spencers-library

[spencers-library]

absolutely losing my shit over the image of hotch wearing his vest with his cock out omfg

red light kiss

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c. : 4k a/n: the vest stays on

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, porn no plot, blowjobs in car!!!, newly established relationship, d/s undertones, some dirty talk and degradation, one hint of sir kink, reader has hair?, no y/n, size kink if you squint

summary:

You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

read below or on ao3 here <3

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You watch with dread as the train inches to a stop several feet in front of you. It was already going horribly slow for the past 15 minutes, taking so long that Hotch even took his foot off the brake and put the car in park. There’s been a line of cars piling behind you, a medium on your left, and a field that goes nowhere on your right, so it’s not like you could escape even if you wanted to.

The team was currently in a small college town in Texas investigating a string of murders happening on campus, leaving the entire population of less than 5,000 on edge. You and Hotch were on the way to question a professor that lived only a couple blocks away from the campus with an old rap sheet a mile long. You honestly hoped that he would be good for it so you guys could go the fuck home.

“Relax,” Hotch murmured, putting a comforting hand on your knee while he called the rest of the team at the station to let them know you two were going to be stuck for a while and to have another pair go out to the professor’s house.

You understand that Hotch was trying to help put you at ease since you’ve been cranky all day. Scratch that, you’ve been cranky the past 3 days. It’s not your fault that the BAU was called on your Saturday off, especially when you planned to spend that day off in bed with your boss.

It had taken a while for you and Hotch to get your act together after gradually crossing that professional boundary. The past 6 months consisted of late-night dinners in Hotch’s office, going to the park with him and Jack on the weekends, and mind-blowing orgasms on possibly every surface in Hotch’s apartment.

You’re not sure when the lines had started blurring for you. Maybe that one day you came into Hotch’s office for dinner after a particularly brutal case and ordered from your favorite Thai restaurant despite everything on their menu being too spicy for him. Or maybe it was when you saw the wide smile adorning his face when Jack scored the winning goal at a soccer game, making him look younger. Or maybe it was when he told you you looked beautiful while you were riding his cock in the darkness of his bedroom, his hands pressing bruises into your hips, and the moonlight strewing in from the curtains illuminating the awe in his eyes.

Only several weeks ago did Hotch properly ask you out to dinner and it’s like everything changed. Suddenly, the glances across the bullpen meant something different, something sweeter. Now, you can be affectionate without fearing Hotch wouldn’t reciprocate. Now, he’s touchier— touching the small of your back when he walks by, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear when you’re having dinner in his office, or pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before you fall asleep on his chest.

It's new and you’re still adjusting. However, it definitely hasn’t stopped the sex.

So, your Saturday plans with Hotch got ruined, that’s fine. It wasn’t like the team had just gotten back from a week-long case and you had barely tumbled into bed with Hotch when his phone rang. And you haven’t even had the chance for a quickie in the hotel, both of you too tired and passing out before even thinking of sneaking in each other’s rooms.

You’re cranky because you haven’t gotten laid in almost a week and you work with possibly the hottest man alive and today, he’s wearing one of your top 3 hottest outfits he’s ever worn.

Your third favorite outfit is his green button-up with the sleeves rolled up, often paired with black jeans. The first time you saw him pull that out for date night, hair perfectly gelled down and sleeves rolled up his wide forearms, you had missed your dinner reservations because you were too busy on your knees in the middle of the doorway. He just looked so good wearing dark green— the way it complemented his complexion, and even better when he wore those tight jeans that made your eyes bug out of your head.

Your second favorite outfit was more intimate—a faded GWU shirt that was starting to stretch over Hotch’s shoulders and gray sweatpants that definitely left little to the imagination. At times, this combination felt straight up pornographic, especially if Hotch was relaxing on the couch, legs spread with his arms stretched behind his head. It felt like a siren call, and you fell for it every single time.

But Hotch right now, not only wearing a plain black tee that stretched over his chest, but also his Kevlar vest, was your most favorite outfit of them all.

You didn’t know why it was your favorite. You see Hotch wearing his Kevlar vest almost twice a week, usually over a white dress shirt, and it doesn’t distract you as much as this specific combination does.

Maybe it’s because you’ve always been a sucker for Hotch’s arms, as you stare at the way he has them stretched out lazily with his wrists resting on the steering wheel, muscles bulging. Or maybe it’s the way the vest hugs him so tightly it makes him look even broader, makes him stand up straighter and appear more confident. Or maybe it’s because Hotch inevitably starts sweating not even 10 minutes after the vest is on due to the constricting material, making his chest heave and sweat form at his forehead. You wear your vest just as often as he does, and you know for a fact that you don’t look as insanely sexy he does.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, brain brought back to reality, feeling a rising heat to your face and down to your stomach. You bring your gaze up from where you were ogling his jean-clad thighs to Hotch staring down at you in amusement. “Yep, why wouldn’t I be? We’ve just been stuck behind this train for hours.”

Hotch cracks a smile at that. It makes your chest tighten. “It hasn’t even been 30 minutes, don’t be so dramatic.”

You lean over to swat at his arm playfully and definitely not an attempt to quickly cop a feel. “How dare you! I’m never dramatic.”

Hotch huffs a laugh at that, used to your antics by now. “Morgan and Reid are already on their way to the Thompson house so we may as well relax.”

Someone several cars down honks, causing Hotch to twist his upper body as best as he could in the vest to look back incredulously, as if they could see him through the tinted windows. You’re suddenly enraptured by the sharp cut of his jaw and the line of his throat. “People here have no patience,” he remarks.

An idea slowly forms in your mind. Not only is it in the middle of the night, but the county-issued SUV that you were in had tinted windows the same strength as the ones back home. No one at the police station was expecting you since they knew you were trapped behind the train and it’s not like you brought any files or your laptop to continue bouncing around ideas about the case.

You watch thoughtfully as Hotch shifts in his seat, adjusting the vest to sit a bit more comfortably. How could you resist?

“I have an idea,” you say, feigning nonchalance.

Hotch’s eyes flit to you, eyes narrowing because, like you said, he knows you by now. “And what idea is that?”

“I can suck you off?”

You watch in delight as Hotch’s eyebrows raise, a flush rising up his neck. He clears his throat, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel, before saying almost breathlessly “And what makes you think I’ll let you?”

You know you’ve already gotten him, that he’s already going to let you go down on him. He wouldn’t be shifting in his seat if he wasn’t. Any other day, he would’ve turned you down instantly, a reprimand telling you to at least pretend to be professional at the tip of his tongue. If you’re sexually frustrated, he must be at least ten times hornier since his libido has always been worse than yours.

“Well, our weekend plans got ruined and this is the first time we’ve been alone in over a week,” you sigh, leaning over the console as gracefully as you could with the vest weighing you down to put your hand on his, running your fingertips up his forearms. “And I miss you.”

A smile quirks at the corner of Hotch’s mouth. “We work together.”

You roll your eyes, letting your fingers trace the veins decorating his arms. God, he’s so hot. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Hotch says, softly, watching you with a gaze so fond that it makes you want to cry. “That doesn’t mean you need to suck my cock while we’re on the job.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Hotch is only vulgar like that in the privacy of the bedroom, knowing how much it gets you off when he’s muttering in your ear about how good you take his cock. The contrast of his soft gaze and lewd words has you shifting in your seat now, thighs rubbing together at the sudden onslaught of heat between them. You’re really about to do this.

“You just look really good in that vest,” you whisper, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

Hotch hums, leaning back in the seat and moving his hips down. His right arm comes up to stretch out and rest his hand behind your headrest, watching you with dark eyes, almost beckoning you. “So that’s what’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“Yes,” you exhale, already feeling that familiar glaze over your brain. You glance down curiously at his lap and your mouth waters when you see the outline of his half-hard dick through his jeans, undoubtedly uncomfortable because all of his jeans are unfairly tight. “Can I?”

“Come here first.” His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, an action that’s lately been making you weak in the knees. He’s been clingier lately, pressing his lips to any part of you he can take, and you know what he’s asking for, his neck craned and his eyes zeroing in on your mouth.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and nearly bang your knee against the console when you lean over more to kiss him, something tender and gentle despite the way you desperately want to clamber over to sit on his lap. He tastes like cheap coffee and something inexplicably Aaron, warm and soothing, that makes you part your lips to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so soft, yet he kisses you in a way that’s all consuming, heady. His hold on your jaw tightens before sliding down your neck, and the way it would be so easy for him to take a hold of you there makes you dizzy.

When you pull away, he’s watching you with that fond look that’s been making more of an appearance recently. “Now can I?”

There’s that smile with your favorite dimple again, barely detectable even from the dashboard lights and the flashing railroad stop signs. “Yes,” Aaron says, exasperatedly.

You situate yourself with your knees on your seat, your own vest digging into your chest when you lean down lower, so your face is nearly in his lap. He doesn’t even need to move his seat back, his long legs already making him sit ridiculously far from the wheel, leaving you with enough breathing room.

You press your palm against his cock over his jeans and you preen a little when you feel a click in his throat before he clears it. He unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots down in his seat a bit more, causing him to push his hips up against your hand. You try to wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the heat seeping through the fabric. He’s fully hard despite not having done anything except talk and kiss, signifying to you that he may just be as desperate as you are.

“You have to be quick,” Aaron mutters through gritted teeth. You can almost imagine his eyes flitting back and forth out the window, anticipating when the train was going to start moving again.

“Don’t rush me,” you say and get the reaction you’re hoping for when you feel Aaron’s large hand on the top of your head, pushing your face down into his lap until your mouth is inches away from the outline of his cock.

“You have such a mouth on you,” Aaron sighs, feigning the type of nonchalance that makes your cheeks heat. “Maybe you should put it to good use.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands swiftly unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down, your mouth already watering. He helps you by lifting his hips up again and wiggling his jeans and briefs down until they’re mid-thigh, and then his hard cock is out, a pretty red with precum glistening at the tip. The way it looks against his vest, soft flesh contrasting against the rough material, has you licking your lips.

This has to be the best idea you’ve ever had.

Since Aaron was right about you possibly not having a lot of time, you forgo your usual teasing kitten licks for a broad stripe up his length and watch intently at the way the head of his cock brushes against his vest. Aaron jumps at the rough feeling against the sensitive head but lets out a low groan all the same. Something akin to glee fills you when you notice the wet patch his cock leaves on the blue fabric.

Aaron must notice because his hand is back on your head, putting pressure in a way that was hard to ignore. “You’re so filthy, practically begging me with those pretty eyes of yours to have my cock down your throat.”

You don’t answer, you know he’s not expecting one anyway. Instead, you grab his cock at the base, silently marveling at just how big he is in your hand, and lick another path up his cock before taking him fully in your mouth.

You always love sucking Aaron off— the weight of him on your tongue, the clean and musky taste of him, and the way he fills out your mouth and just feels so good in your hands. The best part is clearly the way he responds.

He groans deeply, a sound coming straight from within his chest, and you hear the thud from him throwing his head back against the headrest. You rest your free hand on his muscular thigh, marveling at the obvious way he’s attempting to hold himself back from immediately fucking into your mouth. He gives you a minute since it’s been a while, although you can feel the way his hand on your head clenches into a fist, patience already wearing thin.

You swirl your tongue around his head before taking more of him into your mouth, letting spit run down his length so you can stroke whatever you can’t fit in your mouth. You wish you had gotten a better look at his cock before doing this to marvel at the bulging veins, similar to his arms. Instead, you trace the vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue before coming back up to press against the head and coming up to flick your tongue against his leaking slit.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, sweetheart.”

God, you wish you were able to see his face, the way he would be watching you with half-lidded eyes like he couldn’t decide whether to close them in pleasure or watch your lips stretch around him. He’d be biting at his lip, attempting to suppress his sounds because he’s still self-conscious about having his dick out in a government vehicle. He would have a crease between his brows, still trying to give you time to adjust and not giving in, and the flush on his neck would slowly rise up to his face.

But with the way you’re leaning with the console digging into you, your ass basically in the air, you can’t. As if Aaron read your mind, his right hand runs down your spine, leaving a hot trail in his wake, and down until he’s grabbing a handful of your ass. It’s so close to the aching heat of your pussy and your head spins when you start to wonder if he’s going to finger you like this or leave you wanting with wetness seeping through your pants.

The feeling of his hand on you and the way he inadvertently pushes you causes your mouth to slide another inch down his cock until your lips touch your fist. You moan, tightening your grip on his impossibly hard flesh, causing Aaron to let out another deep moan.

There’s another honk from behind the car and you suddenly remember that Aaron was right and you really don’t have a lot of time to waste.

So, you take a deep breath through your nostrils before you slide down until you could take as much of him as you could, spit starting to run out of the corners of your mouth, until he was hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron lets out a strangled sound, hips thrusting of his own accord. Luckily you were expecting it and you make sure to relax your jaw just a little bit more, slide down more until you move your hand away to settle on his thigh and your nose is pressed against neat curls. You focus on your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the feeling of his cock prodding at the back of your throat when you hold for two seconds and not the automatic way you want to gag before coming up to gasp in a breath. You barely hear the whisper of your name from Aaron’s lips before you’re taking him in his mouth again, easily due to how slick he is from your spit, until you’re deepthroating him.

“You always take my cock so well,” Aaron chokes out, his hands frantically coming to gather your hair in one hand before he barely pushes your head down and then back up. The hold he has on you isn’t rough, which you’re grateful for, but he still tugs you off his cock with a force that makes you dizzy. He makes you crane your neck at him, uncomfortably, but it’s worth it when you see the glazed look in his dark eyes and his parted lips as he pants in the air. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You know you’re panting just as hard, tears already starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes, and your mouth swollen. You know Aaron loves you like this, open-mouthed and silently begging. So, you can’t help yourself when you lick your lips, relishing in the way Aaron’s hungry gaze follows the movement, and say in a raspy voice “Yes, sir.”

You never would’ve guessed Aaron liked being called sir in the bedroom, though you secretly hoped, but you didn’t realize the full extent of it until you called him sir as a joke in his office and noticed the way his back stiffened and his breath stuttered. After that, you always got a kick out of teasing him, just to see what he had in store for you when you got home.

You know exactly what he has in store for you now, in fact you had planned it. Your skin prickles as Aaron’s eyes narrow and the line of his mouth flattens. His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath and you watch the way the vest moves with him, shirt underneath stretching across him. He doesn’t say anything as he pushes you down, gentle enough so you know you could always back out if you wanted to.

You ignore the sore twinge in your neck as you wrap your lips around him again, closing your eyes to focus on covering your teeth, leaving one hand on his thigh in case you need to tap out and the other bent at the elbow to lean on the plush upholstery. You hear Aaron sigh blissfully when his cock slides back into your mouth, a hand gathering your hair again in a vice like grip, like he’s been thinking about this all week.

The way Aaron starts to fuck your mouth, you think you may be right. The thought of holding back seems to have been thrown out the window based on the noises he makes; guttural and heavy groans and whispered praises. Seeing his hips come off from the seat and into the warm wetness of your mouth and the easy glide of his cock between your lips is intoxicating, especially when added with the fact that you’re letting him.

The ache between your legs is almost overwhelming, pulsing with every thrust of Aaron’s hips against your face, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were absolutely ruined by now from your arousal.

The sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, lewd as the car is filled with the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat and his breathless pants. You let him take over and you watch with tears brimming at your eyes as his hips barely need to lift off the seat since he’s focusing all of his attention pulling you on and off his cock by your hair. The feeling of his cock thrusting in your mouth, of him using you to get himself off quickly is heady and so fucking hot.

You know he’s close when he starts to speed up, hips bucking into your open mouth frantically. You feel him start to pull you off of him in a silent question of where do you want me and the thought of him coming down your throat, hot and desperate, has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. The next time he thrusts into your mouth, you hold him there, the spot in the back of your throat deliciously raw.

“Jesus Christ,” you hear Aaron mutter through the blood rushing in your ears. “You want me to come in your mouth, sweetheart? So no one knows you were letting me fuck your mouth?”

You whimper, a muffled sound from your lips stretched around his cock, causing Aaron’s hips to stutter again. You pull off of him but you don’t move far, instead just barely hovering over the head, panting with your mouth open and tongue out, the message clear as day. You watch as Aaron’s free hand comes down to quickly jerk himself off.  

“Fuck, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everyone knowing how good you are for me?”

God, you really wish you could see his face, but to make up for it, you move to press your tongue against him as best as you could while his hand is a blur on his cock. You’re barely able to tongue the slit, the salty taste of his precum cutting through, when you hear the roaring of an engine and a train horn.

You realize the train’s finally moving, which means now you’re really running out of time.

You squeeze his thigh, not trusting your ability to speak, and Aaron wordlessly brings you down so you could further wrap your lips around the head of his cock, flicking your tongue against him, his hand continuing to bring himself off. The way his large hand envelops his thick cock, slick from your spit and squelching lewdly, has you pressing your thighs together in an effort to press the inseam of your pants against your clit, because the blur of his hand and his rhythmic grunts were so filthy.  

It didn’t take long for Aaron’s raspy exhales to turn into a stuttered groan, his muscled thigh underneath your hand tensing, and his hips to snap up once, twice, before his come is shooting into your mouth in hot spurts. The bitter taste coats your tongue, your throat, and you swallow before you can think of it. You hollow your cheeks, taking more of him in your mouth and press your tongue against the slit to gather whatever is left despite the hiss you faintly hear, Aaron undoubtedly sensitive.

