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

lmk what you thought in the comments or reposts <3

[alastorssimp]

Wrong Order

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Rating: 🔞 Explicit Vibe: Desperate reader, composed Spencer, aphrodisiac accident, public tension, file room smut Word Count: 1397 Warnings: Accidental ingestion of aphrodisiac, explicit sexual content, reader begging, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, dom!Spencer, scientific dirty talk, overstimulation, mild dumbification, praise

requests are open

masterlist

You should have known something was off the second the barista hesitated.

You were late. Rushed. Running on three hours of sleep, two skipped alarms, and one stupid heel you couldn’t find. The new coffee shop on the corner had a line out the door, but your usual place was closed, so you ducked inside and prayed they moved fast.

“Order for Sophie?” the barista called, eyes scanning the crowd.

You stepped forward before your brain could stop you.

“That’s me,” you lied. Close enough. Sophie, Y/N. One of those generic white girl names. Besides, the coffee looked like what you’d ordered. Iced oat vanilla something. Probably.

You grabbed it and bolted.

Halfway through your drive, your cheeks were flushed. You cranked the A/C. Your thighs felt hot, your chest tighter than usual, your whole body suddenly... hypersensitive.

You figured it was the stress.

It was not the stress.

By the time you reached the BAU, your skin was buzzing and you had to bite your tongue to keep from making sounds when you brushed your arm against the elevator wall. This was not normal caffeine jitters. This was something else. Something warm and pulsing and low in your belly.

You were aching.

You could barely focus through the team briefing. You tugged at your blouse collar, tried to cross your legs only to uncross them again, but your thighs rubbed in a way that made you press your lips together just to breathe through it.

Spencer noticed first.

“Are you alright?” he murmured as you passed him a file. “You’re flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you lied. You were not fine. You were dying.

He watched you with that same gentle concern for a moment before he tilted his head.

“Did you go to that new café on 3rd this morning?”

You blinked at him. “What? Yes. Why?”

His lips twitched.

“No reason.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He glanced down at your half-finished drink.

“You didn’t order the one with the pink sticker, did you?”

Your heart dropped.

“What does that mean?”

Spencer stepped a little closer, voice low. “That place has... a specialty menu. Most of the public doesn't know about it. They use botanical aphrodisiacs. There was an article on it in The Journal of Integrative Medicine. I read it last week.”

You stared at him in abject horror.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No. That’s real damiana and maca root you’re tasting. They work synergistically to stimulate circulation, lower inhibition, and increase sensitivity in erogenous zones. Especially for women.”

“Spencer.”

“Some studies even show spontaneous orgasmic response when paired with caffeine. Although, those results were largely anecdotal.”

You were going to scream.

You were flushed, soaked, and slowly unraveling in the middle of Quantico because you stole someone else’s herbal sex potion.

You yanked him by the wrist and dragged him down the hall.

“Where are we going?” he asked, startled.

“Somewhere private,” you hissed.

The file room was empty. It always was. You slammed the door shut behind you and pressed your back to it, trying to breathe.

Spencer stood a few feet away, still calm, still composed. That made it worse. His sweater was tight across his chest, his pants fit just right on his hips, and his mouth was still talking about botanicals like your thighs weren’t trembling.

“I need help,” you whispered.

He blinked. “Help?”

“I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”

His eyes darkened, just slightly.

“You want me to help you with your... reaction?”

You nodded, desperate.

“Say it,” he said, voice soft but firm.

You bit your lip.

“Spencer, please. I need you to touch me. I need your fingers, your mouth, your cock. I need something. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m soaked. I’ve been aching all morning and I just... I can’t take it anymore.”

He inhaled like he was savoring the words.

“I was going to wait until we were alone,” he said, stepping forward. “But this is much more interesting.”

You barely had time to process before he was in front of you, one hand cradling your cheek, the other slipping under your skirt.

You moaned when he touched your inner thigh.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Do you know what else damiana does? It enhances nerve sensitivity. That means every touch feels about five times stronger than it should.”

“Please,” you gasped. “Please don’t tease me.”

“I think that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

He sank to his knees.

Your back hit the door. He spread your legs open with slow, deliberate care, then dragged your panties down your thighs and let them drop to the floor.

You were dripping.

“Fascinating,” he said, almost to himself.

“Spencer—”

He licked a long stripe up your center.

You cried out.

He licked again, then again, tongue curling just right as he circled your clit. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and ground your hips into his face, no shame left in your body.

He hummed against you.

“That’s the maca. Increases blood flow to the pelvis. Makes you swollen and throbbing, doesn’t it?”

You whimpered.

He didn’t stop.

His mouth worked you open with expert skill, alternating between slow, agonizing licks and sharp, precise flicks of his tongue. When he slid two fingers inside you, you almost collapsed.

“Shh,” he whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet. Someone might come in.”

You nodded frantically. You didn’t care. You would risk everything for this.

His fingers curled just right, pressing against your spot with surgical precision. You were so close. So close it hurt.

“Please, let me come,” you begged. “Please, please, please—”

“Not yet.”

He pulled back.

You sobbed.

“You need to be patient. Let me observe how long you can last.”

“I can’t,” you moaned. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He rose to his feet, unbuckled his belt, and dragged his slacks down just enough to free himself.

You reached for him, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the wall above your head.

“Let me,” he said, voice rough.

He lined up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped.

The stretch was perfect. Too much. Not enough. Just right.

“You feel incredible,” he said against your throat. “Tight. Hot. Clenching around me already. Your body’s starving for it.”

He started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts. His hips snapped against yours, his hands braced on your thighs as he buried himself over and over.

You could feel every inch.

You were losing it. Your eyes rolled back, your legs trembled, your moans came out like gasps.

“Please, harder,” you begged. “Faster. I need it. Please—”

“Beg properly.”

You sobbed.

“Spencer, please fuck me. Please, I’ll be good, I swear. Just give it to me. I can’t take it. I’ll do anything, just please.”

“That’s better.”

He slammed into you.

Your head hit the door. You saw stars.

He fucked you like he meant it, like he’d been holding back for years. His name spilled from your mouth over and over. He reached between you and rubbed your clit, circling it fast and firm.

You shattered.

Your whole body convulsed. You cried out into his shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline as your orgasm ripped through you.

He kept going.

Another hit you right after. Then another.

“Too much,” you whimpered. “Spencer, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he murmured. “You’re taking it so well. Just a little more.”

You were a wreck. Legs shaking. Eyes blurred. Skin flushed. But you never wanted it to stop.

He kissed you as he chased his own release, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your hips as he drove into you one last time and groaned your name.

You felt him come inside you, hot and deep.

He held you there for a moment, both of you breathing hard.

You blinked up at him, dazed and ruined.

“I think that coffee had a half-life of about six hours,” he said.

You groaned.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ve got plenty of time. I can help you come down.”

He smiled.

You were absolutely screwed.

[alastorssimp]

A Demon in the Night - 3

demon!Eddie Munson x (she/her) reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After seeing what was recorded that night, dread filled her as the night swindled down. Goosebumps covered the surface of her arms. Despite her eyes being sore from exhaustion, her mind was fighting her to stay awake.

Warnings: Supernatural, demons, horror, graphic details of wounds, thriller-ish, some fluff, eventual smut.

She didn't want to slip into sleep.

She couldn’t. Not after what she saw. Not after the way it touched her.

But tonight, she had a plan.

A kitchen knife sat hidden beneath her pillow, the handle cool against her fingertips. It wasn’t much—not against whatever that thing was—but it could do some damage. It made her feel like she still had some say and control in her own goddamn house.

Her dream. Her money. Her name on the deed.

She wasn’t going to be chased out by something with claws and curls and a tail that moved like it was mocking her.

She had her sheets pulled up to her chin, her eyes closed just enough to fake sleep. Her heart thundered under her ribs like a warning drum, but she didn’t flinch. She laid in bed, still as a statue, prepared for it to come. 

She waited.

The clock ticked—eyes became heavy.

2:12 a.m.

The air changed.

Thickened. Slowed. Like the night had taken a breath and held it.

And then—the floor creaked.

Just once.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But she knew. It was here again.

A whisper of shadow crossed the far side of the room. The temperature dropped, not cold, but cool, like something had opened a door between here and somewhere else. She could feel it draw nearer, inch by inch.

Another creak.

Then—the mattress dipped.

It settled at the foot of the bed, the same exact way it had in the footage. Slow. Confident. Comfortable.

Like a pet curling up beside its favorite person.

Her fingers tightened around the knife.

And then—a whisper.

“Trying something new tonight, are we?”

The voice was rough, low, and maddeningly amused.

She jolted upright. The knife flashed out from beneath her pillow, blade catching the sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

He froze.

His gaze dropped to the weapon, then flicked back up—smirking like he’d just walked in on something adorable.

No longer a shadow. No longer just a shape in the dark.

He sat crouched at the foot of her bed like he belonged there—tall, lean, coiled like something that hunted for fun. Pale skin stretched over sharp features, and thick, unruly curls framed a face that might've been boyish—almost pretty—if not for the glowing red eyes. Tiny horns poked through the mess of hair. Fangs peeked past the curl of his lip. A tail flicked lazily behind him, brushing against her comforter like a cat in mid-stretch.

And he was smirking at her. Like this was all a game.

“Didn’t peg you for the stabby type,” he drawled, glancing at the knife. “Though I gotta say... it’s kind of hot.”

“Get out of my house.” Her voice was sharp, unwavering. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you’re not staying.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” he purred, tilting his head. “You bought the house. You didn’t check the attic crawlspace terms and conditions.”

“I saw you. I saw what you did.”

He lifted a clawed hand like he was swearing an oath. “Technically? I curled up and kept you warm. You didn’t seem to mind. All that soft snoring, the way you mumbled—”

“I will cut you.”

“Noted.”

He didn’t look worried. If anything, he looked amused. Like he’d been threatened a thousand times before and never once bothered to leave.

“I don’t want you here. Get out.”

“I come with the foundation,” he said casually. “I’m in the walls. In the brick. You’re not haunted—you’re cohabitating.”

Her grip on the knife tightened. “Leave. Or I’ll stick this in you.”

That gave him pause—not fear, just... interest.

He lowered into a crouch, red eyes gleaming like embers.

“You’re not scared,” he said, tasting the words. “You’re mad.”

“I’ve got nothing left,” she hissed. “I poured everything into this place. I’m not leaving. So whatever the hell you are? Back off—or get put down.”

His grin widened, fangs catching the light.

And then he purred.

“I think I’m starting to like you.”

The blade didn’t waver, not even when he crawled closer—slow, deliberate, like a cat considering whether to bat something off the counter.

“You’re bold,” he murmured, eyes locked on her. “I like bold.”

“Back. Off.” She jabbed the knife toward him.

He stilled, gaze flicking lazily to the point of the blade.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, and reached out—gripping the blade.

Her breath hitched.

She watched it pierce his palm, clean and deep. Watched as no blood spilled. As the skin closed, healed, like nothing had happened.

He let go, grinning wider.

“Sorry to disappoint, but mortal toys don’t work on me.” He winked, rising to a slow prowl as he circled her bed. “Most people scream. Or cry. Sage everywhere. It’s a whole thing. But you? You’re different.”

“I won’t forget what you did.”

He tilted his head. “You mean the part where I scratched your ankle or the part where I held you like a goddamn weighted blanket and kept your nightmares away?”

She flinched.

He caught it.

“Ohhh,” he cooed, faux-guilty. “You liked that part.”

“You don’t get to touch me,” she snapped. “And you don’t get to leave bruises on my body.”

“Didn’t,” he said quickly. “Not really. The bruises happen when your body fights the night terrors. The cuts? Barely grazes. Call it demon hospitality. A polite tuck-in. You’re welcome.”

She lunged.

Just enough to make him jerk back.

His smirk faltered for half a heartbeat.

Then a chuckle. Low. Raspy.

“You’ve got teeth. That’s new.” He leaned against her dresser, claws tapping against the wood. “The last one cried. During the exorcism. After. Honestly, exhausting.”

“Then go haunt someone more fragile.”

He looked her over like she’d offered him something vintage and rare.

“But you’re interesting. Angry. Sharp. And really, really pretty when you’re pissed.”

She didn’t lower the knife.