You lift up off him, using his leg as leverage, and ignore the soreness in your abdomen from the console pressing against your vest while you sucked your boss’s cock in a government issued vehicle. The ache between your thighs is nearly overwhelming, your panties melding against your pussy from how wet you were, and you secretly wished Aaron used his thick fingers to give you some relief while you went down on him.

The train just barely passes by you before the red lights stop flashing and the barriers come up, causing Aaron to hurriedly tuck himself back in his jeans and put the car back in drive. You’re just barely buckling your seatbelt in before you’re speeding off, the glaring lights from the cars behind you now a distant memory.

“You okay?” you ask after you’ve been driving in silence for nearly 5 minutes. You glance over at Aaron to see him almost done catching his breath, however his chest is still rising and falling deliciously so, especially still in that fucking vest. His jeans are still undone and you bite your lip when you notice a dried spot near the zipper where some of him must have escaped from the corner of your mouth. Oops.

Aaron shakes his head, ducking his head to chuckle breathlessly. He’s so endearingly handsome. “Never been more okay in my life.” And then he’s placing his hand on your thigh, fingertips so close to where you need him most, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

At the next stoplight, Aaron finally does his jeans back up and then twists his body towards you. His eyes are still dark, bottom lip raw from where he must have been biting it, and then says to you again in a low voice “Come here.”

You obey, because how could you not, and then Aaron’s hand that was on your thigh is cradling your jaw to meet you halfway and kiss you, deeply. It’s a different kiss than the one he gave you earlier, more intense as his tongue slides against yours. He groans at the taste of himself in your mouth and you swear you fall a little more in love with him.

When he pulls back, he’s looking at you like you’re something precious, despite the fact that your hair must be a rat’s nest from his hands and your lips are swollen and chapped. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, something sweet twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You think you can wait until we get back to the hotel?”

You fail to hide your surprise because Aaron rarely wants to spend the night together on cases, which technically explains how you got here in the first place, the taste of come still at the back of your mouth and your panties sticking to you. He must really want to fuck you. You run your eyes over him, at the red light sharpening his features and his dimple just barely visible. You imagine him looming over you and holding onto the straps adorning his sides as he fucks mercilessly into you. “As long as you keep the vest on.”

The smile on Aaron’s face is blinding, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. You’re so screwed.

“Deal.”

[spencers-library]

NEEDY HOTCH IS EVERYTHING OMGG

Crazy, What You’ll Do for a Friend

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: After Hotch gets hurt out in the field, you and the other members of the BAU take turns taking care of Hotch at his home. Reader want to make sure she can help Hotch in whatever way she can.

CW: Hotch having an attitude bc of course he does, sex fantasy, needy!Hotch, oral m!receiving, fingering

a/n: Hotch is literally the master of flirting when he isn’t at work I cannot with him, this is more short and sweet than most my stories