He stepped forward, just enough to feel close. Not enough to touch—just enough for her to feel his heat, like standing too close to fire.

“Want me gone?” he said, voice dropping like a slow burn. “Figure out how to banish me. Otherwise? I’ll slip back into the dark. Into whatever part of your house you forgot to bless.”

She didn’t answer.

And that pause?

He devoured it.

His grin turned smug. Slow. Inevitable.

“See?” he whispered. “You don’t want me gone. Not really.”

“Right now?” she said, throat tight. “I want you out of my bed.”

Her chest rose with a sharp inhale—fury scraping against fear, or maybe something worse: curiosity.

That was the part that scared her most.

He leaned in, his voice curling around her like smoke.

“You can keep the knife under your pillow,” he whispered. “I like it when it gets rough. Makes things fun.”

And just like that—he vanished.

Smoke. Shadow. Gone.

She was left alone, knife trembling faintly in her hand.

The bed was still warm at the foot where he’d crouched.

He wasn’t gone.

He was just letting her think she had a choice.

[alastorssimp]

This..

This is poetry!!!

This is *chefs kiss*

Aahhhhhh

I'm on my knees in need of more 🥺🥺🥺

𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Series masterlist 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.

[alastorssimp]

Masterlist

Hello!

My name is Jade! i am new to writing, i like to write for Spencer Reid, Eddie Munson and Logan Howlett (and probably more to come!)

Under the hood -Eddie munson x steve harrington x y/n secretary reader (18+)

A Real man knows - Mechanic Eddie x younger neighbor (18+) Pt 2 Sweet Aftercare (18+)

The Cabin by the lake - Spencer Reid x Eddie Munson x Logan Howlett x Jade (O.C) The cabin by the lake pt 2.

Behind the mask -(18+) Spencer reid × reader. Dark Romance vibes,

[alastorssimp]

Me with this story,

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 59 (Human Alastor x Widowed Reader)

CW: Blood AN: Upcoming bonus chapter Wednesday next week thanks to Lady! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

You watched Alastor walk confidently down the stairs, taking each step as if he walked the path hundreds of times. It never stopped amazing you how he could look to be so at home in another man’s home. 

But this wasn’t another man’s home anymore, was it?

Laurence was gone. No, he wasn’t gone, not yet at least. What he was, was dead. He was laid out on the floor of his office in a sea of his own blood, cooling. 

You did that to him. 

The thought made your stomach roll. Bile clawed up your throat, and you fought back the urge to vomit. That urge came paired with the desire to grab fistfuls of your hair and scream.

Neither would be helpful right now.

Alastor gave you a task. That was what you focused on. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to start. 

The water sloshed loudly in the bucket as you wrung the rag out. In hindsight, it would have made more sense to have filled the bucket up in this bathroom instead of having filled it in the kitchen and carrying it here, but you hadn’t been thinking. 

You pushed back the urge to cry, something you thought of as illogical. Laurence hurt you. You didn’t love him. He wasn’t a good man. There was no reason for you to cry over him, over his death. 

But you wanted to. 

Instead of crying over a man who didn’t deserve it, you pushed every thought that wasn’t about Alastor out of your mind. 

He was what mattered. 

If one of you were to be arrested for this, you needed it to be you. It was your fault he was in this mess. 

The water in the bathtub turned pinkish. You told yourself it was just the soaps or oils as you reached in, pulling the drain stopper. Good. That was a good start. Next was the sink. 

You could do this. 

You had to do this. 

Blood dried on the counter, smears and splashes from Alastor washing the blood from his face. It felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like just a few seconds ago. Closing your eyes, you took a few slow, deep breaths and told yourself it was just a mess. 

That was all it was.

You’d cleaned up plenty of bloody messes before. This did not differ from when you cleaned them before. It’s just, this time, it wasn’t your blood you wiped away. 

Your eyes met Alastor’s in the mirror as you scrubbed the blood from the sink. Seeing him reassured you. He believed in you and the warmth of that was enough to pull a smile to your face. 

“I’m almost done here.” 

Alastor nodded, dipping a rag he brought up with him into the bucket. “I’ll start on the floor.” 

It was still strange to you how Alastor would clean. That wasn’t something you were used to seeing from the men in your life. It wasn’t something you were sure you could ever get used to. 

After a moment more of thought, your focus returned to cleaning the last of the dried blood from the sink. The glass tincture bottle Laurence had grown so dependent on clattered on the hard surface as you knocked it over. The sound cut through the peace Alastor’s humming had brought to scrubbing away blood. 

The rag splashed slightly, falling into the bucket with hardly a thought. Your attention was focused on the little brown bottle rolling loudly in the sink basin. This was the bottle that had provided you an ounce of relief when the pain was too great. It sang to you, promising a poison gift that you were always terrified to accept.

It was also this bottle that had so much influence on Laurence. It wasn’t something you could dwell on before, but now? He was worse with it and better with it. It changed him, making him more extreme. 

Rage bubbled up in you. Flames of anger ignited, fanned by every time Laurence shoved his bitter tongue in your mouth, forcing your body to accept his. Each memory came hotter, demanding more anger to replace any ounce of grief that dared to find a place in your heart for what was done. 

Each strike. Each blow. Each bloodstain. Each time a pregnancy took root, only to be knocked from your womb before it could birth a baby. Each time you told yourself that it was nothing more than your monthly cycle being a little strange. Each lost dream. Each shattered hope.

Alastor’s hand wrapped around yours, stopping its forward momentum before it could really begin. It was right then that you realized your arm was cocked back, fingers wrapped so tightly around the little brown bottle. 

“No,” Alastor said softly. “I understand the desire, but now is not the time.” 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered out, shocked by your impulsive actions.

“It’s alright,” Alastor placed a soft kiss, now no longer masquerading as anything but a kiss, to the side of your temple. “Right now, we must focus on anything we can use to get out of this. We may need to use his addiction to our favor.” 

“Addiction?” You watched as Alastor carefully set the bottle down, lining the bottom up with the stained rings on the counter. 

“No one using it just for pain purchases it so often that the pharmacist cuts them off.” Alastor said it as if it was simple. “We’re just about done in here.” 

“What next?” you asked, following on his heels as he carried the bucket of refreshed water out of the bathroom.

“If you cannot do this,” Alastor said, forcing himself to mind his tone as he stopped in front of the office door, “then I will do it myself.” 

“I can,” you insisted, though in your heart you didn’t know if that was true. “I want to at least try. It’s- this is my fault.” 

He turned to you, resting a large hand on your cheek to ensure you paid attention to what he was going to say. His warm brown eyes threatened to swallow you. 

“None of this is your fault.” 

“Alastor,” you sighed. “You got hurt because-” 

“I got hurt because Laurence was a brute, the same reason you got hurt again and again. That is no one’s fault but his. He paid the price for it.” 

Alastor strode into the room unbothered by the blood and clutter. You hesitated, lingering in the doorway for a few moments longer before stepping inside. The room was too silent, dust floating through the harsh sunlight. The only thing you could hear was the beating of your heart and your harsh breathing. 

“Do you know where he keeps the key to his desk?” Alastor asked, carefully stepping around the blood and books on the floor. 

“I don’t.” You struggled to keep your eyes off the man that you’d been married to for years, laying broken on the floor. It was hard not to look at him when Alastor knelt over the body, shoving his hands in Laurence’s pockets as if they were on a doll. “What are you-?” 

“If a man keeps his desk locked, there’s something in there he doesn’t want seen. Whatever it is, it could help us.” Alastor rolled Laurence slightly, reaching into his other pocket. “There we are.”

The keys jingled loudly as Alastor pulled the ring from Laurence’s pocket. You were helpless to stop your eyes from moving, following the drying blood soaked into Laurence’s side up his torso. His neck gaped open in a grewsome second mouth, grinning at you. 

“Oh, God.” The words came out choked as bile rose in your throat, threatening to force itself out. It took every ounce of effort you had to swallow it down. Getting sick would only make the mess worse. You couldn’t do that to Alastor. He was already doing so much because of what you did. 

“Don’t look at him.”

Your eyes snapped to Alastor at the sound of his voice. If he could be calm and controlled right now, you could too. You had to be. 

“What can I do?” Your voice sounded far weaker than you wanted it to.

Alastor looked at you, eyebrow raised. “Look for my buttons. Anywhere you see handprints, smear it with the rag. Don’t wipe it up, just smear it.” 

“Why only-?” 

“If we clean it, it’ll look intentional. The last thing I need is the bulls to get any prints.” Alastor rarely had to worry about prints. He wasn’t sloppy. He wore gloves when he hunted. None of it mattered. Today he was sloppy. Today, his prints were everywhere. 

“Okay,” you carefully worked through the space, telling yourself that the red you wiped and smeared was little more than just paint. Each time you found a little brown button, ripped from Alastor’s shirt, you plucked it up and slipped it carefully into your dress pocket, continuing to wipe and smear the blood. 

It was only paint. Nothing to be worried about. 

While you worked, Alastor’s warm humming wrapped around you. It put your mind at ease, each note seeming to pull the muscles in your shoulders back, softening them. 

Alastor busied himself with the desk. There was little of note on the surface, at least to most anyone else looking. The snuff box sat, recently refilled and reeking, when opened. 

“Do you come in here often?” The sound of Alastor’s voice startled you out of the light trance you worked yourself into. 

“No, not often.” You struggled to your feet before taking careful steps to join Alastor’s side, standing somewhere you had never been- behind the desk. “He kept the office locked. The last time I’ve been in here was when you were here for dinner, before-” 

“The day you claimed what was yours.” Alastor teased, forcing a smile to your face. 

“What?” You couldn’t help the light laugh that slipped between your lips. Now wasn’t the time for this and yet, Alastor made it all feel right. 

“My heart,” Alastor’s boyish smile widened into a grin as you rewarded him with your attention. The more he could keep you focused on him, the less he had to worry about you falling into the trap of regret. 

“You’re a charmer,” you laughed before the wall calendar caught your eye. “What are these?” Your fingertips ghosted the looping letter E written on the pages of the calendar. “Meetings?” 

Alastor’s eyes flicked over the days before answering, “Emma. Those are the days he planned meetings with his mistress.” 

Alastor watched you as he unlocked the drawer, waiting to see what your reaction to another proof of your late husband’s infidelity was going to be. The corners of your mouth pulled tense. Tears simmered in your eyes before you blinked them back. 

“I wonder if he loved her?” you mused instead, voice soft. 

“I don’t know,” Alastor answered honestly. “Perhaps we’ll find out.” 

“What do you mean?” You hugged your arms around your middle as you stepped closer to Alastor’s side. 

“Do you know what I keep locked in my desk?” Alastor asked instead of answering, only continuing to speak when you shook your head. “I keep the letters you put under the tree. Every single one of them.” 

The sentimentality of the action hit you like a physical blow. It was Alastor that advised you both burn the notes. It was better that there was no evidence. It was better that they did not risk anyone finding out about them. 

“Your letters are in the mattress.” Alastor’s smile turned sharper for a moment at your words. It was dangerous, a risk you shouldn’t have taken, but that you valued his words enough to take that risk, stroked something inside him, that part of him he thought he didn’t have. “I couldn’t bear to burn them.” 

“I’ll take them with me when I leave,” Alastor spoke as he pulled a fat stack of envelopes from the drawer. “It’s better investigators don’t find them.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say. The very idea of Alastor taking those letters from you broke your heart. He was right, though. You needed to not have them. It didn’t make the string any less. 

Alastor was quick to notice the shift, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on the side of your head. “I’ll hold on to them for you. You can have them back and more when they’ve cleared out.” 

“More?” 

Alastor hummed in response as he flipped through the stacks of papers. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll have no reason to not deliver them to the door now or post them. Though I suppose I’ll still put them under the tree for the sake of sentimentality.” 

“What are those?” The bright red ink on the papers stole your attention from the way his words made your heart flutter. 

Alastor slowed the flipping of the pages. “Past Due” screamed up at you on page after page. “Final Notice” was also frequently printed on the pages. Unpaid invoice after unpaid invoice flipped through Alastor’s fingers. “Notice of Eviction” was printed on a paper, listing the address of the marketing offices. 

“What’s this?” Your voice was little more than a whisper as you stilled Alastor’s hand with a light touch. 

Above you, he looked on silently, reading the words along with you. He didn’t need to read it to know what it said. An eviction notice was pretty straightforward. He was more interested in your reaction. 

“What does this mean? What happened to the offices?” 

“I imagine they’re gone,” Alastor said carefully. 

“Gone?”

“I’m sorry, Cher.” Alastor kept his voice soft as he watched the sadness wash over your face. No tears came with it. It was a bitter sadness as the reality of your household financial situation unveiled itself to you. “It appears Laurence hasn’t been able to cover his financial responsibilities for a good while now. Did you not know?”

Alastor knew you didn’t know.

“No,” you whispered. “What is going to happen to me?” 

Alastor set the stack of papers down, directing all his attention to you. “You will be alright.” 

“How do you know?” Your hands came to rest on his chest as he wrapped you in his arms. “I’m widowed with what? Nothing? Where will I go?”

“Breathe, Cher.” Alastor had to bend his knees a little to rest his forehead against yours. “You will be alright. Nothing is changing for you. You’re only aware now. I will not allow anything to happen to you.” 

He could feel your muscles under his hands, the light start of trembling threatening to give way to panic. He tilted his head and sealed his lips against yours, kissing away what threatened to pull you under. 

It was intended to just calm you. A soft reminder that you were not alone, that he was there. You sighed into the kiss, leaning against his chest as he pulled you closer. Something about the way you sighed made him want to make you do it again. 

He nipped at the soft swell of your lip, wanting to claim more of you. He needed more of you. You gave into him willingly, lips parting as you sucked in a breath. Alastor’s tongue slipped between your lips as his fingers dug into the hair at the back of your head, gripping you as if you’d somehow float away from him. 

The desk rattled as your hip bumped into it, body pinned between the harsh wooden edge and Alastor. Pain flashed through you as the wood bit into your hip, drawing a moan up your throat only to be swallowed by Alastor. 

He pulled away, gasping as he tried to claw back his control. 

“Once we’ve gotten out of this mess,” Alastor whispered, lips so close to yours that you could feel the brush of his full lips against yours, “I am never letting you go.” 

“Promise?” You clung to him as you breathed him in. “Do you promise?” 

“I’d kill every person in this cursed city if I needed to in order to keep you in my arms.” 

The dark promise wrapped around you, caressing every part of your heart and soul. There was no reason to doubt the honesty of those words when the proof lay on the ground on the other side of the desk, cooling more and more with every passing minute. It should have terrified you and yet you wanted it. 

“I’d kill for you, too.” You whispered the words, terrified of them as the truth of them washed over you as each syllable passed over your lips. 

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[alastorssimp]

Under the hood

Eddie munson x steve harrington x y/n reader

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS:

🔞 Explicit sexual content / Smut / NSFW

💔 Infidelity / Cheating (Eddie is in a relationship)

🛠️ Mechanic shop setting / Workplace sex

👄 Oral sex (including under-the-desk BJs with customers nearby)

🔧 Semi-public sex / Risk of being caught

👨‍🔧👨‍🔧👩 Threesome (M/M/F)

🫢 Secret relationships / Lying / Deception

🫦 Degradation, praise kink, dirty talk

🤬 Language / Crude dialogue

🧠 Dubious morals / Questionable ethics

🚫 No condom / Unsafe sex

🥵 Rough sex, manhandling, slight possessiveness

🧨 plot with lots of filth

🔥 3k words of filth so potent it voids your HR policy

(Divider curtesy of @thecutestgrotto 🥰)

It always started the same way.

A lull in the grind of the day. The clang of a wrench hitting the floor. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. Customers gone, workers on lunch, phones quiet. The air in the garage hung heavy with heat, the smell of oil, and the unspoken tension between Y/N and Eddie Munson.

Y/N had only been working at the shop for a year. Hired on the spot when Eddie’s uncle Wayne mentioned they needed help with paperwork and someone who could organize the chaos the guys left in their wake. She’d been quiet at first—sweet and polite, with long red hair she kept twisted up in a clip, her curves barely hidden beneath the mechanic-branded polo shirts and tight black pants.

But Eddie had noticed. Oh, he noticed.

She was younger, sharp-tongued when she got comfortable, and when she leaned over the counter to ask if he wanted a soda? His brain short-circuited. The flirtation was playful at first, innocent enough. Harmless.

Until that day in September. Rain pounding outside. The two of them alone. Eddie leaned over the hood of a Charger he’d been elbow-deep in for hours, and Y/N wandered in with a clipboard. She cracked a joke. He smirked. And then she said, "You missed a spot."

When he asked where, she pointed to his cheek. Then wiped at it with her thumb.

The kiss that followed was messy. Desperate. His hands gripped her hips like he’d die if he let go. She pulled him by his collar into the bathroom in the back, locked the door, and for the next eleven minutes, they forgot who they were supposed to be.

And that was the beginning.

Now? It was practically routine. If business was slow, you could bet Y/N was pinned between Eddie and the wall of the employee bathroom. Or bent over his workbench, engine diagrams sliding to the floor beneath her. Sometimes, if the mood struck, he’d lift her onto the hood of whatever car he was fixing—tools forgotten, her fingers white-knuckling the edge of metal while he left fingerprints on her hips.

They didn’t talk about what it meant. Or how it felt. Or the fact that Eddie had a girlfriend.

Heather. Blonde. Preppy. Sweet, in a way Y/N could never be. She brought muffins for the boys on Fridays and kissed Eddie’s cheek when she picked him up in her little white Civic. She had no idea. Not really.

But Heather wasn’t stupid.

Twice now, she’d walked into the shop unannounced. Once just as Eddie was zipping up his pants behind the office door. Y/N had her shirt half undone, her lips flushed. She spun toward the file cabinet and muttered something about inventory while Eddie called out “Hey, babe” like nothing was wrong.

The second time, Heather had walked in just as Eddie finished pressing Y/N’s thighs apart over his toolbox bench. Y/N heard the jingle of the bell, shoved him back, and dropped behind the desk with a frantic whisper of “Fix your pants, Munson!”

Heather had blinked. Tilted her head.

“Was someone else in here?”

“Nah,” Eddie lied smoothly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just me and the radio.”

Still. It couldn’t last forever. Y/N knew that.

She hated how her heart skipped when Eddie looked at her like she was the only girl alive. How he whispered things like, “You feel better than any girl I’ve ever had,” while pulling her panties down behind the garage door. How sometimes, after he came, he’d rest his forehead to hers and breathe like she was the only oxygen he had left.

But he always left. Got in Heather’s car. Smiled like a boyfriend should.

And Y/N was left with grease-smudged thighs, a clipboard in hand, and a growing ache in her chest she didn’t dare name.

Until the day came when the ache got too loud.

Heather arrived again, this time with cupcakes. She smiled at Y/N—genuinely. Called her “hon” and offered her one with sprinkles. Y/N’s stomach turned.

She turned back to the desk, gripping the edge, while Heather wrapped her arms around Eddie’s neck.

“I was thinking maybe we could move in together,” Heather said softly. “I found a place.”

Y/N froze.

Eddie didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Y/N. Just a flick of his eyes. Fast. But she caught it.

“I... we’ll talk about it,” he mumbled.

And Y/N knew then—knew—that she was losing him.

That night, when the shop was quiet and Heather had gone, Eddie found Y/N in the back room. She was leaning against the file cabinet, arms crossed, hair wild from humidity.

“You gonna say it?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him.

“Say what?”

“That I’m a piece of shit.”

She shrugged.

“You are. But that’s not news, Munson.”

He stepped closer. Hands in his pockets.

“Don’t want to hurt you, Red.”

She scoffed.

"Too late for that.”

They didn’t sleep together that night. Didn’t even kiss.

But the next day? The tension was worse than ever. And when Eddie yanked her behind the stack of tires during lunch break and kissed her like he was starving—Y/N didn’t stop him.

She knew she was playing with fire. She just couldn’t bring herself to put it out.

It was a slow Thursday. The kind of day where time moved thick and sticky like molasses, and the fans spinning above couldn’t cut the heat in the air—or the tension.

Eddie had been watching her all morning. Watching the way Y/N’s hips swayed as she restocked oil filters. How she licked cupcake frosting off her thumb without realizing he was watching. She wore that same tight little pencil skirt she knew drove him nuts, and he? Oh, he was already sporting grease on his jaw and a familiar ache in his jeans.

So when the others left for lunch, and the shop fell quiet?

Eddie didn’t even bother with pretense.

He tugged her into the garage—hands under her skirt before the door even shut behind them. Y/N was laughing, trying to scold him, but she never really meant it.

Not when his fingers were already slipping into her underwear.

He pushed her back onto the hood of a half-fixed Firebird, the metal warm beneath her thighs. Her shirt was halfway undone, bra pulled down, skirt hiked up around her waist. Eddie leaned over her, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisted in her hair.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, rocking his hips into her.

“You—oh.. fuck—only you, Munson,” she gasped, nails dragging down his back.

And then—

CLANG.

The back door slammed.

“Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

They both froze.

Steve Harrington stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses, almost dropping his coffee, and staring at the very naked truth unfolding on the hood of a Firebird.

Y/N squeaked, scrambling to pull her shirt shut. Eddie? He just turned his head, blinked at Steve, and grinned.

“Hey man,” Eddie said, totally unfazed. “You wanna join or just watch?”

“What the fuck—” Steve repeated, voice cracking.

Y/N let out a strangled noise—half shock, half a why-is-he-like-this whimper—while Eddie casually adjusted himself, leaning on the car like he wasn’t mid-thrust two seconds ago.

“Eddie!” Y/N hissed, smacking his shoulder.

“What?” he shrugged. “Stevie's cool. He looks like he’s into it. Look at him. Mouth open. Coffee shaking. That’s not a no.”

Steve blinked. “I—I came for keys! Not a damn porno!”

“You sure?” Eddie teased, licking his thumb and dragging it slowly down Y/N’s stomach, just to make Steve flinch. “’Cause we could always use an extra set of hands...”

Steve made a strangled noise and turned on his heel so fast he nearly knocked over the mop bucket.

“I hate it here. I’m going to church.”

The door slammed behind him.

Silence.

Then She slapped Eddie’s chest, breathless and red-faced. “You idiot!”

“You liked it,” he said smugly.

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” she snapped back, cheeks burning.

Eddie just smirked and kissed her hard.

“Next time, I’m locking the damn door.”

She huffed, but pulled him back down by the collar anyway

Steve’s POV

Steve Harrington had come to the auto shop for one reason.

One. Reason.

Grab the goddamn keys Eddie left in the back of his van. That was it. In and out. No drama. Maybe he’d swing by Scoops for a free cone on the way out, flirt with the girl at the counter, feel like he still had it after his most recent dating disaster—a yoga instructor who ghosted him mid-downward dog.

Easy. Breezy. Low-effort day.

Except no one told him he was walking into Eddie Munson’s Grease Lightning XXX Edition.

The second he stepped inside and rounded the corner—he saw it.

Y/N. Gorgeous, red-haired secretary Y/N, bent backwards over the hood of a Firebird, shirt undone, skirt around her waist.

And Eddie. That smug, curly-haired bastard? Balls deep and smirking like he was filming a scene for a VHS tape called Backdoor Body Shop.

Steve almost dropped his coffee. “Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

And then—and then—Eddie had the audacity to ask if he wanted to join. Like they were ordering pizza. Like this was casual.

Steve spun on his heel and practically bolted out the door.

His heart was racing. His face was on fire. His brain was running like a Windows 95 dial-up modem with a virus. And below the belt?

Yeah. Awkward boner city.

He made it three steps toward his car. Three. Before he stopped. Dead in his tracks.

His hands were shaking.

His pulse was thudding.

And that image—Y/N gasping, Eddie gripping her hips, the sound she made—it was seared into his damn skull like a branding iron.

Steve stared at the keys on the pavement.

He’d had a really bad streak with women lately. Like, “rom-com protagonist who gets rejected at the altar” level bad. He was tired. He was horny. And clearly, the universe had handed him a front-row seat to something… fun.

And Eddie had offered. Casually. Like it wouldn’t even be weird.

Steve looked over his shoulder at the door. Then up at the sky.

“…fuck it.”

He turned around and walked right back inside.