This is the other Fanfic from the poll!

~~~

Reid answered the door. Bright smile on his face greeting you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smiled back at him.

“Come on in,” Reid moved out of the doorway allowing you to pass by him. You waited in the entry way for Reid to close the door.

“How is he?”

“Uhm— good. Mad that we’re here,” he laughed awkwardly.

You cocked an eyebrow, silently. A few weeks ago, Hotch had gotten caught up in the line of fire. Getting struck in his thigh and stomach. Lucky to not have bled out on the field. The day was a harsh memory that you refused to let go. Making sure to never let anyone else make the same mistakes as him again. Never feeling weaker than seeing him in the hospital bed. The Team had all agreed to take care of Hotch while he was on home rest. Taking shifts throughout the weeks.

You followed behind Reid into the living room.

“What are you doing here?” Hotch gritted through his teeth. Only wearing some loose fitting sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt. A strong contrast from his usual suit and tie. Straining as he attempted to get off the couch by himself. Reid rushed over to him, lifting him by his shoulder. Hotch swatted at the Doctor, attempting to jerk away.

“We’re all taking turns helping you. Guess I’m on Hotch Duty for tonight,” you shrugged your shoulders, giving him a closed mouth smile.

Hotch’s brows furrowed tightly, vein on his neck popping. “I don’t need help. What I need is to get back to work,” Hotch pushed Reid away as he finally got to his feet. Reid threw his hands up in a defensive position still close behind your boss.

“Yeah, it really looks like it,” you rolled your eyes as you folded your arms over your chest.

Hotch shot a chilling look your way, but you were unwavering. “I’m still your superior—“

“And right now I’m your caretaker. I’m sure Reid has been letting you boss him around, but I’m not going to let that happen. No offense, Spence,” you stated. Spencer waved his hand up to let you know he was not offended.

Hotch’s hand gripped the arm of the couch with a bruising strength. Barely able to hold himself up properly. A slight shake to his body. Angry that you, of all people, were talking to him this way. Fighting the way his heart swelled as soon as his eyes laid upon you in his living room today.

You and Hotch had grown close in the last few years. Growing into a mutual unspoken want for one another. Casually flirting when you were alone or not at work. Keeping each other company on extremely late nights at the office. Getting closer than you realistically should, given the field you worked in.

“Reid, you can go,” Hotch did not break eye contact with you.

“A-Are you sure—“

“We’ll be fine, Spence,” you smiled eyes locked in on Hotch’s.

Reid grabbed his bag and headed for the door, “If you guys need anything I’m only a text away.”

“Thank you,” you said still not breaking with Hotch. His deep brown eyes made your heart skip a beat. The wrinkles on his face as he attempted to intimidate made you blush. Not speaking until the door closed behind Reid.

“Are you gonna have an attitude with me all night?” You teased, cheeks beaming with heat. Hotch blew air out of his nose. Skin tightly pinched between his eyebrows. Refusing to speak to you. “Oh, come on. Your favorite boy is gone, you don’t have to keep up the mean-mug,” you walked over closing the space between you. Extending your arm out to him so that he could brace himself to walk.

His jaw clenched. Stubbornness being a strong suit of his. Hesitantly taking your offer of help. “Where are we heading?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Hotch grumbled.

Slowly, you assisted him to the bathroom tucked away next to his living room. Standing in the doorway as you allowed him to shimmy himself over to the toilet. Not even thinking of what you were doing, until Hotch gave you a strange look.

“Are you wanting to watch?”

Your face flooded. Stammering as you cupped your own cheek. Shaking your head with closed eyes. Smiling awkwardly, “Sorry—“

Hotch had to fight the smile that dared creep across his face. Enjoying how flustered you were. You reached in to pull the door shut. Leaning against the wall directly next to the bathroom. Hands gripping your hair in embarrassment as you replayed the moment over and over. Trying to cool the heat in your cheeks.

Straightening your posture when you heard the door click open. Greeting him with a soft smile and your arm extended. His brows were still pressed together. Lips in a thin line as he hooked his arm around yours. Leading him back into the living room so that he could get comfortable.

The night slipped away. Preparing dinner for your boss as he sat at the counter. Dying to get up. Hating to be taken care of. Denying the comfort he felt with you nestled in his home.

“Hotch, I can hear you bouncing your leg, cut it out,” you did not even look over your shoulder to give him eye contact. He scoffed, the sound of his leg subsiding.

“I know you hate all this. Really I do,” you softly spoke to him as you plated the food, “But all of us just want to see you get better. We want our leader back in his best shape. I want you to relax and let me take care of you.”

Hotch’s eyes watched every move you made. Stalking you like his prey as you brought the plate over to him. Expression unchanging, “How am I supposed to relax? There’s cases and I’ve been away so long already. I can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

“And you won’t. The sooner you take it easy, the sooner you can come back,” you flattened your hand against his shoulder. Hotch’s expression softened with your gesture. Swiftly directing his attention onto the food in front of him. Something about the interaction caused your cheeks to warm up. Unsure what that was about. Walking over to his fridge.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Just water,” Hotch took a bite of food.

“Aw, you don’t wanna crack open a bottle of wine and reveal our darkest secrets to each other?” You teased, looking over your shoulder at him. Seeing his brows pushed together. Lips in a strong, straight line.

“Okay— tough crowd,” you widened your eyes as you closed the fridge. Going to grab a cup out of the cabinet to fill it for him. Walking over and taking the seat beside him. Silently eating dinner together. Guess you did not have much to talk about. And he was clearly in no mood to chit-chat.

“You’re a good cook,” Hotch broke the silence with a compliment.

“You’re telling me Reid didn’t prepare you a four coarse, perfectly diet-balanced meal while he was here?” You teased. Finally, breaking away Hotch’s hard shell. A soft chuckle coming from him. “I’m sure he would’ve had a slideshow to explain it all too,” you grinned.

“He wouldn’t need the slideshow, he could explain it all to me himself,” Hotch joked as he pulled the food from his fork. Feeling comfortable for the first time together. Allowing both your walls down. Sharing in your laughter.

You both finished your dinner. Taking the plates and putting them in the sink. Allowing Hotch to walk on his own to put his away. Standing beside him the entire time. You interlocked arms with him to lead him into the living room. Grunting as he sat down, eyes closing as he rested his head against the back.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll do whatever you need to relax,” you smiled, standing in front of him.

Something about that seeped into his imagination. Feeling his cock jump when an imagine of you kneeled between his legs popped into his mind. With everyone here, he had not had any alone time. Needing to let out some of the things pent up inside him. Your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock—

“No,” Hotch blurted out. Aggression returning to him. Catching you off guard and causing a bit of frustration to bubble up inside you. You scoffed and headed into the kitchen to do the dishes, “Don’t try anything while I’m in there.”

Once you disappeared around the corner, he relaxed again. Clicking mindlessly through the channels on the TV. Trying to distract himself. Looking down at his half-hard cock. Embarrassed that he was thinking of one of his subordinates in the way he was. Still he allowed himself to fantasize.

Imagining how beautiful you would look sat upon his lap. Straddling his waist as you sunk down onto him. Thinking about how you would sound moaning his name when the head would hit somewhere just right inside you. Dying to know how perfectly he would fill you up. He needed something— anything from you.

Allowing his hand to softly touch his aching member. Only making things worse for him. His face contorted as he squinted his eyes shut. Mouth hanging open slightly.

God, he was such a pervert.

Jumping when he heard the water stop in the sink. Footsteps enclosing on the room. In the time you had done the dishes, you had calmed down from Hotch’s outburst. Knowing and rationalizing that he was going through a lot and sometimes he would be more vulnerable than others. Greeting him with a bright smile. Grabbing your bag off the kitchen chair, “Do you mind if I go change?”

“Of course not,” Hotch breathed out.

“I’ll know if you strain while I’m gone,” you smirked.

Hotch grinned back at you. Watching you until you faded away into the bathroom, door clicking behind you. Thank God he had one of the best poker face’s around. Finally allowing himself to breathe.

His erection pressed against the soft fabric of his sweats. Driving him absolutely insane. He pondered if he would have time to rub it out before you got back from changing. Softly playing with himself as he thought. Groaning at the feeling of his fingers trailing his length. Trying to control his breathing as to not make any overtly sexual sounds.

Oh, God, how he needed it. His cock pulsed with pure desire. Something he did not think his hand alone could fill. He felt pathetic. Preparing to ask you what he was going to.

The door creaked open. You came back to see him still in the same spot as before. He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw you. Wearing a loose fit t-shirt and some sporty shorts. Hair relaxed and quite a bit of skin showing.

“Hope you don’t mind, your house kinda runs hot,” you smiled, suddenly aware of his eyes on your body. Loving the attention he was giving. Blushing as his jaw hung open softly.

There were not many occasions where members of the BAU saw each other outside of work. Normally dressed in business attire, making sure to look extremely respectable and professional. Used to the button-ups and slacks. Not a shirt that perfectly hugged your chest and some shorts that were barely revealed under the length of your top.

As if he wasn’t hard enough already.

You sat on the other end of the couch beside him. Only a small pillow between your bodies. Legs crossing, causing your shorts to hike further up your thighs. Revealing the extra soft spots closer to your core.

“Anything good on?”

Hotch hesitated, “No.”

You widened your eyes at his short answer. Not sure what had gotten him so irritable in the last bit. Not wanting to push him. Choosing to stay quiet as you leaned against the arm of the couch. Watching some old sci-fi movie he had landed on. They were shooting out with some aliens. No telling what over, the movie was half way over by the time Hotch got to it.

The glow of the TV was all that illuminated the room. Flashes of colors dancing across your skin. Silently staring at the flat screen. Thinking about nonsense, just trying to feed your mind.

“Y/N,” Hotch began, hint of a break in his voice. You looked over at him. He had sweat beaming on his forehead. “You… you said earlier that you would help me in whatever way you could?”

You nodded, “Of course, Hotch. I’m here to please.”

His skin tingled. The innocent look behind your eyes pushing him even more on edge. He was silently opening and closing his mouth. Brows netted together as he breathed heavy. Tension so thick in the room neither of you could catch your breath.

“This is so inappropriate,” he softly chuckled to himself, stretching his neck, voice not above a whisper. Feeling your own heartbeat pound out of your chest. Hotch sighed, “I need to cum.”

Your eyes flew harshly open. Lips parting as you attempting to respond to him. Face immediately flushing with arousal as you clinched around nothing. Eyes shooting down to his crotch. Surprised to see the outline of his cock pressing against his pants. Thin, soft material not hiding his length.

“Either you can help me, or I need you to leave the room so I can handle it myself,” Hotch quickly said, desperation on his tone.

“Do you… want… me to-to help?” You shyly questioned.

Hotch smiled with an exhale. Perfect teeth on display for the first time tonight as he closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch. Blinking open to lock into you, “Yes.”

Such a simple statement. Causing so much confusion inside you. Of course, you had been flirting back and forth for some time now. And yes the idea of seeing Hotch’s cock, especially how it fit in your hand, had your body tingling.

But what about work?

What would your coworkers say? What would your superiors say? What if this was only for tonight?

You threw caution to the wind. Choosing to have some fun with him, even if you never spoke of this again.

You crawled closer to him on the couch, Hotch’s arm wrapping around your back when you sat on your knees. One of his hands coming up to grip at your t-shirt. Pulling the collar down with his finger and looking down it. Smiling at the sight of your lightly covered breasts. Blushing at how natural his hands felt on you. Leaning in to place your lips on his neck. Breath hitching in his throat at the soft feeling.

“Did you do this with all the other girls?” You asked between kisses, genuine curiosity and a bit of shame taking over your senses.

“Of course not,” Hotch exhaled, “You know it’s only you.”

You kissed up his jugular, resting along his jawline. Hotch’s smile never left his face as you feathered your lips along his skin. Hand running strong fingers up and down your back. Your own hand gently ghosting down his front to rest on his hard cock.

Hotch’s body twitched, causing him a small amount of pain. Wincing as he squinted his eyes. “I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be,” Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek. Pulling you into a passionate kiss. Lightning stimulated your nerves at his taste and feeling. Both of you humming together. Tongue slipping past your lips as it grazed your teeth. Hunger apparent by the way he held onto you. Smiling as you became overwhelmed with emotions.

“What?” Hotch asked, unable to stop himself from returning your expression. Cheeks glowing.

“I just… just wanna know what’s got you all worked up?” pressing your lips back to his as your hand outlines his shaft. Hotch’s throat tightened at your touch. Breathy and clingy.

“I’ve been locked up here, not even a second of alone time, for weeks. And when you have nothing else to do, your mind wanders. And mine kept going to the same place time and time again,” toothy grin taking over his expression as he continuing caressing your face.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, not saying anything back.

“You’re going to tell me you don’t masturbate?” Hotch chuckled, an offensive hint on his tone.

Your face flooded red as you remembered the last time you had. Remembering the image of Hotch’s body above yours, strong arms flexing on either side of your head, hips pumping into yours as he held eye contact.

“I… um— yeah, I do. I have a vibrator in my night stand,” you kissed him again. Loving how his shaft hardened against your touch.

“Hmm,” he hummed against your lips, “Wish you’d brought it with you.”

“Hotch,” you giggled, playful embarrassment in your voice.

“I know you look so pretty when you orgasm,” Hotch smiled between kisses. Your heart thumped in your chest. Overwhelmed in the best way possible. Fingers continuing to lightly rub against his length.

“Probably really pretty with your mouth around my cock too,” Hotch’s hand held onto the back of your head. Keeping your mouth against his.

“God- you are needing aren’t you?” You chuckled into his mouth. The two of you shared in making flirtatious noises. Continuing to latch onto one another’s mouths. Slowly sliding into the floor between his legs. Fluttering your lashes up at him as you leaned forward to play with his waistband.

“Please,” Hotch squinted his eyes closed. Jaw tensed and Adam’s apple bobbing.

Slowly, you helped raise his hips so that you could pull his sweatpants down his legs. Taking your time to make sure he did not have to overwork his body. Mouth watering when you saw the tent pitched in his boxer-briefs. Flattening your hands against his thighs, framing his cock.

Hotch’s hand tethered in your hair, lust blown eyes admiring you below him. Moaning when your lips pressed a kiss against his clothed member. Freeing his cock from its confides. Taking in all the details. Thick and swollen, vein running over the top side as his head leaked. Tongue licking a stripe up the underside.

Hotch rutted forward, moaning loudly as he gripped the couch for stability. Head leaned forward to watch you. Your hand gripped him at the base. Stroking upward with a twist of your wrist. Thumb swiping over the slit to collect the precum. Loving how his velvety skin felt in your palm.

Tender lips kissed along his shaft before sucking on the head.

“Oh my God,” Hotch groaned. Trying his hardest to not move. Not wanting to take away from the pleasure by causing himself pain. His brows upturned and jaw hung open as he watched you go lower onto him.

Stopping when your nose met the soft hair at his base. Gagging around him momentarily. Taste of him overwhelming any other sense you had. Your tongue flattened underneath him as you began to bob. Almost completely coming off him before going down again.

“So good,” Hotch praised breathlessly. Causing your own arousal to pool inside you. Wishing you could crawling into his lap and take his cock inside you. Knowing his body was in no shape for that kind of physical activity.

Having him squirm from your mouth would have to do for now.

Hotch looked so beautiful with his face all flushed and shoulders heaving. Chest rapidly rising and falling as he audibly breathed. Your hand came up to wrap around his base once more, allowing your lips to meet your fingers with each movement. Causing you to move much faster than before.

“Y/N,” Hotch moaned.

Feeling his cock twitch between your lips. His end was nearing. Continuing at the pace you had given him. Sloppy sounds coming from your mouth as your tongue swirled around his length.

“I’m close,” Hotch breathed out. His veins on his neck poking out as he strained back. Sounds of him whimpering and grunting was like music to your ears. Salty taste filling your mouth as he approached his finish. Twisting your wrist and going down further on him. Coaxing him to his end.

Hotch’s hand gripped the back of your hand with strong fingers as he came. Breath hitching in his throat as his jaw hung open. Looking down to watch you swallow the ropes of cum he shot into your mouth. Hand traveling down to caress your cheek when he was done. Thumb rubbing circles into your flushed cheeks.

You caught your breath as you doed your eyes up at him. Smiling as you rested your head into his hand. Licking your lips to get any remnants of him off your face.

Hotch patted the seat beside him. Instructing you to come sit with him once more. You rested your head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your lower back. Grateful lips kissing your head.

Finding a position that was comfortable for you both as you rested your eyes. Engulfed by his body heat and musk. His heartbeat thumped against your ear. The day catching up with you as you relaxed.

“We can go lay in bed,” Hotch softly suggested.

You nodded. Standing to your feet to help him up. Shuffling down the hallway as Hotch limped holding onto you. Walking him over to his large mattress. Hotch smiled up at you, fingers holding onto your hand as you stood in front of him. Looking like a lovesick fool before you. Causing you to blush because it was you that had him looking like that. Smiling wider than you had ever seen him.

“Are you sure… that you want me in here? If you’d rest better, I can go—“

“Don’t even try,” Hotch grinned, pulling your hand to his lips and gently kissing. Tugging you into the bed with him. Landing directly beside him. Giggling as you snuggled under the blanket with him. Hotch’s lips kissed every piece of skin he could. Coating you in his love.

“That was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” Hotch’s lips finally found yours. Smiling with a soft chuckle ending his sentence.

“Glad I could help,” you scrunched your nose up with a smile. His hand caressed your cheek again, dark eyes scanning your entire face. Seeing you this close for one of the first times. Finally taking the time to look at every freckle, blemish, scar, or any other beauty mark you had. Never having had someone look at you the way he was now.

Your eyes were growing heavy. Blinking slowly until a yawn came over you. Rolling over to allow Hotch to hold you from behind. Closing your eyes as the plush of his pillows captured you.

His hand snaked around your front. Causing your chest to tighten when you felt him prying at your shorts. His nose trailed the valley of your neck and shoulder. Fingers going down the front of your panties.

“Aaron…?“

“Let me repay you,” Hotch whispered into your ear.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you sighed when his fingertips swiped over your sensitive bud.

“If I can’t fuck you, let me make you cum around my fingers,” Hotch’s deep voice vibrated into your skin. Fingers finding their way into your soaked folds. Circling them before inserting one. Causing you to arch into him and moan. A hum of approval came from him.

Curling his finger inside you as he massaged your insides. Thumb pressing into your clit. Shooting electricity through your veins. Your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. Locks lacing through your fingers. Your jaw hung open at the feeling of him adding an additional digit. Stretching you perfectly.

“Aaron,” you moaned, Hotch held your hand above your head. Fingers gently interlocking with yours while the air from his lips casted across your skin.

“Go ahead, I want to hear you,” Hotch kissed your shoulder.

You moaned at his words.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed.

That familiar knot was tightening in your lower half. Hotch knew how to use his fingers. Causing your thighs to quiver and body to jolt. Sounds of him breathing filling your ears, sounding intoxicated by you. Never wanting you to leave his side.

You felt your pussy clench around his fingers. Insides growing more and more sensitive when he would hit the spongy spots.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

You nodded aggressively. Whining as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Feeling his semi-hard cock press into your ass. Sweat dripped down your skin. Your heartbeat was in your ears as you felt your orgasm washing over you. Walls fluttering around Hotch’s fingers. Moaning his name like a mantra. Grinding down on his hand as your thighs shook.

Hotch smiled against your skin. Loving how you sounded begging and calling out to him. Wishing he could fuck you senseless. Wanting nothing more than to fill you up.

“I knew you’d look pretty orgasming,” lips kissed your cheek. You breathed heavily, grinning at his cocky voice. Rolling over to press your lips into his. Arms wrapping around his neck. Finally finding yourself the most comfortable you had been yet.

Drifting to sleep in his arms.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all the love I’ve gotten since writing for Hotch and love seeing everyone reply and comment and everything! As always, my requests are open! I have a Rossi x Reader planned in the next few days that was requested so keep an eye out for that! //

{tags}

@bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @cherriready ~ @khxna ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @megangovier

[spencers-library]

this is an absolute MASTERPIECE !!! this just might be the best fic i’ve ever read in my life !

and also EDGAR ALLAN POE MENTIONNNN (i’m the biggest edgar allan poe nerd😭)

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[spencers-library]

i’m such a sucker for fics where spence helps you study omfg

hypothalamus

note: this is just me reidsplaining neuro i fear. and being horny. sorry? inspired by my real life final that i so bravely studied for without spencer's help </3

summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, fingering, p in v sex, heavy praise kink, neuroscience jargon