---

Eddie had Y/N on the hood again, shirt half-open, his hands under her skirt when the door creaked open.

“...Steve?” She blinked and tried To move

Eddie looked over his shoulder, eyebrows up, cheeks flushed. “Thought you ran off to confess your sins.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Thought about it.”

“Changed your mind?”

“I mean…” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “...you did say you needed a third set of hands.”

Eddie’s grin went feral.

“Ohh, Harrington. We’re gonna ruin you.”

Her jaw dropped—but her thighs instinctively squeezed together.

Steve stepped forward slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he reached for his belt. “Go easy on me.”

Eddie turned back to Y/N, voice low.

“You okay with this, sweetheart?”

She bit her lip. Her eyes flicked between them—and lord help her, the idea of both of them, hands and mouths and that slow, sexy smirk Steve had… it sent shivers everywhere.

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s wreck him.”Three’s a Crowd, But Who’s Complaining?”

Steve couldn’t quite believe where he was standing.

One second he was dropping his damn coffee and running like a flustered virgin, the next… he had Y/N—Y/N!—on her knees in front of him, red hair wild, mascara already smudged, and lips stretched wide around his cock.

“Jesus Christ—” he choked, gripping the edge of the hood behind him.

Eddie leaned beside him, arms folded, watching like a man at a drive-in—except this show was way better than popcorn and car chases.

“Fuck, look at you, Harrington,” Eddie purred, licking his lips. “Didn’t know you were packin’ like that. No wonder you walk around like you’ve got back problems.”

Steve couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying to keep his soul in his body while y/N gagged prettily around his length, tears beading at the corners of her eyes—but she didn’t stop. No, she took it, pushing deeper, letting out soft, sinful little moans like she loved choking on it.

Eddie crouched down beside her, one hand stroking her hair, voice low and teasing.

“Good girl, huh? You like showing off for him?”

Y/N nodded with his cock still in her mouth, humming just to feel Steve twitch.

“She’s fuckin’ filthy, man,” Eddie kept going, grinning as he watched her hands fist in Steve’s shirt. “Loves being watched. Loves being full. Loves messy. You’re gonna ruin her makeup, Stevie.”

Y/N gave a particularly loud slurp, and Steve whimpered. He had never whimpered before in his life, and yet—here we were.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, one hand moving to Y/N’s hair before pausing, unsure.

Eddie noticed. “You can touch her, Steve. She likes it rough. She’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

With Eddie’s encouragement ringing in his ears, Steve threaded his fingers into her red hair and guided her, hips stuttering as he accidentally hit the back of her throat.

“F-fuck, sorry—”

She moaned in response, eyes fluttering closed, and Eddie laughed.

“She’s sorry you stopped,” he muttered, palming himself lazily through his jeans. “Isn’t that right, Red?”

She pulled off with a wet gasp, a trail of spit connecting her lips to Steve’s cock, her eyes shining.

“Don’t be gentle,” she whispered. “I can take it.”

Steve blinked like he’d been slapped. “Oh my God.”

Eddie smirked and stood up, hand coming to wrap around Steve’s shoulder.

“Welcome to the dark side, Harrington. We spit, we bite, and no one’s pants survive.”

Steve was too far gone to care. She had already taken him in again, bobbing her head with purpose while Eddie reached down to spread her ass, teasing the slick mess gathering between her thighs.

“Once she’s nice and soaked,” Eddie murmured, voice filthy in Steve’s ear, “you’re gonna bend her over this car, and we’re gonna share.”

Steve let out a broken sound somewhere between a moan and a prayer.

Y/N gagged again. And again.

And still kept going.

And Steve?

He was starting to think coming for keys might’ve been the best decision of his

She barely had time to catch her breath before Eddie had her up on her feet and bent over the hood of the car. The metal was warm under her skin, but not as hot as her flushed cheeks or the dripping heat between her thighs.

“Hands flat, baby,” Eddie murmured, guiding her down. “Show Stevie how pretty you arch that back.”

Steve stood frozen for a second, flushed red from chest to hairline. “She’s… fuck, she’s dripping.”

Eddie grinned. “Told you she likes being watched.”

She moaned when she felt Eddie’s fingers tease between her legs, spreading her open. “So wet already,” he muttered, tongue practically hanging out as he looked back at Steve. “You ever see something this perfect and just wanna wreck it?”

Steve stepped closer. His cock twitched, still slick with spit, and when he brushed it against her lips again—Y/N whimpered.

“Let me taste you again,” she begged, voice ragged and desperate.

Eddie’s grin turned feral. “You heard her, golden boy. Feed it to her.”

Steve didn't need more convincing. He pushed past her lips, his hand in her hair again, more confident now—thrusting slow and deep while Eddie knelt behind her and dragged his tongue through her folds like a man starved.

Y/N gasped around Steve’s cock as Eddie moaned against her, tongue curling and flicking in ways that made her legs shake. The sensation of both of them—one in her mouth, one on her pussy—was overwhelming.

“Fuck, she’s clenching,” Eddie mumbled, breath hot against her. “She’s close, Stevie. Feel her moaning around you?”

Steve groaned, fingers tightening. “She’s—Jesus Christ—she’s gagging on me while she’s coming.”

Eddie didn’t stop. He licked her through it, two fingers curling inside her as she trembled, sobbing around Steve’s cock with messy tears streaming down her cheeks.

When she finally pulled back, panting, lips swollen and slick, she looked up at them both with that wicked, satisfied smile.

“Switch.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“I want Steve inside,” she said, voice rough. “I want you in my mouth while he fucks me.”

Eddie practically growled. “Yes ma’am.”

They moved like predators with a shared kill—Y/N guided back onto the hood, ass up, Eddie sliding in front of her as Steve lined up behind.

The second Steve pushed inside—slow and thick and fucking deep—She cried out and nearly collapsed. He was big, stretching her so perfectly she forgot how to breathe.

“F-fuck—Steve—”

“She tight?” Eddie rasped, watching her eyes roll back.

“So tight,” Steve gritted out, hips rocking into her with shaky control.

Eddie leaned in, feeding her his cock slowly, one hand on the back of her head.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed, voice low and dirty. “Stuffed at both ends, just how you like it.”

Y/N couldn’t answer. Her mouth was full. Her body was full. Her mind? Gone. Absolutely obliterated.

They found a rhythm, Steve pounding into her from behind while Eddie fucked her mouth slow and deep, watching her take it all. Filthy praise passed between them—Eddie calling her his favorite toy, Steve whispering how beautiful she looked all fucked out.

And when she came again—tightening, shaking, moaning around Eddie’s cock?

They both followed. Steve buried deep with a strangled groan. Eddie gripped her hair and spilled across her tongue.

Silence hit like a dropped wrench.

Heavy breathing. Sweat-slicked skin. Y/N still bent over, boneless, between the two of them.

“Holy shit,” Steve panted, half-laughing. “I’m never gonna be able to look at this car the same way again.”

Eddie chuckled darkly, tucking himself back in. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N turned her head, face flushed and wet and smug.

“You boys always this fun on lunch break?”

Eddie leaned down to kiss her neck. “Only when you’re the main course.”

[alastorssimp]

Oh my gosh that's crazy!!! To lose marks for writing so well 🥴🥴🥴

Well your murder writing is top tier!!

Are we going to see any more murders before MisD ends?

🌑

No more murders in MisD proper but there is at least one MisD murder in the post MisD one shots/epilogue.

I honestly don't know if everyone else enjoys watching Alastor murder as much as I enjoy writing them lol

Get YOUR misD questions answered all month long! We're almost out of asks AND days to the month!

[alastorssimp]

I also enjoy the murder!!

(I like the smut too) but the murder is fun!! I like how you write it! Not everyone goes into such detail with that and I thrive off of your writing!

Are we going to see any more murders before MisD ends?

🌑

No more murders in MisD proper but there is at least one MisD murder in the post MisD one shots/epilogue.

I honestly don't know if everyone else enjoys watching Alastor murder as much as I enjoy writing them lol

Get YOUR misD questions answered all month long! We're almost out of asks AND days to the month!

[alastorssimp]

Play Time

Summary: Spencer is curious about a very interesting toy you ordered

Request by anon (originally requested to my friend @imagining-in-the-margins): Spencer is visiting Reader's house when a package is delivered. Reader forgot she ordered a sextoy. Spencer is curious and asks to open it and is surprised. Reader is embarrassed. Spencer suggests they test it out together. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader, mild embarrassment, praising, use of a sex toy, female masturbation, unprotected penetrative sex, semi-rough sex

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

What was supposed to be one of your usual date nights quickly turned into something a lot more interesting when Spencer walked into your apartment with a package in his hands. You only noticed him entering your living room from the corners of your eyes, still busy preparing dinner. 

"This package was delivered to your doorstep when I got here," he let you know.

"Oh that must be the new book I ordered," you chirped. "Would you mind opening it?" 

After inspecting the shape of the package, Spencer had doubts that he would find a book inside the cardboard. Still, he did as asked, ripping open the box. 

"Huh," he breathed. "That's interesting."

What he found was far more intriguing than any book he had ever seen. It was a very interesting piece of electronics, something Spencer wouldn't have expected you to buy. He couldn't hide the smirk on his face when he walked over to you, the bright pink box in his hands. 

"Is that for when I'm away for work?" He chuckled. 

It took you a second to realize what he was holding, already forgotten was the very lonely night you had a few days ago that prompted you to order the toy. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks and your heart-rate accelerating. 

"Oh my god," you muttered. "I forgot that I ordered that."

As you tried to grab the box, Spencer lifted his hand until it was out of reach. 

"Not so fast," he laughed. "I wasn't done inspecting it."

"Please, Spencer. You weren't even supposed to see it," you begged him, still trying to reach for it. 

He handed it to you at last, wondering, "Why not? It looks fun."

Even though he had already seen it, you still tried to hide the box behind your back, your eyes glued to the floor. He gently brushed over your jaw, pushing your chin up until you would look at him. 

"Don't be embarrassed," he cooed. "I'm glad you have a way to take care of yourself when I'm not here."

"I have never owned anything like that and was curious, that's all," you confessed. 

Spencer placed a soft kiss on your lips before suggesting, "Then maybe you should try it right now?"

Staring at him with wide eyes, you squeaked, "Now?" 

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning down to whisper, "I would love to watch."

He gave you a few moments to think about it but the warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him watching you like that was convincing enough. 

"Okay," you agreed. 

Taking your hand in his, he led you to your bedroom where you placed the boxed toy on the bed. He found your lips in a kiss, deepening it within seconds. Slowly he began undressing you, taking his time to let his hands wander over each patch of skin that was revealed to him. 

"We can stop or do something else at any point," he reminded you the same way he always did when you were together like this. "Remember your safeword?" 

"Yes," you confirmed. 

When the last layer of your clothing dropped to the floor, Spencer pushed you down on the mattress to lay on your back. 

"So beautiful," he groaned as he let his eyes roam over your skin. 

He unpacked the toy and disappeared in the bathroom for a brief moment to clean it, making you wait patiently on the bed. You let your fingertips dance over your body, already getting desperate for more. Spencer came back into the room and sat down on the bed beside you, placing the toy on your nightstand. 

He leaned down to kiss you before his palm brushed down your body, leaving goosebumps on its path. 

"Spread your legs for me," he demanded and you did as told. 

He let his fingers carefully glide over your heat, noticing how your arousal had already begun gathering at your entrance. 

"Getting excited?" He chuckled and you nodded. "You got yourself something very interesting."

He handed you the toy to take a look at it. When he pressed the button for it to turn on, you almost jumped at the sudden vibrations in your hands. You could only imagine how it would feel against your most sensitive spot. 

"I want you to use it exactly as I tell you," he explained as he got up to walk over to an armchair in the corner of your bedroom. He pushed it closer to the bed and sat down. "I'm going to watch from here. Are you okay with this?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now turn the toy to the lowest setting and place it," he ordered. 

You had expected his eyes to stay on your core but once the toy made contact with you, he looked at your face instead. It took you a moment to adjust to the new sensation, moving in little circles until you found the perfect spot. 

Your cheeks must have been glowing by now but you couldn't have cared less. You wanted Spencer to tell you exactly what to do, trusting that he would always take care of you.

"Tell me how it feels."

You thought about it for a second. It was a novel sensation, incredibly arousing but you still felt like you needed more. 

"Feels good. Better than my hand," you snickered. 

"Better than me?" Spencer teased, already knowing the answer. 

You considered answering with Yes just to see his reaction. It was clear that he was not feeling threatened by a toy but you were still curious to know how he'd put you in your place. However, you decided against it. For now. 

"No," you breathed. "Not even close."

"Why don't you turn it up," he suggested and you did.

It was surprising how different the toy felt at a higher setting. It was getting very hard for you not to get lost in the pleasure, the strong vibrations against your core already clouding your mind. 

Spencer was aware of the state you were in, curious how much you could handle. "Can you take more than that?"

You pressed the button again and your whole body began trembling, everything getting almost too much. It became almost impossible to keep your eyes open but you tried to anyway. When a loud moan threatened to escape your mouth, you bit on your lips instead. Spencer noticed. 

"Let me hear you," he groaned.

Your mouth opened to let the sounds of your pleasure escape, earning praise from your boyfriend, "Good girl."

With one hand holding the toy firmly against your center and the other caressing your own chest, you fell over the edge within moments.

"That was fast," Spencer chuckled, watching each of your reactions intently. 

Your thighs were still trembling when you turned off the toy in an attempt to recover from the intense stimulation. 

"I didn't tell you to stop, did I?" Spencer scoffed. "Turn it back on."

"Spencer, I–," you tried without even knowing what exactly you wanted to say. 

"I'm sure you can give me another one," he encouraged you with more kindness in his voice than before. "Try the lowest setting again."

Doing as you were told, you were surprised by how pleasant it still felt. You moved the toy through your glistening folds before focussing on your most sensitive spot once more, a quiet sigh falling from your lips. 

Spencer reached out his hand to make contact with your thigh, whispering, "Is it too much?"

"No, it feels so good," you moaned while locking eyes with him.

"God, you look so stunning like that."

You noticed how his hand wandered to the bulge in his slacks, the outline of his erection clearly visible. He touched himself through the fabric, groaning, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Seeing how aroused he was getting from watching you like this felt exhilarating. You got desperate to feel all of him, already missing the sensation of his skin against yours. 

"I need you, Spencer," you muttered.

He shook his head, letting you know that he wasn't done with you yet. 

"Please," you begged him, "let me look at you at least."

It was as if he took pity in you when he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He took his time to remove his clothes and you watched patiently, every inch of skin he revealed letting the heat inside you grow until it became almost unbearable. When he was sitting completely bare in front of you, he took his own hardness in his hands, giving himself a few slow strokes as he watched you. 

"I need you to come for me," he demanded. "Now."

To follow his order you turned up the toy to a higher setting, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You couldn't help but rock your hips against the toy as your second climax approached. 

Spencer kept his eyes on you when you finally fell apart, cooing, "That's my girl."

He sat down on the bed beside you and took the toy from your hand to set it aside. His palm brushed along your inner thigh while he praised you, "You did so well for me." 

Despite already having found relief twice, you still yearned for more. Feeling him close to you ignited the blazing flame inside you again. You reached out your hand until your fingertips brushed over the velvety skin of his hardness. 

When you wrapped them around him to move over his leaking tip, he groaned in response. Spencer's hand made contact with you as well, dragging his fingers through your dripping crevice before pushing them into you. Your body welcomed the intrusion but it still wasn't enough. 

"Spencer, please."

He leaned down to kiss you before breathing, "Tell me exactly what you want."

Without thinking about it, you whined. "I want to feel your cock inside me, need you to fuck me hard."

"My sweet girl," he purred. "How could I ever deny you that?" 

He positioned himself between your legs and let his tip run through your folds, coating it with your arousal. You squirmed underneath him, getting impatient to finally feel him inside you. You tilted your hips in an attempt to let him enter you but he just teased you some more. 

With slow, almost torturous motions he began pushing his tip into you, watching as you scrunched up your face. He took his time entering you, a sigh falling from his lips when he was fully inside you at last. Your walls enveloped him perfectly as your hearts tried to get in sync deep inside you. 

Leaning over you, he placed a soft kiss on your lips before he began thrusting into you with a ruthless pace. Your whole body shook as he did exactly what you asked him for. It was as if your skin was on fire, desperately burning for Spencer's touch. 

"Your body was made for me," he groaned. "Look how well you take me."

Your sight followed his to where your bodies were joined. Both of you watched in awe as he kept disappearing inside you over and over again. He was right, you really were made for him, eager to take all he had to offer. 

As the room filled with the sound of your joined pleasure, Spencer's movements became erratic. It was obvious how much he enjoyed taking you like this, your body pliable under his touch. Harshly he grabbed your hip, burying his fingertips into your flesh until his markings were left on your skin. 

His pupils were blown to the rim and his skin was glistening as he kept pushing into you. Even with his weight on top of you, you felt like you might start floating any second now. You wrapped your arms and legs around his body to bring him impossibly close, no distance allowed between your bodies. 

Spencer buried his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling against your skin, "Fuck, you feel so good."

With a few more pushes he found release, throbbing at your deepest point as his essence filled you. He placed lazy kisses against your skin as both of you tried to catch your breath, neither of you daring to separate your bodies just yet. 

After slipping out of you at last, he disappeared in the bathroom for a moment and came back with a damp towel. Carefully and thoroughly he cleaned you up, making sure to rid you of the remains of your mixed desire. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Spencer whispered, looking at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes. 

With half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile you nodded and breathed, "Just tired." 

"That's okay," he cooed as he lay down beside you to pull you into his arms. "We can rest for a bit." 

"That's usually how we end our date nights. We haven't even had dinner yet," you snickered as you nestled your face against his chest. 

"I know," he chuckled, kissing your forehead. "I can’t wait to do that again after dinner."

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @spookydrreid @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @s4r4hsblog @sebs-oxygen @reidsmilf @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @airconsbeswag @conniesanchor @jordierama @reaux02 @ellamaianderson @cynbx @feltonswifesworld87 @snowsnow27 @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @l-e-n-a @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @amititties @lover-of-books-and-tea @castiels-majestic-wings @highl1lac

Join my taglist here

[alastorssimp]

Greedy

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: You give Spencer head for the first time as he guides you through it.

CONTENT: (18+) Blowjob. Praise. Crying. Gagging. Bon Appetit.

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: this is totally formatted weird because i did this on a whim in my car at work without my laptop. i also didn’t proofread, sooooo if you see any typos, no you didn’t ❤️

*************

"Do you like having your dick sucked?"

Spencer is silent for approximately seven seconds before you continue, shock rendering his brain utterly useless.

"Sorry. That was a stupid question."

"N—no, it's not at all, I'm just... I didn't expect you to say that out of the blue."

You shuffle your position next to him, coming up to lean on your arm as he looks up at you. You bite your lip and avoid his eyes, his hand coming up to stroke your arm as you consider your words. "Well, I just... I've been thinking about it. I mean, we've been sleeping together for a while now and I've never done it, and I didn't know if it was something you actually cared about or... or what..."

Hearing you ramble and trail off makes him laugh to himself, his hand trailing up to lock your fingers with his. "Do you want to?"

It's your turn to laugh, the breath laced with worry, and regret for even bringing it up. "I'd love to, but... I'm not good at it."

Spencer pauses again, far less than seven seconds this time, the pieces slowly starting to come together. "I doubt that's true, but even if it is, there is not a single thing you could be bad at, in bed or otherwise, that would make me like you any less."

Still, you're relentless in your insecurity over the matter. "No, you don't understand, I'm astronomically bad at it— I can't even brush my teeth without gagging and crying!"

Somehow, despite the laugh that tumbles from him, the brief image of your pretty face flushed and puffy, eyes wet with tears, causes something wicked to stir in him. Still, he aims to comfort you first and push it aside in the meantime—perhaps forever if it would mean your contentment and happiness. To reiterate this point, he leans up and kisses your jaw. "Well, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to until you're ready. Or at all.”

Your body relaxes a little, though your voice remains unsure and small as you ask him, “Can I try?”

Spencer kisses you again, pulling you on top of him and letting your lips bring him one step closer to Heaven. You kiss him softly, sensually, and his body reacts to it with such visceral need that he wonders how he’s lived so much of his life without you.

“Do anything you want, my love,” he whispers against you when you pull away for air. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You melt at his words, literally, as your body comes down over him. It’s like a tidal wave, trust and love and desire all crashing into him at once. There isn’t a single ounce of him that isn’t set alight at the mere phantom of your touch. So, when you’re on him in full force, a careful methodical mission to please him, he may as well be a living embodiment of the sun, burning and blinding and hot.

He watches you intently, trying not to let his eyes close as you continue your descent down the length of him. Your lips are slow and molten, each and every kiss sending a shockwave of excitement coursing through his body. Every so often, your tongue darts out to taste his skin, and the closer it gets to his waist, the harder it is for him to focus.

God, he thinks with a grin, you haven’t even undressed me and I’m already a fucking mess…

Your hand comes up to trace along the seams of his underwear, occasionally slipping underneath, teasing, as you nip and lick at his lower abdomen. And then, when you finally press your palm to the hard and aching weight of his desire, he can’t help the sound that escapes him—desperate, low, and downright pornographic.

Spencer half-expects you to laugh and tease him for being needy, but his need for you only builds your confidence; You gently squeeze him through that pesky thin cotton layer and swipe your thumb along where the underside of his tip is. Your mouth moves lower, teeth tugging at the waistband of said cotton, and he thinks you might actually be the death of him.

Watching you intently and steadying his breathing, Spencer lifts his hips as you tug the fabric down, at first with your teeth and then, finally, with your hands. The slight whimper that leaves your mouth at the sight of his flushed cock is a sound he never wants to forget, though the sound you make when you finally press your warm, welcoming tongue to his shaft is even better.

You moan and lick, slowly and all the way up to the tip, like you’ve just tasted Heaven. Your tongue explores and swirls, and your lips occasionally close around his balls, never fully taking him into your mouth but making him wet and aching all over.

Your exploration is slow. Deliberate. Sultry. Your eyes flick up to meet his every once in a while, never faltering your movements, but Spencer can tell every time that your body is physically crumbling under the weight of his gaze. The pure unabashed lust swimming about in his entire being is at a level that is new and overwhelming, threatening to sweep him away in a tidal wave and take you with him.

He wants to be greedy, but for now, he will wait.

You seem to sense this, pausing the movements with your mouth to talk while you strike him gently in your hand.

“Can I confess something?”

Even if he had an answer, he couldn’t have given it, his ability to speak rendered utterly useless when your fist squeezes firmly over his tip. His mouth falls open in a silent sigh of pleasure as you continue.

“The thought of choking on your cock is making me really wet…”

You punctuate your confession with a gentle, searing kiss to his belly. Right where his greed is pooling and aching to be set free.

All he can do is groan, throwing his head back and clutching at the sheets below him.

“Would you like that? Fucking my throat and making me take it until I’m crying?”

Spencer’s hips jerk involuntarily, and he barks out, “Yes. Fuck.”

You do laugh this time, but only for a second before bracing yourself. Your mouth parts, taking the tip of him between your lips and getting yourself used to having him inside you this way. Your tongue finds a comfortable way to caress him as you go down slowly, lower and lower, until—

You tense and retreat, barely making it down his cock half-way before you’re choking, a line of drool following your poor, pouting lips.

At first, Spencer thinks maybe you’ve changed your mind, and he’s ready to tell you it’s okay and that you can stop.

And then, you’re going again, your eyes never leaving his as you take him in your mouth once more. Slowly, and this time more relaxed. Your tongue glides around him differently, trying something new, making more room for him, but it’s still not enough to keep you from gagging.

Your eyes gloss over and your throat contracts, but you make yourself stay for two seconds longer before you’re audibly gagging, going back up and blinking away tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, catching your breath. “I’m trying.”

Spencer reaches and caresses your jaw with the back of his knuckles, his dick practically throbbing in your fist.

“I know, pretty girl. And you’re doing such a good job.”

The words are merely meant for comfort and reassurance, not to make you keep going, but they seem to encourage you anyway. Your watery gaze rises to lock with his, and you start to lazily stroke him again.

“Really?”

“Yes. You’re so perfect. I mean it.”