wc: 2.3k

apologies in advance if it sounds too sciencey it is unfortunately the side effect of a woman in stem. bunsen burner! (divider by @firefly-graphics)

The dry erase marker crumbs stick to your hand as you angrily erase the whiteboard again, internally groaning as you restart drawing your diagram hopefully correctly this time. It’s not. After another few failed attempts you slump back in your chair and huff out in frustration, too deep in your sulk to hear the front door open.

“Hey I’m home!” Spencer calls out, bending down to remove his shoes.

“In the study.” you grumble out, a surprise he even heard you when he walks in a minute later. His gaze softens as he takes in the scene. Your notes strewn across the table, your whiteboard dark with marker smudges that match the side of your hand in which you used to erase it. The exhaustion clear as day on your face and the hint of defeat in your eyes is enough to draw him closer to you.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” he says softly.

You sniffle, not exactly crying but the stress was bringing you to the brink, “S’nothing, just trying to study and it’s not working. Feel dumb.”

He sighs and rounds the desk, sitting on the edge and reaching for your hands as he looks down at you, “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“To not to.” you mumble.

He laughs softly, “Well, yes. But it’s because you’re too hard on yourself. You were just explaining all of this to me yesterday.”

You whine, “I know and it feels like I forgot it already!”

“Maybe you just need to approach it differently,” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “Your whiteboard isn’t helping?”

“No,” you sigh, “I keep drawing it wrong and it’s frustrating me.”

The despair in your voice makes his heart ache, and all he wishes is to be able to take it away. Spencer remains deep in thought before something clicks in his mind, you see the shift in him but you’re unable to discern what epiphany he’s reached. His eyes sparkle with mischief as his entire demeanor changes, “I think you might need a different type of visual.”

Your eyes squint in confusion before you realize what he’s getting at, and you can’t help but laugh. “You’re not serious? This is a joke, right?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, “Humor me.”

The laughter dies down on your tongue as you take in and consider the very intentional nature of his words. “How so?”

“You’re studying brain structures right?” you nod, “Okay well, what better way to study than with some active learning?” 

You couldn’t look less convinced. Spencer chuckles, reaching for your hand to switch places with him so he’s seated on the chair. You move forward hesitantly, he holds a hand out to gently pull you closer while using the other hand on your hip guides you onto his lap. You part your knees on either side of him and situate comfortably on him, arms slinking around his neck.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You soften, “Hi. Are you sure this isn’t a ruse to get me in bed?”

“Oh come on, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. A lot of the hypothalamic functions are very important during intercourse,” he trails his fingers up and down your side, “You’ll get to study with a real life application and relieve some of your stress.”

You move your hips slightly, smiling when you feel him harden beneath you at the simple movement, “Alright, I’m game.”

He matches your grin and presses a kiss to the base of your jaw, “Need you to help me with my pants for this to work, baby.”

The soft kiss already sends you into a dizzy fit, nodding mindlessly as you scoot back to allow yourself space to work on undoing his belt and zipper. You aren’t even sure what his plan is, but if it keeps him talking to you like that you’re afraid there might be nothing you won’t do for him. Spencer’s eyes are focused on you while yours are focused at your handiwork, unable to resist slipping a hand in and palming him through his boxers.

“Ah—h baby, not yet.” he hisses at the contact, reluctantly removing your hand, “S’about you remember? We’re studying. So, tell me something about the thalamus.”

“Okay, the thalamus functions as a relay center for both sensory and m—oh—tor functions.” you moan feeling his lips attach to your neck, slowly marking a path down the slope of your nape with chaste kisses.

He looks up at you briefly, smiling smugly, “Why’d you stop? Keep going.”

You clear your throat as he continues his descent towards your shoulder, motioning for you to lift your arms so he can take off the shirt you’re wearing. His lips immediately reattach before he stops in place once more, brown eyes peering up at you knowingly amid your silence.

“R—Right, so there’s a structure called the lateral geniculate nucleus, fuck.” you curse feeling him suckle a hickey into the crease of your neck.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, “And what does it do?”

His lips descend further down, teasing the lace edges on your bra. You yelp as he nips playfully, “It um, it helps send um…visual stimuli to the brain, right?”

A wicked grin spreads on his face, “That is right, smart girl.” His fingers trace the outline of your bra to the back where he expertly unclasps it, letting it fall to the floor. “You keep getting it right, and I’ll reward you each time, yeah?”

You nod hypnotically, eager to please him and seek his rewards. A soft gasp leaves you as you feel him latch onto your breast, letting his tongue swirl around the peak of your nipple and feeling it harden under his touch. You tighten your arms around him as he latches onto the other breast, moaning softly as he makes sure to give it the same special attention.

You grind your hips down and he lets out a low groan,  arm tightening around your waist, suspending your movement. “Can’t do that, sweetheart” he strains, “You gotta earn it.”

Another whine leaves your throat, dropping your head to his neck. He really wasn’t making this easy. “Okay, so ask me something else then.”

His nose brushes up the length of your neck before his hands reach for the notes behind you, “Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

Before you get a chance to think about the answer, you’re distracted by his wandering hands again. Only this time, they’re going down towards where you really need him.

“Spence,” you say breathlessly, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure for a moment.

“Nuh uh,” he pauses his ministrations, “Answer first, reward second. I told you the rules, don’t make me repeat it.”

You whimper and Spencer almost folds—almost. But for the sake of your education, and definitely not the way you look perched on his lap, he treks on.

He does feel a little pity and decides to show you a bit of mercy when he motions for you to lift up slightly so he can pull your pajama shorts all the way off.

“That feel better?” he whispers, hot breath fanning your face. You nod hastily. “Okay then. Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

“Um…the anterior nuclei is responsible for—“ your breath hitches as his finger traces the edge of your panties. “Memory, right? Hippocampus.” you rush out.

You feel him smile and nod, “Correct,” his finger hooks onto the fabric and pulls it to the side, the cold air not even hitting you before he swipes through your folds.

Your head drops to his shoulder as you let out a shuddering sigh, peppering kisses up his neck as his fingers provide the much needed attentiveness you needed. He chuckles softly, “Just relax. You’re doing good, pretty girl.”

He helps you remove your underwear, maneuvering you so he can smoothly slide them off your legs. His fingers collect the slick and glides up to circle your clit, grinning when he hears you whine loudly. He continues to move across your pussy before retracting his finger while you let out a soft whimper. You’re about to protest when you see the intention of his removal, watching his hand slip below his boxers to gently pull himself out. He gives himself a few pumps before laying flat against his body, guiding your hips so your cunt is flush with the topside of his dick.

He holds your hips down preventing you from moving, “Hypothalamus?”

The cock drunk state is getting to you and he’s not even inside you yet, “It’s a um…it regulates…stuff.” you trail off, his lips returning to your neck.

He sucks another hickey onto your neck, licking over it and pulling back to gently blow on it. “Not good enough,” he whispers, “Try again.”

You whimper, “Okay—Okay, it sends signals for…sympathetic response—fight or flight” the end of your voice lilting up as he begins to move your hips.

“Keep going.”

The sensation of your cunt sliding up and down his length is enough to send you into delirium, and you’re honestly impressed you’re still able to speak. “It also does,” you take a deep breath for regulation, “It signals appetite and eating…and…”

He slides you forward enough so the tip of his cock is barely breaching your entrance, “One more, pretty girl.”

You rack your brain as you try to force yourself to focus, and not think about the way his tip is stretching your opening, teasing you relentlessly. The answer comes to you in a lightbulb moment, “Intercourse,” you moan, “releases hormones for sex.”

Spencer grins again, “Good girl.”

He lifts your hips a little, and the shift in angle is enough to fully slide himself inside you, the feeling causing you both to moan in tandem. The stretch of his cock inside you splits you apart beautifully, making you feel so full.

You whine his name again as you try to move, getting louder when you realize his hands are still clamped to your side, holding you square in place, “Wanna move, please.”

“Oh baby, you know I love it when you use your manners,” he touts, pressing kisses up your chest, “One more question and I’ll give you what you need, okay?”

You nod quickly, waiting impatiently for his last question.

“Tell me the two hormones made in the hypothalamus.” he whispers against your skin.

“I know one is antidiuretic hormone…” you breathe out shakily, “But, there’s one more I can’t remember.”

“I’ll give you a hint.” his hands slowly begin to guide you up and down on him, a languished moan leaving your throat. The feeling of him pushing against your cervix is so detrimentally distracting, like all you’re focused on is the pure euphoria your body is chasing. It’s clouding your judgement, your senses. It’s all consuming as the pleasure spreads throughout you.

Wait.

Oh.

Spencer seems to sense that you’ve reached an answer and thrusts up into you, “Ah—Knew you’d get there. What is it, baby?”

You let out a sharp gasp before answering, “Oxytocin.”

He doesn’t give a verbal praise but his face splits into a wide grin, finally loosening the grip on your hips and allowing you full reign to chase your peak. You brace yourself on his shoulders and increase your pace, his hands returning to your sides facilitating your movements.

“Such a smart girl you are, baby,” he coos, “Taking me so well and getting all the answers right?”

“Spence…”

“You’re just so good, angel. My beautiful, intelligent girl,” he continues to praise, feeling you clench around him, “My good girl, isn’t that right?”

Any and every neuronal connection in your brain is fried at this point, melded down to nothing but atoms at the hands of Spencer Reid, clearly reveling in your fucked out state as evidenced by your incoherent babbling. His hands grip your sides tighter and pulls you harder when you sink down, the sound echoing throughout the study.

“ ‘m close,” you mumble as you slump into his shoulder letting him fully takeover. He stills his movements for a second before standing up with his hands under your legs to sit you on the desk in front of you. Your hands detach from his shoulders and hold you up from behind as you lean back and let Spencer pull your body towards him.

He continues to fuck into you, the new position allowing him better control for calculated thrusts and a faster pace. Words don’t exist in your lexicon anymore and you hope he can understand your babbles as you attempt to communicate with him that your orgasm is about to overtake you entirely.

He knows, obviously, because it’s you. He slides a finger down to your clit to further drive you to the edge, leaning down to whisper, “Come for me, baby. You’ve earned it.”

With a high pitched whine you crash into your peak with the full force of your body, vision temporarily going white before returning in splotchy spots. Spencer comes not too far behind you, fucking the last of his come into you before stilling completely.

You both pant heavily as you try to catch your breaths, and Spencer leans forward to rest his forehead on yours. “You alright?”

“I think you fucked me dumb.”

He laughs breathlessly, “Actually, I think I fucked you smart.”

You swat his shoulder lightly and laugh, “That was so bad.”

He smoothes your hair back before gently pulling out, using your discarded shirt to clean you up a bit. His lips press a kiss to forehead, then your nose, both cheeks, before landing on your lips kissing you deeply.

You pull back suddenly, “Wait, I still have like, five more sections to review.”

Spencer’s wicked grin returns. “Well, we better get to work.” He effortlessly picks you up from the desk as you giggle and wrap your legs around him. He reaches the bedroom and delicately tosses you on the bed, looking down as he stands over you at the edge.

 “Gotta make sure you get that A, pretty girl.”

[spencers-library]

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Is so fucking hot during sex but I raise you

“This is so fucking wrong.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[spencers-library]

i’m absolutely losing my mind over this masterpiece

Ideas From a Book - A.H

a/n: im writing what i want !!!!!!!!!!!!! i have a gun kink SUE ME !!! if you don't like it don't read it !!!!!!!

anyhow HAPPY READING

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch comes home to find you reading and finds out you have a gun kink

warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot going on here yall idk, gun going in ur vag, reader loves smut she's just like me fr, gun kink!, dirty talk, established relationship, yada yada

wc: 2.3k

When Hotch returned home from work, the ritual he had was comforting in its predictability: shedding his coat and shoes, setting down his briefcase, and locking up his gun. Then, he'd find you, as he always did, nestled into the couch, book in hand. 

It was something he could count on, as reliable as the sun rising in the morning. Your bookshelf was a spectrum of genres--science fiction, poetry, mystery, historical, fantasy--name it, you've likely read it. Among these, he had noticed a trend--your favoritism for romance. It was fitting, as you've always been an ardent believer in fairytales and happy endings. It was a belief he intended to uphold, a fairytale ending he was set on creating for you. 

The book you held today had a cover he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat, announcing his arrival. Your eyes met his in an instant, and he was struck anew by just how pretty you are. Effortlessly so. He told you as much, though you seldom accepted the compliment. 

"Hi, handsome," you said, infusing your words with honey as you folded the corner of your page and laid the book aside. Spencer would scold you for that. "How was work?"

A shrug rolled off his shoulders, fingers working to loosen the tie that felt like a noose after a long day. Stepping further into the living room, he sighed, "Heavy with paperwork."

"That's no fun," you said, lips curving into a delicate pout. 

It was an invitation he couldn't ignore. Leaning in, his hands found your face, and as your lips met, you giggled, pulling back just enough to study his face, the harsh lines under his eyes, reading the fatigue on his features like a well-thumbed novel. 

"What are you reading?" he questioned, easing down next to you, the couch dipping to his weight. 

You dodged his eyes, fingers absently fidgeting with your earlobe as you gave him a half-smile, tilting the book just enough so he couldn't catch the title.  

"Just some romance book," you admitted, with a slight uptick in your voice. "Garcia recommended it."

He regarded you with a contemplative frown. Normally, a book you would have gone on for hours, detailing every character, plot twist, and subplot, dissecting its layers and intricacies in exhaustive detail. 

Aaron watched as you placed the book on the side table, movements deliberate. You positioned yourself across his lip, a seemingly innocent distraction. It almost worked. Your soft thighs sinking into his calloused hands, as if they were crafted just for him. He recognized your ploy, though, giving your leg a squeeze a little tighter than necessary. 

You leaned in, your breath tinged with the minty traces of your afternoon tea, a detail as intimate as any secret shared between lovers. He nipped at your lip, a gentle diversion, as his hand crept towards the book.

You wriggled in his hold, vying to get there first, but he was faster. Much faster at that, although you loved to challenge him on that. He secretly loved when you did. He loved you. 

"What are you doing?" Your voice was rising in a panicked pitch. You stretched your hand out, trying to reclaim it, but he kept it just beyond reach.

Aaron's arm formed a band around you, effectively pinning your arms to your torso while you writhed within his grasp. A groan was stifled in his throat. "Quit that."

You smiled, a hint of tease in the curve of your lips and stilled. You were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it was a feat achieved with little effort. 

"Why are you being so secretive about this?"

He nodded to the book. The cover was unassuming, black with a smattering of designs that sprawled across it. It looked like any other book you read.

"I'm not being secretive," you insisted, deliberately avoiding his probing gaze. "You're just being nosy."

"Oh, am I?" He couldn't help but laugh, nose crinkling as he dismissed the notion with a shake of his head.

You nodded, not saying anything in response. He thumbed through the book, opening it to a random page.

"Wait--," you pleaded, but his attention was already glued to the ink. You wrapped yourself around him, your face buried in the folds of his crisp dress shirt as you murmured into the fabric, "please don't."

His arm shifted from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. "Gasping at the cool metal of the gun running across my belly, I want him press it into my panties."

Your breath caught, warmth flooding your cheeks as you pressed your face deeper into his chest. "Aaron, stop."

But he didn't, of course, he was far too intrigued.

"Parting my legs, I roll into the metal. He runs it back and forth across my pussy, wetting it against the barrel to my entrance," He continued, wetting the pad of his thumb as he turned the page, eyes meeting yours. 

He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for your response. You didn't give him one, huffing a sigh as you plucked the book from his hands and flung it onto the cushions of the couch.

"Are you...into this?" He articulated each word with deliberate slowness, as if navigating a minefield. "This is a little intense."

You groan, tucking your chin down to your chest as you fought against the tingling sensation clawing up your spine.

"I don't know." The words tumbled out in a murmur, a feeble shield against the embarrassment flooding your senses.

It was the truth. You didn't know. Ink on a page was a far cry from reality. Nonetheless, your recent daydreams were filled with images of Aaron with his gun. God, forbid you see him on duty.

He shifted you off his lap, and you felt the corners of your mouth turn downward involuntarily. You watched his retreating figure vanish down the hall, your thoughts racing at breakneck speed, gripped by the fear that you had scared him off, that this was his tipping point.

The welling tears were poised to fall, but they paused as he came back into view. Holding his gun.

Your breath halted, a knot forming in your throat as you clumsily rose to your knees on the couch, your eyes wide and transfixed on him.

You watched, more like ogled, as he methodically removed the magazine, opening the action and ejecting the cartridges of the gun, putting the safety into place. Your throat felt dry. His advance towards you was predatory, a slow march that rekindled a well-known flutter in your stomach.

"Aaron?"

He stepped in front of you, the firearm dangling loosely at his side. You gazed up at him, peering through the shelter of your lashes.

"Do you want me to fuck you with this?"

You knew you said you didn't know if this was something you were into, yet here you were, retracting every syllable. Suddenly so incredibly turned on it almost hurt.

You nodded vigorously, your enthusiasm outpacing your self-awareness.

The look he gave you was one you recognized instantly, eliciting yet another soft pout before you gave in. "Yes, please, Aaron."

"Good girl," he said, making your heart skip a beat as he pressed the nose of the gun into your chest, forcing you backward. "Always so good for me."

You nodded again, even though there was no need to, but you weren't really focused on his words. You were focused on the gun pressing into your body, imagining it pressed against your clit, up your pussy.

"You're sure, um," you managed, trying to catch your breath, pausing in the middle of your sentence to clear your throat, "that all the safety stuff is on?"

You sounded dumb, you were aware, but all intellectual thoughts were out the window.

He let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending another wave of desire straight to your core. "Yes, baby, all of the safety stuff is on."

"Okay, good."

He pressed his lips to yours, the gun still flush against your chest, now grazing your nipple as you arched into him.

He pulled back only enough to speak into your mouth. "What's your safe word?"

"Mercy."

He hummed in response, fingers threading through your hair as he pushed the barrel of the gun down your stomach. You froze, a subtle gap forming between your lips as your eyes remained locked on the motion.

He brought his mouth to your ear, nipping at the skin lightly as he pushed the metal further down your body, lifting the hem of your shirt with it. You gasped at the feeling, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you tried to hide just how affected you were.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes." It was immediate. Without hesitation.

He kissed your lips, gentle and unhurried, as if he was savoring the sensation, like he thought I might crumble under too much pressure. He might be right.

"Take these off."

His gun pressed against the waistband of your shorts. You didn't waste a second, lifting your hips and shimmying out of the fabric. A sound of approval vibrated from his throat, his fingers entwining in your hair, gently drawing your face closer to his.

"Are you sure about this?"

A nod came naturally, followed by a yes breathed out like a prayer, as your eyes trailed down to in between your thighs where the gun was now sitting. 

"Aaron, I need it."

"Oh, you need it, huh?" He tsked his tongue, running the nose of the gun over your clothed heat. "I can tell."

You let out a sharp gasp, bucking your hips into the device as you met his eyes, willing him to keep going. You had never been more turned on in your life. His hand moved from your neck to the small of your waist, pinning you in place. With one hand. Fuck.

He laid the gun beside your hip on the couch in order to pull your panties off. You squirmed at the rush of cold air encompassing between your thighs. His eyes were glued to your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips.

"Christ sweetheart," he hissed, sliding one finger through your slit, showing you the moisture you had produced. "Needy girl."

"Aaron, please." You needed something inside of you.

He laughed, at your expense, but you didn't care, concentrated on his hand grabbing the Glock and repeating the action his finger just did.

You choked out a sound, stuttering against the touch. He in a merciful mood apparently, pushing the gun slowly into your sopping cunt. You were writhing against it, your mouth parted as you tried to get used to the foreign object.

"You okay?" He asked, pausing his motions, giving you a second to adjust.

You swallowed; gaze drawn down to where he was sliding the gun into you. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Yes."

"You can take it," he said, but the way the firearm was stretching you made you unsure.

It wasn't the size necessarily, but the way the groves and magazine were cramming into you was making hold your breath, which him being him he noticed immediately.