“I can’t even make it halfway down,” you whine in protest, but he’s immediately shaking his head.

“So what. You still feel incredible.”

You look up at him like you don’t believe him, but you’re determined to keep trying anyway, shifting yourself and bringing him to your lips one more time.

His hand is there for comfort at first, cradling your jaw, but then he finds himself guiding you, lifting your head back up once you start to go down too far. He keeps you right on the edge of your limit, feeling your throat tense every once in a while, but not enough to overwhelm you.

Spencer can feel your excitement, your movements getting more rhythmic and your tongue finding a perfect mold to the intruding length of him.

“That’s it,” he coos, trying to keep his breathing even. Both of his hands are on your face now, keeping you steady as you look up at him. “You look so pretty like this.”

His words are fuel, something darkening in your eyes as he expels them, and then you’re taking the reins, gripping his waist and plunging yourself lower onto his cock in one swift motion.

“Fuck!” he yelps in surprise, still holding your head as you hold yourself to the base of him and gag, for one, two, three seconds before lifting.

It’s not long before you’re going down on him again, finding a new, quick and sloppy rhythm that takes him deeper down the back of your throat each time. You choke, you gag, you drool, and you cry.

God, do you cry…

Spencer’s thumbs catch your falling tears, a steady stream that paints your cheeks beautifully and fulfills that deep-brewing greed thrashing around in the pits of his belly.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” he rushes out, close to orgasm.

At this, you whimper, which causes you to choke, which causes Spencer to finally let go, and he holds your head and thrusts up into your mouth. Over and over again.

He praises you through it, swiping lovingly at fresh tears and feeling his cum trail down his cock with your saliva, because of course there was no way you’d be able to swallow it all.

“That’s my good girl,” he chokes out, his thrusts softening. “Taking my cock so well… Just like I knew you would.”

Eventually his orgasm fades, and your mouth finally has reprieve. Still, Spencer cradles your face in his hands as he studies the aftermath.

He hadn’t been aware that you were wearing any mascara, but now it’s evident, watery black streaks cascading down the slopes of your cheeks. Your face is red all over, eyes puffy and lips even more so. You smile faintly, exhausted but happy—proud—and he can’t help but think—

“God, you’re beautiful…”

And right then, looking at him look at you, with adoration and wonder in his eyes, the thin fog of lust settled like firework smoke around you, you can’t help but think back—

“Mmm, so are you.”

[alastorssimp]

This right here..

👏all👏the👏flavors👏

OKAY HERES MY OPINION..

This is submissive. Season 1-4 is submissive. Maybe not all the way like there's still some like, I'm not gonna do everything but I will take what you give me and i will enjoy it. He whimpers and begs, overall cew-tee-pa-too-tee🩷

RIGHT HERE, is where we get into like switch territory. Here it's a bit ambiguous, maybe in rare cases soft!dom but he can also be sub still. I feel like season 5-10 is a middle ground, but a good middle ground. Still whimpers, you will never catch him being silent !

THIS IS WHERE WE ENTER DOM TERRITORY. Soft!dom, fully dominate, i feel like this is yes yes. Prison affected him super negatively but also got him to be more dominant and assertive ? YK WHAT I MEAN ?? This is like a full dom, no submission found anywhere. Still makes noise but like groaning yk ?

Long story short, I love all the flavors of Spencer Reid.

[alastorssimp]

Thats exciting!!!

Woo!!!

Also.. 🫦 new kink unlocked? I don't know 🫠🫠

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 56 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Blood, murder, smut AN:Thanks to Lady and Midnight who, by your forces combined will be bringing you a bonus chapter today! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

Trembling fingers held the knife as Alastor stood behind you. His hand wrapped around yours, helping you keep your grip tight on the bloody hilt. The pressure of his chest against your back, expanding with each breath he took, reassured you, along with the arm he held wrapped around your waist. His heart hammered against his chest with such force you could feel its beats.

“We’ll do it together,” Alastor whispered in your ear. “You don’t have to do it alone, but you have got to do it.” 

“I have to do it,” you whispered, lips numb as tears ran down your face. 

“Yes, my love.” Alastor soothed, stepping forward and pushing you closer to the groaning man on the floor of the office. “You have to do it. Just this last step and then you’re free of him.” 

“I can be free?” You were shaking in his arms as you took a step independent of Alastor, wild wide eyes locked on the man you swore to love in sickness and in health, laying on the floor. 

Behind you, his smile spread wide as he let his arm grow slacker around your waist, giving you more room to move. This wasn’t how he had intended to get you to this point, but it would do. 

It was far better than poison. He struggled to take his eyes from the blood on your pretty hands, so much smaller than his. Oh, how lovely they looked wrapped around a blade. 

“Once you do this, we can be together.” Alastor promised as you fell to your knees, your husband’s blood splashing lightly before soaking into your dress. 

Alastor knelt behind you, letting his knees slot on either side of your hips. Laurence looked up, blinking, as he watched his wife as she was pulled firmly against the chest of the man who stole you. 

Laurence’s mouth worked, lips forming your name but unable to make a sound. All you had wanted was for your husband to love you. For years, you had tried to find love with him and never had he given it to you. 

It was too late now. You had fallen in love with someone else. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing left to do. 

“I have to do this,” you whispered. You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but you couldn’t make the words come out. 

“Together,” Alastor said as he reached around you, pushing Laurence onto his back before looking at you. “Alright?” 

You hesitated, looking into the red eyes of the man you loved. The blood was clearing now, no longer oozing into his eyes as freely. Alastor leaned forward, kissing you deeply as he pulled you against him. 

You felt it then; him pressed into your lower back. He was stiff, hard, and ready for you. Alastor wanted you and oh, you wanted him. It was one line he wouldn’t cross while you were married and now you had the power to cut that last cord. 

“Together?” you whispered as your lips left his to look back at your husband, wide eyes struggling to focus as you kissed the man you loved. 

Alastor nodded, pulling your hand forward. “Two hands now,” 

You wrapped your other hand around the hilt as Alastor lifted his hand from yours. Once the blade was secure in your grip, Alastor wrapped one hand around yours again. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hand around Laurence’s face, pulling his head up and back to expose his throat. 

Laurence found strength then, little though it was. He could not make his limbs move. His body was weak from the blood pouring out of his back and abdomen. What he could do was watch, eyes wide as the woman who should have been his, who should have been under his control, brought the bloody knife closer to his neck. 

He shuffled, trying to create distance. Alastor’s large hand held his head firmly back against the floor of his office. All Laurence could do was scream into Alastor’s hand.

“How?” you asked, looking between Laurence’s wide glassy eyes, the blade in your hands and Alastor’s face hovering so close to yours. 

“Like this,” Alastor said, pushing your hands forward until the butt of the blade was resting against Laurence’s throat. Panicked breathing came in quick painful gasps from the man that had tormented you to some extent through all of your marriage. “Push down and pull back,” Alastor whispered. 

Moaning cries came from your husband, muffled by Alastor’s hand. Were those the same sounds you made when he broke your ribs? When he threw you against the stairs? Did you shake and cry in the same way when he rammed his fists into you? 

Now he knew what it felt like to be scared and hurting. He was lucky, you thought. He would only have to experience this pain once. How many times had he hurt you? So many times. Too many times. 

But he wouldn’t. Never again. 

“Okay,” you swallowed before pushing down on the blade. 

Red. So much red bloomed around the blade, spilling down his neck, staining it red. The blood poured over pale skin, coating it. Was that what it looked like when he stained your thighs red with your blood?

“Just like that, yes,” Alastor said as he pulled your torso tighter against his, hips twitching against you. “Good girl.” 

When you hesitated, he put pressure on your hands and the blade, encouraging you to keep going. He did not let up the pressure until the blade made a scraping sound that sounded so much like when you would hit a bone when cutting through a leg of beef. 

“Almost there,” Alastor said, as the tip of the blade scraped against bone. “And done,” he said, when the tip of the bloody knife slipped free of the other side of your husband’s neck.

“Is it done?” you whispered, turning to Alastor as blood poured onto the ground. 

“In a minute, it will be.” He took the knife from your hands and tossed it off to the side. “You did it.” 

He kissed you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that had you gasping for air. New tears ran down your face as you ran your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Your front was pressed against his, blood soaking into your dress from his shirt. 

“It’s over,” Alastor said as his eyes slowly opened and glanced toward the man that had been your husband for far too long, taking in the way the blood had slowed to little more than an ooze. It didn’t take a man long to bleed out, especially considering how much blood he had already lost. 

“Really?” you asked, a smile unexpectedly pulling at the corners of your lips.

“Congratulations on your widowhood, Mrs. Latimer.” 

“Thank you, Alastor.” You spoke softly as you caressed his face. “I’m sorry you got hurt in the-” 

Alastor kissed you again, pushing you down with his body. Blood soaked into your dress and your hand slipped across the wet wooden floor. His body pressed against yours as he kept himself as close to you as he could while his kiss devoured your senses.

His hips pressed into you, hardness demanding that you take notice of his desire. He draped himself over you, blanketing you with his bloody body. Though your hands were coated in Laurance’s blood, you couldn’t help but run them over Alastor’s back. 

Alastor seemed unbothered by the smears of red you left on his brown shirt. His fingers dug into your blood-soaked dress, holding you as if you’d somehow fade away if his grip loosened even for a moment. 

Kisses trailed along your jaw as you arched into his hands. Blood soaked into your hair, sticking it to your skull. 

“You’re magnificent,” Alastor whispered into your shoulder as he gripped your ribs. His chest pressed into yours every time he seemed to lower with his exhales, matching the kisses he placed. “So brave. You’re free now.” 

“I’m free.” You marveled at the thought as you surrendered to Alastor’s attention. His hands ghosted over your breasts. His clothed hardness ground against your core, though you had no memory of spreading your legs for him. 

Each time he ground against your sensitive nerves, you gasped. That fire only Alastor knew how to light withing was stoked. 

It was wrong. You were laying in your husband’s blood but all you could think of was the way Alastor’s lips felt on your skin.

“Alastor, I’m free.” Tears ran down the sides of your face, slipping free from your eyes without you being aware.

“Will you be mine?” Alastor breathed the question in your ear, bloody lips leaving smears of red as they moved exeunt the soft skin. “Now that you’re not his?” 

“I’ve always been yours.” You sighed into him, fingers flexing, bunching the fabric of his shirt. 

“Mine,” Alastor sighed as his hand smoothed down your thigh, pushing the fabric of your skirt up higher until he was rewarded with the soft feeling of your warm skin under his bloody hands. 

“Yours,” you agreed, trying to feel as much of him as you could. The suspender over his shoulder snapped down when you pushed it aside. Alastor’s hand left you just long enough to pull the other from his shoulder. “Only yours.” 

“I will never share you again,” Alastor swore as his fingers reached high up your thighs. 

You fumbled with buttons. One fell from your fingers, the thread holding it to the fabric having only just survived the fight but not having anything left to survive the need in you to feel his skin. 

The cold blood smeared on the back of your legs soaked into Alastor’s pants as you wrapped your leg around his thigh, trying to pull him to you with everything you had. 

Sparks ran through your body as his fingers pushed the gusset of your panties aside, connecting with the sensitive skin that from now on, he would be the only man to touch. You were slick and ready for him. 

“Cher,” Alastor moaned as he pulled the slick up, spreading it through your folds as he ensured every bit of you would be protected from the friction. “I’ve waited so long for you.” 

“Please, Alastor.” Your hands ran over his chest, buttons giving way to strong, warm muscles smeared red. Blood. It was alright, he did it because he was attacked. He killed to protect you. 

His fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. After a few short moments, the hot length of him rested against your inner thigh. Each beat of his heart was matched by a eager twitch. Heat radiated from him as the head of his cock smeared against your thigh, leaving a wet trail.

“I have to have you,” Alastor groaned. “Please, Cher. I’ve never wanted anyone, needed anyone. I have to have you.” 

Instead of saying anything, you leaned up, kissing along the length of his neck. Blood smeared as you kissed down his neck, as he had done so often to you. The taste of copper filled your mouth as each kiss smeared more of Alastor’s tacky blood on your lips. 

Reaching down between your bodies, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. A soft groan poured into your ear as you caressed him. Though you had no experience with what you were doing, at least not with the active participation in the task, you enjoyed the way his head rubbed through your folds with each stroke. 

His hips rocked slightly, matching the pace of your strokes. Then the head of his cock notched at your opening. A new wave of adrenaline flooded through your system as Alastor shuddered above you, pressure just enough to hold him in place as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, though if he was true to himself, he wasn’t sure he could survive you being anything less than sure. 

He hated that part of himself. He hated the fact that you made him the same hungry beast he judged his peers for. It was only you, though, that he hungered for. Such a narrow need. He could live with that if you would only just give yourself to him.

“I need to know,” you kissed him again before continuing, “What it feels like to lie with the man I love.” 

Alastor needed nothing more to be said. He would have you. His fingers gripped your hips as he pushed his head inside your slick, wet heat. You tensed under him as your abused walls fluttered, gripping and struggling to make way.

Alastor’s hips thrusted forward in slow, shallow movements. He knew your body was sore, that there were injuries that would still be easily aggravated. Each small thrust took him deeper into your body. 

Below him, you gulped air into your lungs at the unfamiliar sensation. It stung as it felt like old wounds were ripping open, but the pain was minor, forgettable under the heavy feeling of slowly being filled. 

It was more than you could take. Your back arched, dress sticking to the floor as he slowly pushed deeper inside. It should hurt. It should feel like you’re being ripped apart. Instead, it left you wanting more. 

“Are you okay?” Alastor asked as your eyes fluttered closed. 

“Good,” you sighed, leg twitching as you tried to pull him closer. 

“It may hurt a little,” Alastor rocked his hips against you, still moving slow and shallow. “It won’t always, though, when you’ve healed from what was done to you.” 

“More,” you said as you clung to him.

Alastor didn’t need to be told. His self control was hanging by a thread. Instead of continuing the conversation, he leaned down and kissed you. With a snap of his hips, he bottomed out inside you. He swallowed your gasp. 

Your walls were not quick to accommodate him. His head spun with the way you gripped him, fluttering around him as he forced your body to take his length. 

He wanted his first time with you to be soft, to be sweet, not like this. In a matter of minutes, he was rutting into you wildly as the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room. 

You made a picture that was driving him insane. Blood smeared your skin, decorating you as your head fell back, lips parted as you finally learned how good being with a man could feel.

Another first. 

Alastor’s eyes cut toward Laurence’s, now glassy. Your husband’s soulless eyes watched as Alastor wrapped his arm around your torso, pulling you up off the sticky floor. Your arms tightened around his shoulders as he held your torso to his chest. 

Each thrust into you sent sparks of pleasure through you. His pubic bone and the neat hair traveling up from his cock rubbed your sensitive nub of nerves with each punishing thrust. 

The smell of blood was thick in his nose as he supported his upper body with a hand planted on the blood-soaked ground. His other arm held you in place as he thrust up into you. Your cries of pleasure filled his ears as he felt you tighten around him. 

Red-rimmed eyes looked again at the corpse. Alastor’s mother always told him when someone died, their soul lingered for a little while. It took time for the tether to the body and the living realm to fully sever. 

It wasn’t something Alastor had really given thought to. He didn’t know what came after life and he wasn’t sure he believed anything came after for most except perhaps the most pure people, like his Ma, but he hoped she was right about this.

Alastor’s smile cut wider across his face as he thrust into you, feeling your walls flutter around his cock. He had felt those flutters with his fingers and knew your orgasm would be moments away. 

“Mine,” Alastor told the corpse, fingers digging into your blood coated back as he thrust harder into you. He chanted the word, voice naked and full of possession with each thrust into you. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you choked on the word as your body clamped down on his cock. “Ah- Al- Alastor.” 

You came with his name, broken but his, on your lips. Your head fell back as your body convulsed in his arms. Everything had felt so much better with Alastor. You’d been robbed of the pleasure that should have been laying with your husband for years. 

He stole that from you. Used you. Took from you. 

You understood now.

Alastor set you carefully on the ground, thrusting still into your fluttering walls. 

“Mine,” he said as you cried out his name again, only to silence you both with a searing kiss. 

His lips devoured you, tasting the blood on your lips and the sweet essence of you as he pistoned his hips, chasing his own release as you rode the waves of yours. He found it with a groan, muscles seizing with the power of it. It took everything he had to not clench his jaw as he pulled your lip between his teeth. 

Oh, this was different. It was different with you. He wasn’t a child. He knew there was nothing somehow magically different about the biological process of an orgasm. The difference was his feelings, his love for you.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Want an exclusive sneak peek at my works? Join the Kofi membership for as little as $2 a month today! You'll see the first two pages of the next chapter of MisD and a peek at upcoming fics! 

[alastorssimp]

Aahhhh it's not even FRIDAY and we have been graced with a NEW chapter 😌😌

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 56 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Blood, murder, smut AN:Thanks to Lady and Midnight who, by your forces combined will be bringing you a bonus chapter today! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

Trembling fingers held the knife as Alastor stood behind you. His hand wrapped around yours, helping you keep your grip tight on the bloody hilt. The pressure of his chest against your back, expanding with each breath he took, reassured you, along with the arm he held wrapped around your waist. His heart hammered against his chest with such force you could feel its beats.

“We’ll do it together,” Alastor whispered in your ear. “You don’t have to do it alone, but you have got to do it.” 

“I have to do it,” you whispered, lips numb as tears ran down your face. 

“Yes, my love.” Alastor soothed, stepping forward and pushing you closer to the groaning man on the floor of the office. “You have to do it. Just this last step and then you’re free of him.” 

“I can be free?” You were shaking in his arms as you took a step independent of Alastor, wild wide eyes locked on the man you swore to love in sickness and in health, laying on the floor. 

Behind you, his smile spread wide as he let his arm grow slacker around your waist, giving you more room to move. This wasn’t how he had intended to get you to this point, but it would do. 

It was far better than poison. He struggled to take his eyes from the blood on your pretty hands, so much smaller than his. Oh, how lovely they looked wrapped around a blade. 

“Once you do this, we can be together.” Alastor promised as you fell to your knees, your husband’s blood splashing lightly before soaking into your dress. 

Alastor knelt behind you, letting his knees slot on either side of your hips. Laurence looked up, blinking, as he watched his wife as she was pulled firmly against the chest of the man who stole you. 

Laurence’s mouth worked, lips forming your name but unable to make a sound. All you had wanted was for your husband to love you. For years, you had tried to find love with him and never had he given it to you. 

It was too late now. You had fallen in love with someone else. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing left to do. 

“I have to do this,” you whispered. You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but you couldn’t make the words come out. 

“Together,” Alastor said as he reached around you, pushing Laurence onto his back before looking at you. “Alright?” 

You hesitated, looking into the red eyes of the man you loved. The blood was clearing now, no longer oozing into his eyes as freely. Alastor leaned forward, kissing you deeply as he pulled you against him. 

You felt it then; him pressed into your lower back. He was stiff, hard, and ready for you. Alastor wanted you and oh, you wanted him. It was one line he wouldn’t cross while you were married and now you had the power to cut that last cord. 

“Together?” you whispered as your lips left his to look back at your husband, wide eyes struggling to focus as you kissed the man you loved. 

Alastor nodded, pulling your hand forward. “Two hands now,” 

You wrapped your other hand around the hilt as Alastor lifted his hand from yours. Once the blade was secure in your grip, Alastor wrapped one hand around yours again. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hand around Laurence’s face, pulling his head up and back to expose his throat. 

Laurence found strength then, little though it was. He could not make his limbs move. His body was weak from the blood pouring out of his back and abdomen. What he could do was watch, eyes wide as the woman who should have been his, who should have been under his control, brought the bloody knife closer to his neck. 

He shuffled, trying to create distance. Alastor’s large hand held his head firmly back against the floor of his office. All Laurence could do was scream into Alastor’s hand.

“How?” you asked, looking between Laurence’s wide glassy eyes, the blade in your hands and Alastor’s face hovering so close to yours. 

“Like this,” Alastor said, pushing your hands forward until the butt of the blade was resting against Laurence’s throat. Panicked breathing came in quick painful gasps from the man that had tormented you to some extent through all of your marriage. “Push down and pull back,” Alastor whispered. 

Moaning cries came from your husband, muffled by Alastor’s hand. Were those the same sounds you made when he broke your ribs? When he threw you against the stairs? Did you shake and cry in the same way when he rammed his fists into you? 

Now he knew what it felt like to be scared and hurting. He was lucky, you thought. He would only have to experience this pain once. How many times had he hurt you? So many times. Too many times. 

But he wouldn’t. Never again. 

“Okay,” you swallowed before pushing down on the blade. 

Red. So much red bloomed around the blade, spilling down his neck, staining it red. The blood poured over pale skin, coating it. Was that what it looked like when he stained your thighs red with your blood?

“Just like that, yes,” Alastor said as he pulled your torso tighter against his, hips twitching against you. “Good girl.” 

When you hesitated, he put pressure on your hands and the blade, encouraging you to keep going. He did not let up the pressure until the blade made a scraping sound that sounded so much like when you would hit a bone when cutting through a leg of beef. 

“Almost there,” Alastor said, as the tip of the blade scraped against bone. “And done,” he said, when the tip of the bloody knife slipped free of the other side of your husband’s neck.

“Is it done?” you whispered, turning to Alastor as blood poured onto the ground. 

“In a minute, it will be.” He took the knife from your hands and tossed it off to the side. “You did it.” 

He kissed you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that had you gasping for air. New tears ran down your face as you ran your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Your front was pressed against his, blood soaking into your dress from his shirt. 

“It’s over,” Alastor said as his eyes slowly opened and glanced toward the man that had been your husband for far too long, taking in the way the blood had slowed to little more than an ooze. It didn’t take a man long to bleed out, especially considering how much blood he had already lost. 

“Really?” you asked, a smile unexpectedly pulling at the corners of your lips.

“Congratulations on your widowhood, Mrs. Latimer.” 

“Thank you, Alastor.” You spoke softly as you caressed his face. “I’m sorry you got hurt in the-” 

Alastor kissed you again, pushing you down with his body. Blood soaked into your dress and your hand slipped across the wet wooden floor. His body pressed against yours as he kept himself as close to you as he could while his kiss devoured your senses.

His hips pressed into you, hardness demanding that you take notice of his desire. He draped himself over you, blanketing you with his bloody body. Though your hands were coated in Laurance’s blood, you couldn’t help but run them over Alastor’s back. 

Alastor seemed unbothered by the smears of red you left on his brown shirt. His fingers dug into your blood-soaked dress, holding you as if you’d somehow fade away if his grip loosened even for a moment. 

Kisses trailed along your jaw as you arched into his hands. Blood soaked into your hair, sticking it to your skull. 

“You’re magnificent,” Alastor whispered into your shoulder as he gripped your ribs. His chest pressed into yours every time he seemed to lower with his exhales, matching the kisses he placed. “So brave. You’re free now.” 

“I’m free.” You marveled at the thought as you surrendered to Alastor’s attention. His hands ghosted over your breasts. His clothed hardness ground against your core, though you had no memory of spreading your legs for him. 

Each time he ground against your sensitive nerves, you gasped. That fire only Alastor knew how to light withing was stoked. 

It was wrong. You were laying in your husband’s blood but all you could think of was the way Alastor’s lips felt on your skin.

“Alastor, I’m free.” Tears ran down the sides of your face, slipping free from your eyes without you being aware.

“Will you be mine?” Alastor breathed the question in your ear, bloody lips leaving smears of red as they moved exeunt the soft skin. “Now that you’re not his?” 

“I’ve always been yours.” You sighed into him, fingers flexing, bunching the fabric of his shirt. 

“Mine,” Alastor sighed as his hand smoothed down your thigh, pushing the fabric of your skirt up higher until he was rewarded with the soft feeling of your warm skin under his bloody hands. 

“Yours,” you agreed, trying to feel as much of him as you could. The suspender over his shoulder snapped down when you pushed it aside. Alastor’s hand left you just long enough to pull the other from his shoulder. “Only yours.” 

“I will never share you again,” Alastor swore as his fingers reached high up your thighs. 

You fumbled with buttons. One fell from your fingers, the thread holding it to the fabric having only just survived the fight but not having anything left to survive the need in you to feel his skin. 