His hand rested gently against the pouch of your stomach. "Breathe."

The pent-up breath escaped your lips, and he rewarded you by sinking the gun further into your pussy. You fingers wrapped around his biceps, the tips digging slightly into the constellation of freckled skin.

One final thrust and it was fully in you. You could feel every groove and contour of it, cunt clenching and unclenching at the sensation. 

"Look at you," he drawled, beginning to fuck you with it. It transcended the prose of any book, a sensation that no array of printed words could fully capture. "You like that?"

Nodding was your only recourse, mouth hanging pathetically open as you moaned and whined. You were in a daze-like state, every sound and motion involuntary.

"This is the Glock 17," he explained, thrusting the gun faster, causing you to tighten your hands around his neck, bringing him so close his words were melting into your skin. "It feeds from a staggered-column magazine that has a 17-round capacity. It sends 115 gr bullets downrange at about 1200 feet per second."

You could feel your arousal leaking to your thighs, coating his forearm in the process, but that would never stop him.

"This gun has taken the lives of nineteen unsubs."

You know this should make you coil away, that it should feel wrong somehow, but all you felt was that growing tightness in your core, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace.

"You don't even care, do you? All you care about is getting yourself off." His chuckles wove through his words, and his motions didn't falter, intent of ushering you to your peak. "My dirty girl."

You were so close, the edges of the gun managing to hit every spot just right.

"Come on, honey."

Fuck. You let out another strangled gasp, way louder than intended as your back arched like a string of a bow, and then suddenly you released.

A prism of colors exploded behind your squeezed eyes. A collage of musical notes falling over your ears. Your whole body was being ignited as you gushed around the gun.

"Christ." His new favorite word as of late. He withdrew the weapon from you.

You let out a subdued hum, propping yourself on your elbows, your eyes lazily rising to meet his with a tender flutter.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, the compliment settling on you like dew on morning flowers. Your gaze caught the gun, now bathed in a liquid gloss, cradled in his hands.

"Oh my god," you said, hand covering your mouth.

He laughed softly, placing it on the coffee table before his lips brushed against yours, a soft and measured caress that belied his previous urgency.

"You might need a new one," you said sheepishly, heat creeping into your ears as he pressed another soft kiss to your cheek.

"Absolutely not," he murmured into your flushed skin. "It just became my gun of choice."

You were going to give him the best head of his life.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[spencers-library]

i’m just gonna pass away bc this is genuinely the sweetest smut ive ever read. i’m actually tearing abt with the fluff at the end omg

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

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It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

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thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[spencers-library]

nsfw | mdni

tired sex with spencer would be so heavenly. imagine it’s late one night, he’s exhausted because he just got home from a case. and youre still awake for some reason. he’s aching and tired but all he wants is to just feel you.

so you’re both laying in bed, you’re on your side facing spencer while he’s got his arm around you and his face buried in your neck while his cock is nuzzled inside of your cunt. he’s thrusting into you slowly, just relishing in the feeling of your pussy rather than worrying about finishing. he just wants the closeness.

and you’re letting out the most beautiful whines and moans that never fail to make spencer riled up. all while he’s moaning and breathing heavily into your ear. when you eventually cum on his cock with a loud whine and your walls clenching on his cock, spencer just can’t help spilling his load, burying his cum deep inside of you.

neither of you bother to clean up afterwards. you both just end up falling asleep, just like that.

[spencers-library]

i’m genuinely at a loss for words bc this is so incredibly filthy omg

hotch loosening his tie and undoing a few buttons to eat you out on his desk at the office, having to take his tie completely off and push it into your mouth to keep you quiet 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Jesus Christ." Is your lover's careful assessment of the mess between your thighs, glistening as it clings to your skin and covers an expanse that reaches far beyond the lacy hem of your now-ruined panties.

He inspects you for a moment, runs a thick thumb through the slick steadily streaming from your weepy cunt, and smears it lower over your thigh instead of licking his finger clean.

"I need to take off my tie," He muses, fingers flying to the windsor knot to loosen it, "You're already such a mess that it would be stained the second I started."

"Can I have it?" You whine, craning your neck to stare down at him where he's kneeling between your legs. The chilled oak of his desk bites against your bare skin, but you're slowly warming it with the fever of desire you find yourself in. You reach for the tie, pleading, and Aaron sets it in your trembling fingers.

"Oh god, it- it smells like your cologne," You realize, breath shaky as you smother the silken fabric against your face, breathing in the scent of Aaron where it clings so potently to the fabric, "Hurry, Aaron, please-?"

Your hips writhe slightly as you squirm atop his desk, but his hand never comes to hold your waist in place.

"I have to unbutton my shirt, too." He murmurs, and you hear the rustling of fabric that lets you know he's already two buttons in, "Are you trying to stain all of my clothes, honey?"

You whimper softly against the fabric of his tie, and finally- finally one of his rough hands glides up your leg, starting at the ankle and ending near your throbbing core.

"You are? You want me to walk back out there with a dirty tie? That's bold." He assesses, "Our coworkers are profilers. It would take them, oh-" He smears his thumb close- this close to your slickened mess of a cunt, and your thighs shudder like a sob, "Ten seconds to figure out I'd just been on my knees between your legs. Is that what you're going for? You want everyone to know you're spread-eagle over my desk?"

"Aaron," You plead, desperate and pathetic, "Please?" You crane your neck down to watch him once more, and he's the picture of sin, thighs strained against his slacks, cock pressing even tighter against their fabric. There's three buttons undone on his shirt which reveal a mass of dark, wiry hair and which prevent the collar from being soaked in your pre-release. There's contentment and something dark, something sadistic and sinister in his eyes as he kneels before you, unquestionably dominant despite the position he's in.

"You're good at begging." He observes, his voice calm and collected, "And at making a mess. I'd tease you more, but if you get any wetter, I'd have to strip completely to avoid getting dirty. And we don't have much time before the team realizes that there's two agents missing and only one locked door. So lift up your hips, honey- there we go," He pats at your thigh and slips his hands beneath your hips when you lift them, elevating your core before he buries his face in it, "And try not to make too much noise- bite down on that tie whenever you have to scream."

[spencers-library]

this is so beautiful i'm sobbing rn

Warm Embrace

Summary: Spencer and his wife explore ways to be intimate with each other after a traumatic event

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Please read the CW, this story contains potentially triggering topics! 

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) referenced past SA of Reader (non-graphic), implied flashbacks, trauma related sexual problems, conversations about sex and intimacy, nudity, kissing, mutual masturbation, handjob, thigh riding

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

“Spencer?” Your voice echoed through the apartment when you stepped through the door and found no sign of your husband. 

A distant sound came from the bathroom. “In here!” 

After a quiet knock on the door and his confirmation that you could step in, you found Spencer sitting in the bathtub. The room was filled with the lavender scent of the bath soap and what you could see of his body was covered in bubbles. It almost looked comical how his knees stuck out of the water, making it obvious that the tub was not big enough to accommodate his long limbs. 

“I was too tired to take a shower,” he explained after discovering your curious expression. 

“I can see that,” you laughed. “I thought you hated taking baths.”

“Honestly, I think I’m starting to understand why you like them so much. This isn't too bad.”

You stood there for a few moments, smiling at the sight in front of you. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you slowly began shedding your clothes. 

“Mind if I join you?” you wondered. 

Nothing about this situation would be unusual for any other married couple. Just a few months ago neither of you would have questioned your actions. Back then initiating any form of intimacy with each other felt natural and familiar. 

Things were different now, though. 

Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his position. “Are you sure about this?”

There was a reason to ask. For the past months any attempt to get close to each other resulted in you crying for the rest of the night. Something as simple as him placing his hand on your thigh was enough to startle you. 

A sigh rolled over your lips as you dropped your shirt to the floor. “No,” you confessed. “But I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he reminded you.

That was not what you meant and he knew that. Of course he understood the meaning of your words. Spencer was well aware of the fact that ever since that son of a bitch hurt you, you fought a constant battle between wanting his nearness and pushing him away. 

Your husband gave you the space you needed and was there to hold you whenever you’d let him. It couldn't have been easy for him either but he never once complained about this new reality you had a live. 

A reality where that person took something from you that you’d never get back. It was hard to shake this feeling of being tainted after having your physical integrity stripped away like that. You were distant and closed off when it came to intimacy, despite your best efforts to get back to what once was normal. It had been months since Spencer even saw you unclothed.

That was about to change. 

Slowly, you pulled down your pants before reaching back to undo your bra. Spencer's sight followed the piece of clothing as it dropped to the floor before settling on your face again. 

“Stop profiling me,” you warned him with a playful undertone in your voice. 

“Sorry, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

By pulling down your panties, you shed your last piece of clothing, leaving you completely bare in front of your husband. It was a strange feeling to reveal yourself to him. It felt new yet familiar to allow him to see you. 

However, he didn't dare to look, even when you approached the tub. It wasn't clear whether he just tried to be respectful or if seeing you like this for the first time after months was too much for him to bear. His reaction reminded you that he never answered your question about you joining him. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t okay with this. 

Spencer’s eyes widened as he noticed the change of your mood before you did. Within a split second your heart started pounding and you stepped back to reach for your bathrobe. 

“Sorry, this was a stupid idea,” you muttered as you turned around to shield your body from his sight and your heart from the rejection. 

“My love,” he cooed from behind you.

The sound of splashing water gave away that he was exiting the tub. From the corner of your eyes you saw how he reached for his own robe. 

You felt his presence behind you. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded as you turned around, finding him wrapped in his robe with water still dripping from his jawline. Spencer reached out his hands to pull you into his arms. 

“What just happened?” He wondered, his voice laced with concern. 

Before you could think about it, you mumbled, “You didn't want to look at me.”

Your husband thought about your words for a moment, replaying the scene that had just unfolded in his mind. What you said wasn’t true. He wanted to look at you, to admire you fully like he had done countless times before. 

“I was afraid it would make you uncomfortable,” he confessed as he pulled back to be able to find your eyes. 

It was hard to read your expression which was not surprising considering you were mostly confused about your current state yourself.

“I miss the way you used to look at my body. I miss being close to you,” you whispered and paused for a moment. “I miss… sex.”

He closed his eyes before placing an innocent kiss on your forehead. “I know,” he breathed. Me too, he thought.

“Do you still think about it?” You wanted to know. 

“Sex?” 

Nodding, you watched his facial features intently. Ever since your attack, there were many occasions when the two of you had tiptoed around this subject. But never before had you been so blunt about it. 

It seemed like he was looking for the right words. “Yes, I do,” was what he settled on.

Raising your eyebrows, you asked, “With me?” 

The insecurity in your question wasn’t lost on Spencer but he still couldn't hold back a breathy laugh. “Of course, silly girl. You're my wife.”

“It’s just been so long that I would understand if you ever thought about doing it with someone else.”

“Stop that right now,” he said with a firm yet loving tone. “I would never cheat on you.” 

A shaky breath escaped your throat before you dared to say what had been bugging you for weeks now. “What if I’ll never be ready? What if things won’t ever be like before?” 

“That would be okay, too,” he reassured you. “There are many ways to create nearness and intimacy. Sex is just one way but it’s not necessary. At least for me it’s not.” 

“So you’d be okay to live without sex?” 

“Before I met you I thought that was my only option,” he quipped. 

You knew there had been a handful of women before you but you appreciated his joke nonetheless. It made you smile. 

Spencer let his fingertips brush over your cheeks. “But to answer your question, yes, I would be okay with that.”

His words were genuine. The way he looked at you with the most loving expression made your heart jump. The amber of his irises radiated a warmth you could get drunk on. You nestled your head against his chest and he held you even closer against his body. He was right. Sex wasn’t necessary to create nearness. However, you were still curious about what else you felt safe enough to try. 

“I want to get into the bathtub with you,” you whispered. “And I want you to look at me.” 

Loosening the embrace, you looked at your husband. With a nod he confirmed that he wanted that, too. 

With shaking fingers you brushed over his robe before gripping the material. “And I want to see you, too.”

Together you helped each other out of your robes until you stood bare in front of each other. You took a moment to admire the man in front of you. It had been a while since you had seen him like that. Unlike you he didn't deliberately hide his body from your sight but there hadn’t been many occasions in the past few months that allowed you to see him unclothed. 

His body looked familiar yet different at the same time. His tummy was a little bit softer than you remembered and you imagined what it would feel like underneath your palm. 

Spencer dared to let his eyes drop down to take in every inch of skin within sight. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle and you noticed how it broke out in goosebumps. 

“You're so beautiful,” he purred as he tentatively brushed over your arms. 

Tilting your head, you placed a soft kiss on his lips before breathing against them, “So are you.”

He took your hand in his to walk you over to the bathtub. Your husband got in first, bending his knees in an attempt to make himself smaller than he was. There was enough space to join him, a relieved sigh falling from your lips when you felt the warm water enveloping your body. 

First you sat a little awkwardly opposite one another for a few moments before you felt confident enough to get closer. Gently, you placed your hands on his knees to part them before moving closer to lean against his body sitting between his legs. Spencer’s heart pounded rapidly against his ribcage as you nestled against his chest. 

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah, I uh… I’m not sure where to put my hands,” he chuckled and you noticed how they hovered above the edge of the bathtub. 

Taking his hands in yours, you guided them towards the water, placing them underneath your chest. Even though you expected his touch, you still jerked when you felt his palms make contact with your body. 

Instinctively, your husband wanted to retract his hands again but you held them still with your own palms pressed against them. Once the initial shock faded, you were certain that you wanted to be held exactly like that. 

A part of you still wanted to fight this vulnerable situation but a much bigger, much more confident part longed to be close to the love of your life. 

It was as if Spencer sensed your ambiguity. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” you confirmed. Then you thought about the way your body flinched when he touched you. It had happened before each time Spencer had touched you in places that he had touched, too. “I just feel like my body has to relearn a couple of things.”

Spencer nodded before finally being able to relax a bit. He leaned back while holding you against him, relishing the sensation of having you close without any barriers between you. Just for a moment he forgot about what had happened to you and to your own surprise, so did you. 

For the following weeks you made it a new habit to take baths with each other. There was something so sweet about getting clean together, it became a sacred ritual you wanted to repeat over and over. 

Slowly but surely you got more comfortable around Spencer. There was a time when you didn't think it was possible that the two of you would cuddle every night and every morning without constantly having to fear that you’d freak out at any given moment. 

But just like that it happened. Spencer didn't have to think twice about hugging you from behind and leaving a feather-light kiss on your neck. He didn't hesitate to pull you into his arms when he woke up before you. 

He did however wake up in shock and almost jumped out of bed when one morning he realized he had sleepily pressed his erection against your thigh. Having woken up before him, you had noticed it, too. You could have easily moved away but found no reason to do so.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured as he moved away from you, his voice still sounding raspy from his slumber.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Spencer. I know basic biology,” you snickered. “Now come back here.”

Hesitantly, he moved back towards your open arms. The warmth you radiated was too hard to resist so it took very little convincing for him to find his place inside your embrace again. 

Gentle fingertips danced along his arms, making him hum in contentment. It had always amazed you how his skin felt so particularly soft and tender in the morning. His curls hung unruly from his head and you couldn't resist intertwining your fingers with them. 

You thought back to the many times you had woken up like this. Back then when it still was normal for your hands to become curious enough to explore every curve and dip of each other’s bodies. 

It was odd to think about before. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime away, other times it felt like nothing had ever changed. It made you feel like the man who hurt you had the power to bring a new time reckoning upon you. You didn't want him to. 

It only spurred you further on to fully reclaim your body again. 

Your fingers found Spencer’s jaw to tilt his head just enough for you to be able to kiss him. His lips felt so soft as he slowly reciprocated your actions. It was sweet and innocent at first but your desire to feel more of him only grew the longer you kissed. Slightly shifting your leg you could feel his hardness again, making him whimper at the sudden pressure against it. 

As your hand found its way under his shirt, you brushed over the softness of his tummy. Shaking fingertips followed the trail of hair leading further down before changing their direction and moving upwards to feel his chest. The beating of his heart was faster than usual, almost erratic. 

With cautious motions he mirrored your eagerness and let his palm wander beneath your shirt as well. You deepened the kiss when you felt his fingers wander over your waist, leaving goosebumps on their path. Spencer became hungry, almost desperate as his tongue brushed over yours, melting into you in a way he hadn’t for too long. 

It was what you longed for too, what you had been hoping to finally be ready for. 

Then he touched your breast and it all came crashing down again. 

“Stop!” 

Healing really wasn’t linear. 

In an instant Spencer retracted his hand and leaned back to give you some space. Widened eyes looked back at him and it took both of you a second to realize what had just happened. Before he could apologize, you did. 

“I’m sorry… I really thought I was okay with that.”

For a moment Spencer closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then he looked at you again, a soft expression on his face. “Please don’t ever feel the need to apologize for that,” he cooed. 

Unlike other times, you were able to calm down quickly. Instead of pushing your husband further away, you still yearned for his proximity. He seemed surprised when you moved closer to him again to lay your head down on his chest. Content to still have the privilege to hold you close, he wrapped his arms around you before a relieved sigh fell from his lips. 

There was no need to leave the comfort of your shared bed just yet, so you just lay there together, basking in each other’s warmth. 

Spencer placed a gentle kiss into your hair before breathing, “I love you.” 

“I love you more.”

You tried your best to be kind to yourself in that moment. It was a learning opportunity for you. Just a few weeks ago lying close to your husband like that was unthinkable. Even if they felt like baby steps at the time, it was still progress. 

The images of recent intimate encounters flooded your mind and let a pleasant calmness spread through your body. Spencer’s kisses tasted sweet and made you feel insatiable, always longing for more. Feeling his skin pressed against yours as he held you close in the bathtub enveloped you in a safe feeling unlike anything else. 

You thought back to those rare moments when you considered taking things further lately, just like you had tried just now. There was something you had wondered about. 

“I have noticed that when we cuddle…,” you began your sentence, unsure of how to continue. “Even when we’re naked in the bathtub together, you uhm… never get aroused? That was very different before.” 

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he let out an awkward laugh. “I try really hard not to. I think about baseball a lot.” 

His response confused you. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you raised your eyebrows at him. “You think about baseball when we’re taking baths together? You don’t even like sports.” 

Spencer just shrugged and added, “Sometimes I try to solve equations, too.”

“Please don’t do that anymore,” you pleaded as you laid back down beside him. “It makes me feel good to see you’re still interested in me.” 

“Of course I am still interested. I just really do not want to make you uncomfortable or feel pressured in any way.”

Your words were genuine when you said, “I don’t think that will happen. I actually really liked seeing you in all of your morning glory earlier.”

Your husband smiled at you. “Yeah?”

A smirk formed on your face. “It reminded me of the countless times we were both late for work because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves after waking up.” 