The cold blood smeared on the back of your legs soaked into Alastor’s pants as you wrapped your leg around his thigh, trying to pull him to you with everything you had. 

Sparks ran through your body as his fingers pushed the gusset of your panties aside, connecting with the sensitive skin that from now on, he would be the only man to touch. You were slick and ready for him. 

“Cher,” Alastor moaned as he pulled the slick up, spreading it through your folds as he ensured every bit of you would be protected from the friction. “I’ve waited so long for you.” 

“Please, Alastor.” Your hands ran over his chest, buttons giving way to strong, warm muscles smeared red. Blood. It was alright, he did it because he was attacked. He killed to protect you. 

His fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. After a few short moments, the hot length of him rested against your inner thigh. Each beat of his heart was matched by a eager twitch. Heat radiated from him as the head of his cock smeared against your thigh, leaving a wet trail.

“I have to have you,” Alastor groaned. “Please, Cher. I’ve never wanted anyone, needed anyone. I have to have you.” 

Instead of saying anything, you leaned up, kissing along the length of his neck. Blood smeared as you kissed down his neck, as he had done so often to you. The taste of copper filled your mouth as each kiss smeared more of Alastor’s tacky blood on your lips. 

Reaching down between your bodies, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. A soft groan poured into your ear as you caressed him. Though you had no experience with what you were doing, at least not with the active participation in the task, you enjoyed the way his head rubbed through your folds with each stroke. 

His hips rocked slightly, matching the pace of your strokes. Then the head of his cock notched at your opening. A new wave of adrenaline flooded through your system as Alastor shuddered above you, pressure just enough to hold him in place as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, though if he was true to himself, he wasn’t sure he could survive you being anything less than sure. 

He hated that part of himself. He hated the fact that you made him the same hungry beast he judged his peers for. It was only you, though, that he hungered for. Such a narrow need. He could live with that if you would only just give yourself to him.

“I need to know,” you kissed him again before continuing, “What it feels like to lie with the man I love.” 

Alastor needed nothing more to be said. He would have you. His fingers gripped your hips as he pushed his head inside your slick, wet heat. You tensed under him as your abused walls fluttered, gripping and struggling to make way.

Alastor’s hips thrusted forward in slow, shallow movements. He knew your body was sore, that there were injuries that would still be easily aggravated. Each small thrust took him deeper into your body. 

Below him, you gulped air into your lungs at the unfamiliar sensation. It stung as it felt like old wounds were ripping open, but the pain was minor, forgettable under the heavy feeling of slowly being filled. 

It was more than you could take. Your back arched, dress sticking to the floor as he slowly pushed deeper inside. It should hurt. It should feel like you’re being ripped apart. Instead, it left you wanting more. 

“Are you okay?” Alastor asked as your eyes fluttered closed. 

“Good,” you sighed, leg twitching as you tried to pull him closer. 

“It may hurt a little,” Alastor rocked his hips against you, still moving slow and shallow. “It won’t always, though, when you’ve healed from what was done to you.” 

“More,” you said as you clung to him.

Alastor didn’t need to be told. His self control was hanging by a thread. Instead of continuing the conversation, he leaned down and kissed you. With a snap of his hips, he bottomed out inside you. He swallowed your gasp. 

Your walls were not quick to accommodate him. His head spun with the way you gripped him, fluttering around him as he forced your body to take his length. 

He wanted his first time with you to be soft, to be sweet, not like this. In a matter of minutes, he was rutting into you wildly as the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room. 

You made a picture that was driving him insane. Blood smeared your skin, decorating you as your head fell back, lips parted as you finally learned how good being with a man could feel.

Another first. 

Alastor’s eyes cut toward Laurence’s, now glassy. Your husband’s soulless eyes watched as Alastor wrapped his arm around your torso, pulling you up off the sticky floor. Your arms tightened around his shoulders as he held your torso to his chest. 

Each thrust into you sent sparks of pleasure through you. His pubic bone and the neat hair traveling up from his cock rubbed your sensitive nub of nerves with each punishing thrust. 

The smell of blood was thick in his nose as he supported his upper body with a hand planted on the blood-soaked ground. His other arm held you in place as he thrust up into you. Your cries of pleasure filled his ears as he felt you tighten around him. 

Red-rimmed eyes looked again at the corpse. Alastor’s mother always told him when someone died, their soul lingered for a little while. It took time for the tether to the body and the living realm to fully sever. 

It wasn’t something Alastor had really given thought to. He didn’t know what came after life and he wasn’t sure he believed anything came after for most except perhaps the most pure people, like his Ma, but he hoped she was right about this.

Alastor’s smile cut wider across his face as he thrust into you, feeling your walls flutter around his cock. He had felt those flutters with his fingers and knew your orgasm would be moments away. 

“Mine,” Alastor told the corpse, fingers digging into your blood coated back as he thrust harder into you. He chanted the word, voice naked and full of possession with each thrust into you. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you choked on the word as your body clamped down on his cock. “Ah- Al- Alastor.” 

You came with his name, broken but his, on your lips. Your head fell back as your body convulsed in his arms. Everything had felt so much better with Alastor. You’d been robbed of the pleasure that should have been laying with your husband for years. 

He stole that from you. Used you. Took from you. 

You understood now.

Alastor set you carefully on the ground, thrusting still into your fluttering walls. 

“Mine,” he said as you cried out his name again, only to silence you both with a searing kiss. 

His lips devoured you, tasting the blood on your lips and the sweet essence of you as he pistoned his hips, chasing his own release as you rode the waves of yours. He found it with a groan, muscles seizing with the power of it. It took everything he had to not clench his jaw as he pulled your lip between his teeth. 

Oh, this was different. It was different with you. He wasn’t a child. He knew there was nothing somehow magically different about the biological process of an orgasm. The difference was his feelings, his love for you.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Want an exclusive sneak peek at my works? Join the Kofi membership for as little as $2 a month today! You'll see the first two pages of the next chapter of MisD and a peek at upcoming fics! 

[alastorssimp]

Ahhh 😍🫡🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

Hi, I love your writing, please could you do Spencer x best friend roommate reader, lots of tension, one bed trope 🙏🏼, maybe some somno? Perv!spence pls

Thankyouuuuu 🫶

content warning: Perv!Spencer, somno-inspired sex (consensual), one bed trope, masturbation (f. and m.), mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, tension, dom-ish Spencer.

a/n: this took a couple days but was soooooooo worth it, its so cute and disgusting ugh enjoy sluts

word count ~ 1.5k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The storm knocks the power out just after midnight.

You’re already curled on the couch in one of Spencer’s old FBI sweatshirts, legs bare, popcorn forgotten on your lap, when the TV screen flickers to black. The hum of the heater dies, leaving only the sound of pouring rain and the occasional crack of thunder outside the windows.

“Shit,” you mutter, and your roommate rounds the corner into the living room, book in hand, hair disheveled, eyes wide.

“You okay?” he asks. “The whole block went dark.”

You nod, shrugging. “Guess it’s one of those nights.”

He leans in the doorway, barefoot in sleep pants and a thin grey t-shirt that hugs the outline of his chest. You’ve seen Spencer Reid in every possible state — post-case, post-shower, half-asleep and half-catatonic — but something about him now, blinking into the lowlight with messy hair and no glasses, makes your stomach tighten.

Then the wind howls outside, and you both flinch.

“…You can sleep in my room,” he offers after a beat. “The couch isn’t gonna be warm long, and it’s freezing in here without the heat.”

You eye him. “Spence. There’s one bed.”

“So?” His ears flush. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

Yeah. Like three years ago. On a work trip. In a hotel room. When you were definitely not in love with your best friend-slash-roommate who now looks at you like he’s trying not to.

You huff and grab the blanket off the couch. “Fine. But if you get handsy in your sleep again—”

“I didn’t mean to that one time!” he protests, voice pitching.

You laugh. But something tells you he remembers that night as vividly as you do — his hand accidentally between your thighs under the blanket, the sharp intake of your breath, the way he jolted back like he’d been burned.

You’d both pretended to forget it. But you hadn’t.

And now you’re walking toward his room, heart thumping, knowing damn well the bed is small and your legs tend to tangle.

The room is cold. Spencer pulls the covers up around your shoulders, careful not to let his hand linger too long. You roll onto your side, back to him.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

And then—he does.

Tiny shifts. One inch closer. Then another. You’re not asleep yet, but your breath is slow. Quiet.

You wonder if he knows you're awake. If he’s listening to the sound of your breathing and using it to justify the way his palm brushes your hip, feather-light under the blanket. Just enough to test.

You don’t stop him.

His hand lingers. Rests. Then glides down, fingertips brushing the hem of your sweatshirt — his sweatshirt — until he’s ghosting along bare skin.

You shift — just a little — and he freezes.

“Spence?” Your voice is soft. Sleepy. But laced with something else.

He doesn’t answer.

Your eyes flutter open. You keep your breathing slow. He thinks you’re asleep. And he’s touching you.

A low, throaty sound leaves him — almost a sigh — and then you feel it. His cock, hard against your ass.

And still…you don’t stop him.

His hand slides up your thigh. You’re bare underneath, no panties. You hadn’t thought you’d need them tonight.

You hear his breath hitch when he realizes.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Your heart is pounding now, soaked through with heat.

You arch into him — just a little. Just enough that his hips press flush against you.

And that’s when he really moves.

Spencer leans in, nuzzles your hair, groaning into it. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers.

You’re practically dripping.

His fingers slide between your legs and find you wet. Soaked. He curses again, quietly, and strokes up through your folds.

“Fucking knew it,” he breathes. “Knew you’d be like this in your sleep. Thought about it too many times.”

Your eyes stay closed, but your mouth parts on a breathless gasp as he teases your clit in lazy circles.

“Dreamed about touching you like this,” he murmurs. “Waking up with my fingers inside you. You’d be so warm… so wet…”

One finger dips into you, and your body responds — needy, clenching around the slow, deliberate push.

He groans when he feels it. “God, baby.”

You can’t take it anymore.

You reach back and grab his wrist. His whole body jolts.

“Y-you’re awake?”

You turn your head to look at him — his face flushed, hair wild, pupils blown.

“Keep going,” you whisper.

He stares, chest heaving. “You’re not mad?”

You press your hips back into his hand. “Spence. I’ve wanted this.”

That’s all it takes.

He rolls you onto your back, hovering over you, mouth crashing to yours. His kiss is frantic, desperate — years of want poured into each motion. He’s panting into your mouth as he fucks you with his fingers, thumb circling your clit, pressing until you’re gasping under him.

“Fuck,” you whine. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

He grins, breathless. “To you? Every night.”

You moan, heat flooding your face.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?”

He nods. “All the time. Can’t help it.”

You spread your legs wider. “Then show me.”

He drops between your thighs instantly, lips wrapping around your clit, tongue flicking in soft, firm licks while his fingers stroke inside you.

You’re already so close — the tension has been building for months — and his mouth is too good.

You cum with a strangled cry, thighs trembling, back arching off the mattress.

Spencer groans into your pussy, like he needs to taste all of it.

When you come down, you find him stroking his cock, flushed and leaking.

“Please,” he says. “Let me fuck you.”

You pull him up to you and kiss him again. “Condom?”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “Then be careful.”

He pushes in slow — inch by inch — both of you moaning at the stretch.

He feels huge, every inch thick and pulsing. You’re still soaked, but the drag makes you squirm.

“Oh my god, Spence,” you whimper. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He buries his face in your neck, fucking into you deep and slow.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he groans. “You’d walk around in nothing. Touch yourself in the shower. Moan my name in your sleep…”

Your breath hitches. “You heard that?”

“I waited for it,” he confesses. “Jerked off to it. Every time.”

You tighten around him. He curses, thrusts harder.

His rhythm grows desperate, hips slapping yours, your name falling from his lips over and over.

You cum again with him deep inside you, pulsing hard, gasping his name like a prayer.

And he follows — groaning into your mouth, cock twitching as he spills inside you.

After, he’s still holding you.

“…So,” you say after a while. “You have been perving on me.”

He groans. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You grin. “But if you’re gonna jerk off with the bathroom door open, maybe next time…invite me.”

He flushes, eyes wide.

Then: “Oh. I will.”

[alastorssimp]

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