“That was fun,” Spencer chuckled. “What wasn’t fun though was the conversation I had to have with Hotch after being late four days in a row.” 

His words made you laugh, too. Then, after a few moments of comfortable silence, your husband hesitantly asked, “Can I ask you something?” 

Tilting your head to find his eyes, you responded, “Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer this but I’m wondering… Do you ever get aroused in those moments, too?” 

You were used to talking openly about intimacy with your husband, that had always been a normal part of your relationship. His question didn't feel odd and you wanted to respond to it. 

For a long time after what happened, your longing to feel his nearness wasn’t connected to any sexual desires. At times you even felt like your libido had gotten lost entirely. Recently that had changed. 

More and more you had become aware of the little spark inside you that was ignited when you were with him. It was very different from the burning flame that was there before but your desire grew each time you were together. 

“Lately, yes,” you sincerely answered. Thinking about it some more, you decided to share another detail with him. “I even started uhm… touching myself again.”

Spencer seemed a little surprised by your response. “You did? That's good to hear.” His palm brushed gently over your arm when he added, “I can imagine that's a good way to feel a connection to your body and your needs.” 

For a second you thought he might start one of his ramblings to share all his knowledge about the health benefits of masturbating. He didn't, though. 

“Yeah, it feels nice. Almost normal,” you said instead. “I obviously still have a long way to go when it comes to sex but… I finally feel like I’ll actually get there, eventually.”

“There's no rush,” he reminded you. “We have all the time in the world.” 

Your lips met his in a tender kiss. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” 

After a few more moments of enjoying each other's company, it was time to get up and get ready for the workday. That night you found yourself tangled up in bed with your husband again. 

As you breathed in his scent and felt the heat radiating off his skin, you noticed it again – the little spark inside your chest flared up and spread a tingling sensation through your body. 

Your mouth found Spencer's neck to leave a trail of kisses along it, before it moved over his jawline and found his lips at last. He hummed when you kissed him and you could feel his fingertips twitching against your waist. 

It didn't take long until you deepened the kiss, a quiet moan slipping through your lips when Spencer’s tongue found yours. 

With your body pressed against his you didn't allow any distance between the two of you. It still wasn’t enough for you, though. There was too much fabric in the way of really feeling close to him. 

Your hand moved to the hem of his shirt to grip it and impatiently push it upwards. Spencer moved with you as you pulled it over his head. When your fingers moved to the waistband of his pajama pants next, he interrupted the kiss to find your eyes. 

A smile was painted over your face when you nodded, reassuring him that you were okay. You weren’t sure yet where exactly this was going but you felt safe enough to explore your options.

“We can stop or slow down at any point,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

After kissing him again, you sat up so you could continue undressing him. Slowly you pulled down his pants, an audible breath falling from your lips when you saw he was already half-hard. 

Spencer scanned your face for any sign of discomfort but found none. What he saw instead was excitement and curiosity. It made him smile. 

He sat up and brushed his hands over the fabric of your shirt. By lifting your arms over your head you gave him the sign he needed to remove the piece of fabric. He gently motioned for you to lay back down before he made contact with your hips, carefully brushing over your pajama shorts. 

There was no hesitation to be found when you lifted your hips for him to pull them down, without ever breaking eye contact. You thought about how different this situation was from being naked with him in the bathtub. Some parts of you remained hidden from him even then. 

You wanted him to see you, even when being exposed to him like that still felt a little scary.

After he had dropped the last piece of clothing on the floor, you dared to open your thighs for him to see every part of you. A rosy shade spread over his cheeks as he dared to look at you. It reminded you of when you were with him for the very first time many years ago. 

Just like then, he breathed, “You're so beautiful.” 

You could feel how some arousal had already gathered at your center and wondered if Spencer could see the glistening. By the way his pupils dilated you had a hunch that he did. 

Then, after he had fully taken in your beauty, it was as if he was frozen in place. He used to be so confident in situations like that, knowing your body better than his own and never questioning his next move. Things were very different now and you both sensed it. 

His eyes met yours and it became obvious how unsure he was of how to proceed. 

Opening your arms, you cooed, “Come here, love.” 

He seemed relieved when he lay back down beside you again. You wanted to kiss him but he hesitated. 

After a moment, he suggested, “I think it would be helpful if you talked to me more. I need you to tell me exactly what you want to do.”

“I’m figuring this out as we go, too,” you explained. “Right now I don't know where this is going. I only know that I really want to kiss you.”

His nose brushed against yours. “I would really like that, too.”

Just a split second later you got lost in another kiss. The way your bodies were pressed against one another while your lips were connected let you briefly forget where your body ended and his began. After shifting your position, you became well aware of that again. 

Spencer was fully hard now and his erection was firmly pressed against your thigh. You moved your leg slightly, prompting him to whimper into your mouth. The hand on your waist moved down to your hip and his fingertips pressed into your skin. 

“Hey,” you mumbled against his lips. “Can we slow down for a moment?” 

His grip on your hip lightened immediately before he moved his hand back up to your waist. Spencer placed one last peck on your mouth and pulled back. “Do you want to stop?” 

You shook your head. “No, I just need a little break. To make sure it doesn't get too much.” 

The truth was that you felt really good in that moment. Excited, loved and so, so turned on. It just felt safer to take things slowly. Gently you pushed against his shoulder until he was lying on his back. You found your home inside his arms. 

Your lips grazed over his cheek as you breathed, “How are you feeling, Spencer?” 

He chuckled at your question. “You have no idea how good I’m feeling right now.” 

As you let your head rest on his shoulder, you dared to look down at his body. The extent of his desire laid on his stomach and you noticed how a bead of precum had formed at his tip. Your fingers itched to touch him, to remember how hot and heavy his cock always felt inside your palm. 

A curious hand made its way down his chest, over the side of his stomach, brushing along his thigh. For a second you hesitated but then you let your palm hover over his hardness. 

Then you felt a pit form in your stomach and decided to retract your hand again. It might have just been your nervousness but that didn't change the fact that you couldn't continue in this moment. 

Your husband had watched each of your motions intently. It was obvious that he was burning to find relief. 

Tilting your head to find his eyes, you purred, “I want you to feel good.”

“It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to,” he reminded you.

You knew that, of course. There was still something else you could do together. 

As you began kissing his neck, his throat vibrated under your lips and a moan escaped his mouth. Then, you whispered into his ear, “I want you to touch yourself.”

Spencer’s eyes widened at your request and the rosy color on his cheeks turned a shade darker. It seemed like he needed a little more encouragement, so you lay back down inside his arm and opened your legs to give yourself access. 

“Okay, I’ll start,” you teased as you let your hand wander down your own body. 

Mesmerized by the sight, his eyes followed the path of your fingers. When you parted your folds to access your most sensitive spot, Spencer hissed a curse. 

The honeyed wetness between your legs made it easy for your fingertips to move through your folds. It felt relieving to touch yourself like that. Just like Spencer you were yearning for release. 

When your husband heard your heavy sighs as you pleasured yourself, he couldn't hold back anymore. You watched as his hand found his cock, a view that let your heart pound inside your chest. 

First, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and squeezed, prompting droplets of his arousal to run down his tip. Then, he swiped his thumb over the leaking head before he slowly began moving up and down. Your mouth hung open as you watched that sinful scene unfold in front of you. 

As Spencer accelerated the pace of his fist, sounds of pleasure filled the room. His eyebrows were scrunched up and desperation was written all over his face. 

He had never looked more beautiful.

Distracted by the mesmerizing view, the hand at your core stopped moving. Instead of continuing, you let it wander away from your body to touch Spencer’s thigh. Before you could overthink it, your hand kept moving to his center. 

A heavy breath fell from his lips as your fingertips cautiously brushed over the velvety skin of his balls, making his body jerk underneath you. Smiling to yourself, you remembered how sensitive he was. 

Spencer stopped moving his hand, waiting to see how you’d proceed. When you touched the soft curls at his base, he whimpered. It was then that you realized that you were not scared anymore and that your nervousness had turned into excitement. 

“Can I continue?”

Spencer audibly gulped before removing his hand. “Yes… please.” 

When you wrapped your fingers around his length, both of you moaned in unison. Holding him in your hand like that felt both familiar and novel at the same time. You started moving your palm and quickly remembered how exactly he liked to be touched. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Feels good!” 

With all the built-up tension and those months of abstinence, it only took a few moments until Spencer was getting close to reaching his point of no return. Familiar with all the telltale signs of his impending climax, you continued caressing him. Coming closer to his undoing, his cock twitched inside your palm and his entire body started quivering. 

His release began spilling over your hand and onto his stomach while he kept pulsing against your fingers. You kissed his jaw and his neck before you reached for the tissues on your nightstand to do some damage control of the mess you had created. 

Your husband’s chest was still heaving when you finished cleaning him up. Concern was written all over his face when he found your eyes.

He pulled you back into his embrace as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I am. That was really fun,” you snickered. 

Spencer's hand brushed over your back as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth. “Do you want me to touch you?”

The truth was that your entire body was aching for his touch. You could feel the heat burning between your legs and were aware that your arousal had started coating the insides of your thighs. It had been a long time since you’d felt so turned on. 

And yet, the thought of him actually doing something about it made you nervous. 

“I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I would like to kiss you again, though.”

He let out a breathy laugh before finding your mouth once more. Feeling his lips on yours only blazed up the fire burning inside you. You shifted your position until you were hovering over your husband, one of his thighs pressed between yours. 

Tentatively you began rocking your hips against his leg, sighing as you realized how pleasant the friction was. 

“Is that okay?” You breathed against his lips as you kept moving. 

“More than okay,” he reassured you. “Use my body however you like.”

You sat up as you ground against his skin, feeling him tense his thigh underneath you. Taking his hands in yours, you placed them on your hips so he could help you move. Soon you had created a mess on his leg as you spread your wetness along his skin. 

With your entire entire body twitching, your motions became erratic. Looking down at Spencer, you found him staring at you with lust-filled eyes and a wicked grin painted over his face. 

As you danced along the edge of euphoria, you forgot your surroundings. It was only you and him right then. “I love you,” you whimpered and before your husband could respond, you collapsed into his arms as pleasure overcame you. You kept pressing your core against his leg as your whole body shook. 

Spencer held you firmly inside his arms as you came down from your high. He kissed your forehead and whispered, “I love you more.”

After your heart rate had come down to a normal frequency and you weren’t panting anymore, you kissed your husband. 

“How are you feeling?” He wanted to know. 

“Good. And also a little sticky,” you snickered, hinting at the mess you had created between your legs. 

“Yeah, me too,” Spencer chuckled. “How about I run us a bath so we can get cleaned up?” 

The prospect of that made your heart flutter. “That sounds wonderful.”

Author's Note: Writing this story took me two years and I am so relieved I was finally able to get it to paper. I hope reading it felt as cathartic for you as writing it was for me. Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate a reblog and a comment.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[spencers-library]

I AM GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL OVER THIS OMG

@ entersandman

summary; spencer turns to pornography to pay for his phds and careers, but what happens when his secret identity gets revealed? and by no one else than you?

cw; +18 content, minors dni!!, imagine is spencer on the pictures, suggestive messages, only fans, straight out porn, live porn stream, sub! spencer, dom! reader, mommy kink, male masturbation, mutual masturbation, sexting, dirty talking… i can’t remember the rest!!

a/n: happy (kink)october!!!

@ entersandman has started a live!

your whole body thrummed at the notification, your thumb quickly pinching on it to open the app, your hungry eyes ranking over the supple soft skin of his toned chest and abdomen.

@ pin_klily; god

@ yourprettyprincess233; i’m so early!!!!!

@ idealisticashee77; so hotttt

your eyes scanned the upcoming and flowing comment section of the stream, your fingers quickly typing to receive the protagonist of your wet dreams.

@ puredoll; hi pretty boy

his hand was slowly caressing his growing erection from over his clothes, and his sultry voice filled your ears, making you squirm.

“hey, doll.” you could hear the hint of a smirk on his tone.

you bit down on your lip.

@ puredoll; missed me?

he hummed, squeezing his crotch with his veiny hand. “missed you so much, baby. you weren’t here the last time.” you could almost see him pouting. cute.

you smiled. he always made time for you, it was as if you two knew each other. by the longest time, you had been following his socials, and had become part of his only fans. you had bumped with his account two years ago, and since then you’d been completely hooked. you could still remember the post that caught your attention.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; would you play with me? i promise i’ll be a good boy.

you weren’t very fond of porn, you barely watched it, but once you entered on his twitter and saw the little snippets of his only fans that he’d post to gain more followers… it was over for you. you didn’t even know you were into more submissive men, always having been the submissive one in your sexual encounters, but once you heard him moaning and begging for more to the camera, completely at the mercy of his watchers, so pliant and responsive… you became obsessed.

you had never bought something as fast as you had bought the membership for his only fans.

he was just so… special somehow. his voice so beautiful, even more when he’d whimper and moan to the camera. and the content was so good…

it honestly made your day to come back home to pictures of him.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; take my clothes off? yes ma’am.

that or his simple comments, like;

@ entersandman; feeling so needy right now. can i bury my face on your pussy, mommy?

he really knew how to get a rise out of you.

@ puredoll; sorry pretty, i was busy. but i never stopped thinking about you…

his hand squeezed his cock once again and a little sound escaped his throat.

“you thought about me?” his breathy voice came through and your thighs squeezed against the other. he sounded surprised, and happy, glad even. as if he thought about you just as much as you thought about him, which was not possible.

@ delicioussin; take the pants off +50$

@ helplesswhore; i wanna see your cock +100$

@ secretiveloveee; play with us

@ puredoll; you see that, baby? they’re waiting for you. why don’t you give them a show?

spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut, he couldn’t help the jumping of his dick, not when you talked to him like that.

“should i take this off?” he tugged at his pants, and the chat went crazy, money flowing in, and he chuckled. “alright, alright…” his slim fingers easily snapped open the button, and pulled down the zipper, pushing his pants just the slightest down to show the streamers the sight of his fully erect dick and the stain of precum surrounding his tip.

@ puredoll; haven’t touched yourself and you’re already dripping, so cute…

spencer couldn’t swallow down the moan that left his throat, his cock twitching in need for his hand. he cupped it once again, his length clear as day through the flimsy material. he was big. really big.

“you see this? look what you do to me…”

you moaned at the neediness of his tone, your heart skipping a beat when he pleaded with a “can i take them off?”

@ kittypurr555; get rid of them +100$

@ morppheus_2; show us your pretty dick +100$

@ needyneedyneedy; god he’s so hard!!! +150$

@ uttermostlust; i’m salivating +50$

@ puredoll; so good at asking for permission baby… go ahead, show mommy

he whimpered. and god, you’ve missed that sound so much. fucking finals. fucking school… one of your hands came down to your chest to pinch your nipples as he quickly pushed down his underwear under his balls in between ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’’s. they looked so full. and he was so fucking hard… what you’d do to have him in your mouth…

@ p0rnlover5663; +200$

@ babybluebaby; +150$

@ ashtonishingstamina69; +100$

your tongue licked your lips as you took in the sight of his reddish pretty tip, beaded with precum, the veins that decorated his shaft and the little curls at his base.

a whine left spencer’s lips when his hand wrapped around his cock. “mommy… i’m so hard…” you sighed, smirking at his neediness and tone. gently laughing at the lustful comments in the chat, you typed your response.

@ puredoll; i can see that baby, why don’t you fuck your hand for me, hm?

“fuck…” he moaned as he quickly followed your order, his hand slowly pumping his cock as his chest quickly increased in breaths. his back slightly arched, and his free hand harshly gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

@ puredoll; that’s it, you’re doing perfect, pretty. tell me how good it feels

“it feels so good mommy… so good…” he moaned. money was easily flowing into his account, the chat increasing in thirsty comments. “i wish it were your hand, your mouth…” he was begging as he sped up. the hand that was touching your breasts came down underneath your panties, finding yourself soaked through. you moaned as you started drawing little circles on your puffy throbbing clit. “i need you mommy.”

your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth capturing your bottom lip in a vice grip. you could draw blood if you wanted to. your hips bucked against your own hand when another whimper came through the screen. “fuck.” he looked so pretty, his neck (the last thing you could see, since his face was out of frame) and chest were flushed, lungs quickly taking in air as his hand worked his cock, his thumb gliding against his slit in little circles.

“see this? this is how i’d touch your pretty clit, mommy, would make you feel so good…” your eyes rolled at his breathy whine. jesus christ.

@ purringkitty7; my godddd +50$

@ allsheeatsisdickk; i’m literally dripping +50$

@ itsbonercl0ck; +100$

“would you like that mommy? or would you prefer to have my mouth? fill it with your cum over and over again? suffocate me with your pussy and use me?” you moaned, topping with your non dominant hand –since the other was busy plunging two fingers inside your gaping hole-. “please use me mommy, i want you to use me…”

@ puredoll; such a fucking dirty mouth, baby… i bet you’d love that, huh? to be my little toy… beg for it.

spencer moaned, his cock jumping in his hand. his adam’s apple bobbed right before he went ahead and complied.

“please mommy… can i be your toy? please let me be your toy mommy, please… i need it. need to be your pretty toy.”

your fingers curled against your g spot as his words made you moan and clench.

@ puredoll; good boy, baby, such a good little toy for me

spencer cursed, his pace around his throbbing and leaking dick increasing. you smirked.

@ puredoll; slow down… they want to see…

spencer whined but followed the order, deciding to play with his balls instead, showing off the length of his cock with light grasps and jerks of his hand, making it bob and slap against his lower stomach, precum staining his porcelain skin.

spencer was biting down on his bottom lip harshly, his dick twitching in need of release. his hazel eyes trailed along the comments and donations. looking for you. for directions.

@ puredoll; good boy… is all of that for me?

he moaned. “it’s all for you mommy, all for you.” he went back to slowly pumping himself. you fucked yourself at the same pace. “are you touching yourself for me, mommy? am i making you feel good?��

you could almost scream in ecstasy. why did he have to sound like that?

@ puredoll; so good baby, so good…

to that he whimpered, his hand moving faster. just the thought of you touching yourself because of him, of how he sounded and looked, making his mind dizzy and the pressure building in his lower stomach to grow faster than before.

“mommy i’m so close… i can’t hold it.” he whined, his hand going impossibly faster. “can i cum? please can i cum? wanna cum inside of you mommy, wanna fill you up, please…” those words brought you closer to your own orgasm, moans spilling from your lips as your finger curled against your g spot over and over again.

@ iseered633; so hot +100$

@ bestgirlint00wn; fuckkkkk +150$

@ octoberween666; +50$

@ punkypurr; +60$

he kept begging, whining, moaning, whimpering… until he saw it.

@ puredoll; cum.

it was immediate, instant, hot white and creamy spurts of cum coating his hand and reaching up to his chest as he became a babbling whimpering mess for you, his eyes rolling back as his hips fucked into his hand needily.

your orgasm hit you just as fast, triggered by the sight and sound of him coming undone. your back arched as your fingers kept thrusting, curling, fucking you dumb.

both of you rode your highs until there was nothing left.

you watched as spencer laid there, cock still twitching slightly against a pool of cum on his stomach, his chest heaving as he tried to found his breath.

@ puredoll; good job baby, looked so pretty coming for me

“thank you mommy.” he flushed, as always, feeling conscious of his disarray and state in front of the camera. “thank you for coming, i’ll see you next time.” and with that, he ended the live.

spencer posted hours later on his twitter.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i see your name and i go crazy

it was another boring day at school. philosophy classes were really kicking your ass.

the professor had gone on a tangent of rambles to which you could not keep up with. that was until he took a deep breath and questioned.

“so, can anybody tell me if abstract concepts, like numbers, really exist?”

someone, someone you hadn’t seen before in your class, which was pretty weird, rose his hand. you couldn’t see much, except for brown hair and his back, clothed in a white shirt.

“yes?”

“from a platonist perspective, abstract concepts exist in a non-physical realm of forms, accessible through intellect and reason. in contrast, nominalists argue that these concepts are mere human constructs without independent existence.”

that voice.

your whole body tensed, your eyes widening and breath hitching. you could recognize that voice anywhere.

entersandman.

“correct, …?” the teacher paused, awaiting for a name.

“oh, reid. spencer reid.”

your heart was about to beat out of your chest. quickly after the class was dismissed since it had come to an end. you were fast at getting out of there to take a look at him.

casual. be casual.

just one glimpse.

but when he left that class and walked into the corridor your eyes couldn’t leave his face. his perfect face.

your heart almost stopped then. hazel eyes, messy curly hair, small nose, pink full lips and high sharp cheek bones. you were fucked.

you could perfectly be gaping like a fish right now, drooling even. he was handsome, pretty, attractive, hot, everything. he was everything. and he was so tall…

you almost moaned when he passed by your side and could smell his cologne.

god…

you could feel yourself getting wet already.

you turned to see him walk away to what you supposed would be his next class. he was here. entersandman was just meters away from you, in the flesh. he was real.

but he didn’t know you knew. he didn’t know who you were. he didn’t know you were the girl that had made him come many times, on and off camera.

but you were gonna let him know.

you had a plan.

that night you came home to more posts coming from spencer.

@ entersandman; thinking about you tying me up with my tie, using me to get off, mommy. want to be your boy toy so badly… can’t stop thinking about your lips on my neck, leaving marks that won’t go away as you take all you want from me.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i’ll beg if i have to, baby, i just wanna be in between your thighs

you smirked, your mouth salivating at the sight. so needy…

time to move. you opened his profile and pinched on the message option.

you thought for a minute before typing the decided words and hitting sent.

@ puredoll

somebody’s needy today, aren’t you spencer?

spencer was busy reading his assignments for university when his phone buzzed, a new message notification. his eyes widened when he read your username, fingers scrambling to quickly type his password, unlock his phone and get into the app. but all blood drained from his face when he read what you had written him, more specifically his name.

how did you know it? how did you know him? how?!

you chuckle as the minutes pass and he doesn’t answer.

@ puredoll

cat got your tongue baby?

what a pity, you know i love it when you’re loud

@ entersandman

how do you know?

he bit down anxiously on his bottom lip, his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

@ puredoll

so dry… you hurt me baby, thought you’d be happy to talk with me

@ entersandman

i am, it’s just…

@ puredoll

for all that matters, i’ve gotta say that you’re prettier than i thought, with those puppy eyes of yours and big brain. got me so horny in class…

spencer’s cheeks reddened, his heartbeat loud on his ears, his whole body flushing and cock jumping in his briefs. something about having gotten caught by someone, by you, made his mind fuzzy and his desire stir.

so you’re in his class? which one?

@ puredoll

so quiet… what’s on your mind, hm?

@ entersandman

sorry, so you know who i am

@ puredoll

i do

he swallowed.

@ puredoll

such a dirty boy… going to school by day, stroking your cock for the internet by night.

he groaned, feeling his cock stir.

@ puredoll

and i bet you love it, huh? love the attention. my attention.

@ entersandman

yes

@ puredoll

yes what?

he moaned, biting his lip.

@ entersandman

yes, mommy.

@ puredoll

good boy, spencer.

holy fuck. he could come just by the sound of you calling him by his name. one of his hands came down to his hard dick, squeezing, his lip harshly bit in between his teeth.

@ puredoll

you’re quiet…are you touching that pretty cock of yours for me, baby?

@ enteresandman

fuck. yes, mommy.

@ puredoll

so dirty… let me see.

spencer groaned and quickly followed your orders, opening the camera and hitting the record button, showing you the imprint of his hard cock from underneath his flimsy pajama pants as he stroked it.

@ puredoll

someone’s needy, mh? who are you this hard for, huh baby?

@ entersandman

you mommy, only you.

@ puredoll

yet you have so many clothes on… why don’t you take them off for mommy, huh?

@ entersandman

like this?

he sent you a pic of his completely nude body, and you bit down on your lip.

@ puredoll

exactly like that baby, now go ahead and use your hand

and he did, making sure to show the length of his cock to the camera as he slowly pumped it, whimpering curses and begging for you. yet this time, his face could be seen, eyebrows scrunched, jaw slack as moans spilled out and puppy brown eyes shining with lust.

@ puredoll

so fucking pretty… fuck spencer.

your thighs pushed together as your cunt quickly slicked up.

@ entersandman

please… can i go faster mommy?

@ puredoll

yes baby, go ahead

he moaned and once again pressed record as he sped up, stopping every now and then to play with his balls before going back to stroking the leaking head of his cock.

‘look what you do to me.’ he muttered to the camera, voice sultry and raw.

one of your hands came down towards your pussy, your hand cupping it from over your clothes as a groan left your lips.

@ entersandman

wishing it were your hand, mommy.

@ puredoll

you’re driving me crazy…

@ entersandman

have been thinking about you… want to make you feel good, want to make you cum

@ puredoll

yeah?

@ entersandman

yes…

your hand pushed into your pants and panties, sighing when you felt how wet you were.

@ puredoll

i’m so wet for you, you always get me like this…

spencer moaned, the image of you touching yourself for him driving him crazy, his hips thrusting up into his hand.

@ entersandman

fuck, doll…

you quickly pushed your clothes down, exposing your drenched cunt to the air, your fingers sliding easily through your folds before stopping over your clit and drawing tight circles that made your thighs shake and your back arch.

@ puredoll

you want to see?

@ entersandman

yes please, please mommy…

you smirked and hit record, pointing the camera in between your legs, filming how you touched yourself for him, letting out little sighs and moans before plunging your fingers inside yourself and curling them to hit your g spot.

spencer couldn’t handle it. the sight, your sounds and the fact that this was you, the girl he had been fantasizing about for months on end, touching herself for him, pushed him straight to the edge.

he came so hard his load hit his chest as he moaned loudly. he shakily recorded the remains of his spurts with whimpers as he made a mess of himself and his hand.

and when you returned the favor with a video of your own release, creamy cum surrounding and dripping from your fingers, he knew he had to have you.

and soon.

a/n; this took so long to write. anyways, would you guys like a second part? leave your comments and reblog and like if you enjoyed it!🤍

[spencers-library]

there’s just something abt whiny spence <3_<3

Over the Edge

Summary: Spencer is desperate for you to take care of him

Request: whiny and desperate Sub!Spencer who gets called pretty and gets edged for as long as reader wants (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) Sub!Spencer, Softdom!Reader, mentions a safeword (but it’s not used), nicknames, praising, edging, orgasm control/denial, handjob, blowjob, facesitting, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

Spencer didn't say a word when he stepped through the door, making it obvious that his workday had been too long and too exhausting. He found you on the couch, a sigh escaping his throat before he kicked off his shoes and plopped down beside you. 

You reached out your hand to find his cheek, gently brushing a loose curl back. He immediately leaned into your touch. 

“Hi love,” you cooed. “I missed you.”

Spencer found your eyes, a certain desperation shining through as he looked at you. You opened your arms for him to find comfort inside your embrace. 

“I missed you, too,” he mumbled into the softness of your shirt. “So, so much.”

Your hand found his head as you began gently stroking his disheveled hair. Leaning down, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead. 

“Long day?” You asked softly, already knowing the answer. He nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer shook his head before looking up at you. “I wanna forget about it,” he whispered. 

You raised an eyebrow at his words, already suspecting what he was implying. Still, you wanted to hear him say it. A playful grin appeared on your face when you wondered, “How can I help you with that?” 

“Can you… can we, uhm,” he began muttering as he sat up. 

The way he suddenly got all shy made your heart flutter. His cheeks began blooming when he cleared his throat, clearly looking for the courage to ask for what he was craving. 

His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer. “I want to forget about everything except you,” he whispered right before placing a feather-light kiss on your lips. 

You leaned back to look at him. His eyes were wide and curious. The warm amber of his irises was mesmerizing and you took a moment to admire their beauty. 

“You’re so cute when you're needy,” You purred and noticed how his pupils dilated slightly. “Let me take care of you, my love.”

A relieved sigh fell from his lips before he nodded. You got up and took his hand in yours, leading him into the bedroom. Right then Spencer wished for nothing more than to just follow your lead. Too many thoughts had occupied his brain and he craved the feeling of finally being able to turn his head off. 

He watched intently as you began unbuttoning his shirt. “Tonight is only about you. You won’t have to make any decisions,” you began explaining. “But that also means you’ll have to follow my rules.”

“I know.” 

You had played around with power dynamics before and were open with each other about your expectations. You still wanted to make sure, so you asked, “Do you remember them?”

How could he ever forget. “I have to do as you tell me. I have to ask permission before touching you. I cannot come unless you allow it. I will get punished if I disobey you. And I have to use my safeword if it gets too much.” 

You confirmed his words with a nod. “And what is your safeword?”

“Yellow as a warning that I’m reaching my limit. Red for a full stop.” 

When the last button of his shirt was undone, you found his eyes once more and said, “Thank you for trusting me.” 

Your words made him smile. He leaned in for a kiss but halted before his lips touched yours. “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around his neck and closed the distance. His lips felt soft yet demanding when you melted into each other in this kiss. Spencer's hands hovered over your waist and for a moment you damned your own rules. 

“You can touch me,” you breathed against his lips, longing for his nearness. 

He didn't waste any time to get ahold of your body, his hands roaming over your waist and back, desperately feeling you up as you deepened the kiss. 

He pressed his body against yours and you could feel his hardness straining against his pants. After what felt like forever, you pulled back and Spencer chased your lips with his for a split second. When he didn't find them, he whined at the loss of contact. 

He found you smirking at him when he opened his eyes. Without a warning, you placed your palm on the outline of his length. Spencer hissed in response and almost stumbled backwards.

“Already getting desperate?” You snickered. 

“Please…,” was all he could answer. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes?” You suggested as you stepped back. 

The way he began hurriedly shedding his clothes looked clumsy, almost comical. It only proved how much he already needed you. It made you smile.

When he stood completely bare in front of you, you took a moment to admire his body. Your eyes wandered over his shoulders, his chest and followed the trail of hair from his navel down to his hard cock. 

“My pretty boy,” You chirped when you found his eyes again. 

The rosy color on Spencer's cheeks had turned a shade darker and his pupils had almost completely swallowed the gold of his irises. 

“Can I see you, too?” He tentatively asked. 

You looked down at your body and chuckled when you realized you were wearing gray sweatpants and a washed out t-shirt. That was certainly not what you would usually wear in situations like that.

“Not that you're not beautiful like this,” he quickly added when he noticed your reaction. “You’re always so, so beautiful.” 

“Nice save,” you quipped and decided to use the opportunity for a little challenge. “Now be a good boy and lay down on the bed. You have to wait for me. I want you to be just as hard when I return. However, you can not touch yourself.”

Spencer watched as you grabbed some clothes from the dresser. He lay down on the bed before asking, “How long do I have to wait for?” 

“I haven't decided yet. I’ll leave the bathroom door open, so I can hear you,” you answered, implying that he could still use his safeword. 

When you disappeared into the bathroom, you took your time to change into the purple lingerie you had bought just a few days ago. You checked yourself in the mirror and decided to test Spencer’s patience some more. 

He was only a few feet away but you could still hear his heavy breaths. “I hope you’re behaving,” you snickered while you began fixing your hair. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I just miss you already.” 

When you were done with your hair, you decided to put some light make-up on. You knew Spencer didn't care about that but you wanted to stall him some more. More than ten minutes passed before you came back into the room. 

“Good boy,” you praised him when you found him lying on the bed with his hands by his sides and his cock still hard. 

You noticed how his erection twitched when he laid his eyes on you, his sight slowly wandering over the purple lace and your skin. 

“You look so beautiful,” he breathed, watching intently as you sat down beside him on the mattress. 

You let your hands brush over the curve of your chest, feeling the soft lace under your fingertips. “Yeah? You like it?”

Spencer couldn't get enough from looking at you. It was as if he was getting drunk on the sight of you wearing lingerie in his favorite color. “I love it,” he muttered. 

You lay down beside him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Tell me, Spencer,” you began talking while you let your hand wander over his chest. “Did you behave?” 

“Yes I did.”

His skin broke out in goosebumps as you let your fingertips wander down his stomach. 

“You didn't touch yourself? Not even a little?”

He swallowed hard when he felt the heat of your hand radiating against his center as your palm hovered over him. 

“No, I… promise,” he stuttered. 

His cock twitched against his stomach and you noticed how a bead of precum spilled from his tip. 

“Then how are you still so hard? I was gone for so long.”

The way his hips bucked up must have been involuntary. You retracted your hand, denying him any relief. 

“I thought about you,” he admitted.

His confession made you curious. “What exactly did you think about?” 

His eyes closed for a moment. “Look at me and tell me,” You demanded. 

He locked eyes with you again and muttered, “I imagined uhm… touching you.” 

You shifted your position until you were hovering over him. “What else did you think about?”

You began trailing kisses along his neck and felt his throat vibrating beneath your lips as he kept talking. 

“I thought about tasting you,” he said and you gently bit down on his pulse point, making him whimper. 

Your lips brushed over his earlobe and you whispered, “Keep talking.” 

“Thought about you kissing me.”

You descended further down his body, licking over his chest before brushing your lips over the softness of his tummy. You looked up at him and teased, “Kissed you where exactly?”

“Everywhere,” he sighed when he felt your hot breath on his erection. 

You placed a tender kiss on the base of his cock. “Here?” 

“Yes.” 

You took him in your hand and began brushing your lips along his velvety skin. Spencer shuddered when you reached his tip and let your tongue glide over it. 

“What else?” 

Spencer looked at you confused. He had already forgotten what you were talking about just moments before. 

“What else did you imagine, Spencer?” You clarified.

“This,” he whined. “I thought about this.”

You raised your eyebrows at him and he understood the warning. He took a deep breath and continued talking. 

“I thought about you taking me into your mouth.” The moment the last word left his lips, you closed yours around him. 

“Oh fuck!” He groaned as he gripped the sheets with his hands. 

His entire body began trembling as you worked your mouth along his length, taking him further in and wrapping your hand around his base. When you locked eyes with him again, he stared at you doe-eyed and with his mouth hanging open. 

You began moving with a steady rhythm, and you could feel how he tensed beneath you, all the built-up excitement begging to be released. Spencer's moans filled the room together with the filthy sounds of your mouth. Right before he got close to his breaking point, you suddenly let go of his cock. 

“No, please don’t stop!” Spencer protested once he realized what was happening. 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You snickered as you laid back down beside him. 

A frustrated whine left his lips. You were quick to soothe him by wrapping your hand around his hardness once more. With a firm grip you let your hand move up and down, making him buck up into your fist. 

You kissed his heated cheek and purred, “You're so handsome like this. All desperate and whiny.” 

He whimpered your name, followed by a pathetic, “Please.” 

“Please, what, pretty boy?”

His voice was shaky when he pleaded, “I wanna come. Please!” 

You accelerated the pace of your hand, stroking him hard and fast, aware that you were almost overstimulating him. The sounds he made could only be described as sinful. He twitched against your palm as he got dangerously close to his undoing. 

“I need to come,” he whimpered. “Please, I–” 

“No.” You interrupted him, your hand slowing down.

“Fuck!” He cried out. “Please, I can’t!” 

You removed your hand from him and watched him. His chest was heaving and his face was scrunched up, almost as if he was in pain. 

“Look at me,” You demanded and he did. Then, with a loving softness laced over your voice, you praised him, “You're doing so good, my sweet boy. I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes began glimmering when he heard your words. You reached out your hand to gently brush over his cheek. “Are you still doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know, baby. Can you hold on for a little longer?” 

He smiled at you and nodded. 

“Good boy,” you purred. “Do you want to know what you do to me when you're a whimpering mess like that?” 

Spencer's eyes widened. “Yes.” 

You took his hand in yours and guided it down your body to the waistband of your underwear. “Go on, see for yourself,” you chirped. 

He dared to dip his hand beneath the lace, finding the fabric already soaked with your arousal. He let out a pathetic moan when his fingers glided through your slick folds. “You're so wet,” he mumbled and you hummed in response. 

It was as if he had forgotten about his painfully hard cock then. Suddenly he was only focussed on you. Even though you longed for some relief yourself, you grabbed his wrist to pull his hand away from your core. 

“Tonight is about you, though,” You reminded him

Spencer didn't waste any time to bring his fingers to his mouth to lick off your honeyed wetness. The sight was so wicked it made you moan. “Dirty boy.”

“So good,” he groaned before licking his lips. “I want to taste you. Can I, please?” 

“Really?” You cooed as you reached down to gently stroke his erection once more. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I want to make you feel good.” 

You found his lips in a tender kiss before you sat up and winked at him. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Spencer waited for your cue to lie down between your legs but you had something different in mind. With one swift motion you pulled down your underwear and tossed it aside. 

You shifted your position until you sat over his face, kneeling on the pillow with one leg on each side of his head. Hovering only an inch over his mouth, you could feel his breath tickling your heated skin as he took a moment to fully take in the sight in front of him. Delicate folds glistening with your arousal, aching to be tasted. 

You put your hands on the headboard to balance yourself and told him, “You can touch me now. Tap my thighs if you want to stop, okay?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he chuckled. 

Spencer was eager as he wrapped his arms around your legs to fully pull you down onto his face, letting you feel his mouth where you wanted him the most. You involuntarily began to rock against him as he let his flattened tongue glide through your slit, relishing the taste of you. 

Spencer closed his lips around you, sucking on your bundle of nerves until your legs started to tremble. You ground against his face, spreading your slick on his chin as he brought you closer to the edge. You tried to catch your breath between your moans and sighs as your whole body started to quiver. 

One of your hands left the headboard and found its way into his curls, harshly pulling his hair until he hummed against your folds. That was when you made eye-contact with Spencer. The look on his face could only be described as pure adoration and worship as he brought you closer to your high.

“You're such a good boy,” you praised him.

Throwing your head back and moving your hips erratically against his lips, you finally reached your climax, waves of pleasure washing through you. He helped you ride out your ecstasy with timid licks against your sensitive nub. 

He let his hands run over your legs in an attempt to ground you as you came down from your euphoric state. When you managed to even out your breathing again, you moved away from Spencer’s face, lying down next to him and curling into his side. 

Your sight fell to his cock, still painfully hard and leaking. You let your fingertips wander down his body until they made contact with him and his entire body trembled at the touch. He was overly sensitive when you began stroking him again, whimpering and mewling at your touch. 

He felt hard and heavy inside your palm and for a moment you imagined what he would feel like inside of you. A fair amount of his arousal ran down the head when you moved your fist up his shaft. You let your thumb glide over the tip, collecting his precum and spreading it over his skin as you moved your hand. 

It was no surprise that he was dancing along the edge of euphoria within moments after teasing him the entire night. “Shit,” he hissed. “I can't–” 

A moan interrupted his words and his hips jerked against your hand. 

Nonchalantly as ever, you chirped, “What is it, pretty boy?”

“Please,” he muttered. “Please can I.. ah… come?”

Accelerating your pace, you became curious how far you could take it. “Not yet,” you cooed as you kept going.

Spencer began writhing beside you, the expression you found on his face something between pain and pleasure. Your grip became looser as you slowed down, making sure he wouldn't come just yet. 

“No!” he cried. “Please!” 

Your hand left his cock as you propped yourself up to look at him. Tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes, desperation written all over his face. 

“Do you want to use your safeword?” You carefully asked, wanting to make sure he was still okay. He was sincere when he shook his head and answered, “No.”

“I think I have tested your patience enough,” you decided. “You are so good for me, my sweet boy. You deserve a reward.” 

Without another word you climbed into his lap and placed his hands on your hips. You sat down on him, your core making contact with his shaft. His fingertips immediately buried into your skin. 

“Tell me, love. When I was getting ready for you in the bathroom before, was there anything else you thought about? Something you haven’t told me yet?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I thought about being inside of you.”

Lifting your hips, you positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. Then you slowly began sinking down on him, a loud moan falling from Spencer’s lips as you enveloped him with your warmth. You relished the sensation of being stretched open by him and your walls began fluttering around him. 

When he was fully inside you, you purred, “Like this?”

“Fuck yes!” He groaned and you felt him twitching inside you. 

The way he reacted to your actions made it obvious that he was extra sensitive right then. All his nerve endings were on edge, impatient to finally find relief. You slowly began rocking your hips back and forth, letting your body adjust to the intrusion while Spencer looked at you like he was about to lose his mind. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to last long,” he whimpered when his body began quivering. 

“That’s okay, baby. I already had so much fun with you. You can let go whenever you’re ready.” 

Spencer couldn’t hold back from thrusting upwards, meeting your motions to intensify the feeling. It was as if he held back on purpose, prolonging the feeling of finally feeling you like that. After how much you tortured him tonight, you were surprised that he didn’t give in the second you had begun moving. After a few more hard thrusts, he scrunched up his face and began panting. 

“That’s it,” you sighed. “Come for me.” 

And with a loud groan, he did. His hardness pulsed inside you as he spilled his essence into you, finally releasing all the built-up tension. You kept rocking your hips back and forth, prolonging his pleasure until it became too much and he buried his fingertips into your hips. You sat still on top of him for a few more seconds, just watching him as he came down from his high. 

When you leaned down to kiss his lips, he swung his arms around you to hold you closely inside his embrace. Long forgotten was the workday and all the sorrows that came with it.  As he breathed in your scent, his brain was only filled with you. Being with you, having you close, feeling your heart pound against his chest. Right then, nothing else mattered. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[spencers-library]

PLEASE I LOVE THIS SM

currently so insanely obsessed the thought of sleepy sex with spencer reid...

he got home late that night, finishing up paperwork took longer than he expected, finally arriving home at around 1 am. he believed he'd walk in to you sound asleep in bed, but instead he heard you turning, trying to get comfortable from the hallway.

"baby? you okay?" he whispered upon opening the bedroom door, watching as you shove the blanket off your upper body and sigh.

"can't sleep," you respond, eyes barely open, staring at the ceiling.

"i'm sorry," spencer mumbled, walking over the closet to undress. your eyes moved to watch him, your head turning on the cold pillow. he looked so pretty, as always, his hair tousled and messy from the stressful night, glasses slowly falling down his nose as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"could i help you?" he asked, setting his glasses on the nightstand beside your bed, lifting the covers to slip inside.

his hand quickly found your bare skin, sliding under his baggy t-shirt you wore to bed, pulling himself closer to you.

"how so?" you asked, breath hitching as spencer moved from kissing your cheek, to trailing his soft lips down your neck.

"like this?" spencer whispered as the hand resting on your stomach slid downward, fingers just barely slipping below your underwear.

"mhm," you responded, knees instinctively lifting and opening, giving his big hand more room.

spencer mumbled a sweet thank you into your skin as he kissed down your body, took off your underwear, made room and rested between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs. it was almost like he made out with your cunt, tongue swirling over your clit, hands gently holding you open. you heard him moan as you softly tugged on his hair, felt his efforts increase, you whined as he pushed two fingers inside.

spencer kept going until you finished, a little further, pulled away licking his lips after your thighs clenched from the overstimulation. he left wet, sloppy kisses on your thighs as he made his way up from laying on the mattress.

you kissed him once he settled beside you, fingers cupping his soft face, smiling as his own slid into your hair.

"wanna help you too," you mumbled, words slurred with sleepiness, eyes barely focusing on his face in the soft light from the window.

"shh," he replied, gently pulling you to lay on your side. spencer pulled off his boxers, shoving them away and off the bed. "gonna help us both, if that's okay."

you nodded into the dark, closing your eyes. spencer lifted your leg, placed his cock between your thighs, pushed it up against your cunt as he set your leg back down. his hand curled around your waist, his other arm sliding under your head as you settled closer against his body.

it was softer motions that did the work, spencer thrusting back and forth between your thighs, cock rubbing against your clit as he did so. your orgasm that followed was softer than before, your face tucked into his shoulder, quiet moans mixing with his own.

spencer came between your legs, a choked gasp leaving his lips as he stilled against you, fingers curling into your plush skin. you felt him lean away, his arm leaving your side. a whine almost left your lips, until you heard the sound a tissue being pulled out its box, felt spencers warm hand lift your thigh, the tissue wipe against your plush skin as he cleaned up his mess.

spencer curled back into you after tossing the tissue into the trash, felt your breathing slow as you fell asleep. he pressed a kiss into your forehead, silently noting how well this worked, tucking it away for a future night.

[spencers-library]

omg i cannot wait to binge this whole thing

 art by @multiverse-mxdness

story summary: Scandal! AU– your mentor, David Rossi, has recruited you to make Senator Aaron Hotchner the next President of the United States. Once described as a political nun, the Senator helps you see that maybe you can mix business and pleasure.

This fic contains conduct not suitable for minors. If you are under the legal age of consent in your country, please skip chapters marked on this list with an asterik (*). If you would like a safe for work adaptation, please DM me.

This fic updates on Tuesdays and Saturdays at roughly 5pm EST  is complete.

THE CAMPAIGN

Chapter One: The Job

Chapter Two: One Minute

Chapter Three: Inappropriate*

BONUS CHAPTER: Inappropriate (Aaron’s POV)

Chapter Four: Numbers

BONUS CHAPTER: An Hour*

Chapter Five: Michael

Chapter Six: Amendment*

Chapter Seven: Standstill

Chapter Eight: Election Night

THE PRESIDENCY

Chapter Nine: The Firm

Chapter Ten: Forty Eight

Chapter Eleven: Pressure

Chapter Twelve: Inauguration Day*

Chapter Thirteen: 100 Days In*

Chapter Fourteen: Camp David

Chapter Fifteen: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Chapter Sixteen: Circles

Chapter Seventeen: The State of the Union

BONUS CHAPTER: Thanks a Lot

BEYOND THE WHITE HOUSE

Chapter Eighteen: After

Chapter Nineteen: It’s Handled

Chapter Twenty: Sweet Baby

Chapter Twenty One: Moving On

Chapter Twenty Two: Treading Water

Chapter Twenty Three: Worth Our While*

Chapter Twenty Four: Saved

Chapter Twenty Five: Spin

Chapter Twenty Six: 23 People

Chapter Twenty Seven: Arrangements

Chapter Twenty Eight: Still a Chance

Chapter Twenty Nine: The Funeral

Chapter Thirty: Catching Up

Chapter Thirty One: The Offer

Chapter Thirty Two: Bullshit

Chapter Thirty Three: Aegis

AND BACK AGAIN

Chapter Thirty Four: At the Pleasure of the President

Chapter Thirty Five: A Change of Clothes

Chapter Thirty Six: The Confession

Chapter Thirty Seven: The Complication

Chapter Thirty Eight: Back to Work

Chapter Thirty Nine: Doux Bebe

Chapter Forty: Camp David, Part II

Chapter Forty One: Open Up*

Chapter Forty Two: The Thing

Chapter Forty Three: Interference

Chapter Forty Four: A Woman Scorned

Chapter Forty Five: The Clock

Chapter Forty Six: A Zoo

BEGIN ANEW

Chapter Forty Seven: For Old Time’s Sake

Chapter Forty Eight: To Second Chances

Chapter Forty Nine: Out of Options

Chapter Fifty: Subcommittees

Chapter Fifty One: The Jugular

Chapter Fifty Two: Marlboros

Chapter Fifty Three: Chris Lawrence

Chapter Fifty Four: The True Story 

Chapter Fifty Five: Affirmations 

Chapter Fifty Six: Ironic

Chapter Fifty Seven: The White House Correspondents’ Dinner

Chapter Fifty Eight: Paper

Chapter Fifty Nine: AWOL 

Chapter Sixty: Epilogue 

[spencers-library]

LOOSING MY FUCKING MIND OVER THIS OMFG

Pretty bunny

PART 1 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Sub!Spencer x Playboy Bunny!Reader Spencer doesn’t know what to do when he recognizes you from his favorite adult magazine.

Content: (18+) 3k, boobjob, male oral, public space, and Spencer being insecure of his size but we love him just the way he is, right? a/n: "WE LOVE PRINCE CHARMING REID!" We say in unison while we hold hands and continue to chant over and over again

Issue number: 662. Date: June 2009. Centerfold, pages 36 through 42, draped in nothing but the iconic bunny ears.

Spencer shook his head. No. There was no way it could be you. There was no way the same Playboy bunny he had masturbated to was casually picking up a book in this quiet library. But there was something unmistakable about you. The familiar curve of your back, the subtle sway of your hips, the way your ass rounded perfectly as you reached further down the bottom shelf.

His pants tightened uncomfortably.

It really was you.

Dear god, what were the chances? Spencer had only come to this library on a whim. It was supposed to be a simple day—run a few errands on his free day, pick up groceries, maybe find a new book to keep himself occupied. But what he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with the very woman he had spent far too many nights thinking about. The same woman whose body he knew too well, even if you didn’t know him at all.

He shifted nervously, trying to focus on anything else—the books, the shelves, the smell of old pages—but his eyes drifted back to you. His gaze lingered on the neckline of your blouse dipping low as you bent further, revealing the soft curve of your breasts.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip.

“Can I help you?”

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he noticed you staring at him.

“No,” he rushed out, the word falling through his lips like autopilot. "I was, uh, looking for a book."

Your brow raised slightly. “I didn’t know I was part of the collection.”

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he looked away, trying to think of a response that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“No, no, that’s not—of course you’re not… I—” He stopped, realizing he was only digging himself into a deeper hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You straightened up, and he took in a sharp breath when your hips shifted slightly, brushing against the shelf as you moved.

“I wouldn’t say uncomfortable. Curious, maybe.” You crossed your arms. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who goes around staring at women in libraries.”

“I don’t,” he blurted out, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended. The way your crossed arms subtly pushed up your breasts only made it harder for him not to gawk at your chest. His gaze briefly flickered downward before snapping back to your face.

“I don’t,” he repeated in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt. “You look… familiar.”

“Familiar? Have we met before?”

Of course not. Well, to you at least. He, on the other hand, had seen you more times than he could count. In photos, in dreams, in moments he’d rather not admit. “I… might have seen you in passing.” It was the truth. Sort of. “I didn’t expect to see you in a library.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I guess I don’t seem like the reading type to you, do I?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t expect to run into someone like you here.”

“Someone like me?”

"You know, someone who’s, uh, famous.”

He instantly winced when the words tumbled out, regretting how awkward and clumsy it sounded.​

“Ah,” you said with a knowing smile. “So you do recognize me.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “I… yes, I do. And I’m sorry,” he added, his second apology in less than five minutes. “I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

Your smile deepened, clearly enjoying his discomfort, but not in a cruel way—more in the sense that you found his awkwardness oddly charming. “It’s fine, I’m actually used to it,” you told him, uncrossing your arms. “And I don’t mind being recognized by someone as cute as you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “…cute?”

“Adorable,” you emphasized. “What’s your name?”

You called him cute. Cute.

What was his name again?

Oh. Right.

“Spencer.” He cleared his throat nervously. "I’m... Spencer."

“Spencer,” you repeated, and he could hear the way your voice softened, almost breathless, like you were savoring the sound of his name as it slipped from your lips. “It suits you.”

His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm. It has a nice ring to it.” Your eyes flickered down to his mouth for a split second before meeting his gaze again. "Strong, but gentle. You seem like the type of guy with those traits."

Spencer felt a wave of heat run through him. “I—I wouldn’t say that...”

“Well you are,” you continued, leaning in just slightly. “You seem gentle, but there’s more to you, isn’t there?”

“I… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

"Oh, come on," you said with a teasing grin, your eyes flickering over his features as if trying to read the depths of his thoughts. "You've got that sweet, quiet thing going on. Like you're trying to be all polite and proper... but there's something else, isn't there?"

His eyes darted at the edge of the bookshelf. “No. I’m just… me.”

"Just you? Somehow, I don't believe that. I think there's a side to you that doesn't come out very often. Maybe you're not so innocent as you let on. Or maybe..." Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you're not as gentle as you seem."

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes as he tried to laugh off your words, the sound coming out strained and awkward.

“I’m really not that…”

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned in closer, just enough that he could feel the heat of your body, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest.

“Not that what?” you pressed. “Not that innocent, or not that gentle?”

His pulse pounded visibly at his throat. “I... don’t know what you mean,” he said, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“I think you do,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing just barely against his. You watched as he stiffened, his shoulders momentarily tensing as if the slightest touch sent a shock through his whole body. You smiled, leaning in just a fraction closer. “I like you.”

You felt his breath hit your face as he let out a strangled sound, almost a gasp, and the warmth of it urged you on. Your hand gently found its way to his arm, fingers tracing a path down to his wrist.

“And I think,” you continued, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You might like me too.”

Spencer couldn’t find the words to respond, he couldn’t even breathe properly. How could he when your sweet scent filled his senses? How could he when he had imagined what it might be like to touch you, to have you this close, and now it was real?

He took a deep, calming breath to steady himself, but his heart was pounding violently against his ribcage, and his mouth had gone completely dry. Your fingers trailed down his arm, lingering for a moment before slipping under his hand to guide it firmly to your waist.

He was sure he could combust right on the spot.

“Tell me something, Spencer,” you murmured. “Did you like my pictures? The ones in the magazine?”

He tenses under your touch. His pupils dilated even further, his grip tightening on your waist involuntarily.

“I—uh,” he breathed out, his voice almost breaking, eyes darting away as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze. But you didn’t let him retreat. You shifted slightly, pressing your soft breasts more firmly against his chest. His gaze flickered back to your cleavage.

“Come on, I bet you did. I bet you… enjoyed them.” You let the implication linger. “Didn’t you?

His eyes fluttered close. Enjoyed felt too innocent for what he'd felt, what he'd done. He didn't just enjoy those photos—he devoured them. He touched himself, imagining you sprawled in front of him in that same pose. He fantasized about you, dreamt of your pretty face, the sultry look in your eyes, the way those cute bunny ears framed your hair but left everything else bare.

He grew even more painfully hard at the thought, and you could feel his his arousal pressed against your hip. A soft laugh escaped your lips.

"Spencer,” you cooed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly. "What ever are you thinking?"

He tried to shift away.

“I-I’m not—” he started, but every word he tried to speak died on his lips the moment your hand brushed against his stomach. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“You’re not?” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles clenched under your touch, before drifting even lower. “Because it seems like you've got something on your mind. Or..."

Your fingers passed over his belt buckle, grazing the edge of his waistband.

“Somewhere..."

You hovered over his bulge.

“…else."

Without hesitation, you palmed his erection, feeling the full hardness straining against the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath. “W-What are you—”

You brought your lips to the shell of his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. “I think you know what I'm doing."

Spencer's eyes glanced to the side, as if anyone might appear around the corner at any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when your hand was moving slowly along his length.

“We… we can’t,” he managed to choke out. “Someone could—could see us."

“Hmm? Should I stop then?” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Do you want me to stop, Spencer?”

The hesitation in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the desperation. Brown orbs stared helplessly back at you. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes when every part of him screamed no. So he opted for silence, hoping that his lack of protest would tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

You understood him clearly, so you pressed your hand more firmly on his bulge, fingers teasing the sensitive outline through his pants. The shape of him grew even more defined as you moved slowly, teasingly, with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

His grip on your waist tightened.

“Y-yes,” he managed to breathe out, eyes half-closed as he gave himself over to the sensation.

"I bet I can make you feel even better.”

Without breaking eye contact, you began to sink slowly to your knees, hands sliding down his body. You let your fingers trace down his hips as you came face to face with the unmistakable outline of his arousal, your gaze still locked on his as a smirk danced on your lips.

An IQ of 187 was hardly enough to process what was happening now. Every neuron in his brain fired wildly, trying to make sense of the rush of sensations, the heat of your touch, the intensity in your eyes.

How was this even real?

You let your lips hover for a moment, teasing him with the anticipation before you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his cock. He let out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” you whispered soothingly, your fingers working at the straps of his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle was faint as you loosened it, pulling it free with a soft hiss of leather. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Your fingers brushed against his waistband, eyes looking up at him all doe-eyed, wide and innocent, though everything about your touch was far from it.

He was going crazy. You looked so sexy, so pretty, yet so impossibly cute in that moment, like the very picture of temptation wrapped in innocence. His mind couldn’t help but flicker back to those pictures—the pictures—where you wore nothing but those bunny ears, your gaze so similar to the one you were giving him now.

He watched as you slowly peeled down the fabric, and found himself holding his breath. The cool air met his hot skin as his cock sprang free, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Because Spencer knew he was different. He wasn’t like the other men you’d surely encountered, who knew their way around a woman like you, who were confident, who didn’t hesitate. And then there was the matter of size. He couldn’t help the thoughts rushing through his mind, wondering if you’d find him lacking, if he measured up to whatever experiences had shaped you into the woman that knelt before him now.

But a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock.

“You’re so…” You let out a small, appreciative laugh, your thumb brushing over his tip. “God, everything about you is cute, isn’t it?”

Spencer struggled to steady his breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as your touch made it impossible to think clearly. You leaned closer, eyes still locked on his, and your tongue darted out to give a teasing kitten-lick along the base of his cock.

“Not too big,” you teased, dragging your tongue up the underside, tracing every ridge.

“Not too small…”

You let your tongue travel upward until you reached the tip, where you sucked gently, swirling your tongue around him in circles that had his legs shaking.

“You’ll fit perfectly.”

A pained groan fell through his lips. “Fit… where?”

You let go with a wet pop, his cock twitching as the cool air replaced the warmth of your mouth. Holding his gaze, you let your fingers move to your blouse, slowly undoing the buttons one by one. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you staring.”

Then in one sudden, fluid motion, you tugged your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. The movement made them bounce slightly, the soft curve of your flesh catching the light, and Spencer’s eyes went wide.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out, just a strangled groan as his cock twitched visibly. The sight of you was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t decide where to look, his gaze flickering between your breasts and your face, like he was afraid to miss a single second of this moment. He followed your movement with wide, hungry eyes as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your chest.

“See?” you teased, pressing his length firmly between the soft, warm flesh of your breasts. “Perfect fit.”

His pupils dilated with full-blown lust as you started to move, slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your warm, soft flesh sliding around his cock. You squeezed your breasts tighter together, the pressure creating a delicious friction that had him biting back a groan, his eyes glued to the way he disappeared and reappeared between your curves.

Up. Down. Up. Down. The head of his cock glistened as it emerged at the top again, only to slide back down into your cleavage, leaving a hot, wet trail along your skin.

“God… oh god,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as his hips bucked slightly with each thrust. His eyes squeezed shut briefly, only to flutter back open as if afraid to miss a second of what was happening. His mind was a mess of disjointed thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. But all rationality was drowned out by the way you moved, the soft squeeze of your breasts around him, and the warm, slick glide of your sweat-kissed skin against his length.

He felt himself spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher, and all he could think was how good you looked, how perfect it felt, and how badly he wanted to paint his cum all over your face.

“Look at you all worked up.” You leaned forward slightly, letting the tip of his cock brush against your lips as it emerged, just the barest whisper of a touch. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

His fingers dug even deeper into the shelf, nails scraping against the wood. His voice was raw, almost desperate, as he let out a strained, “Please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lowered your head just enough to let your tongue flick out, circling around the head of his cock as it emerged from between your breasts, tasting the salty-sweet bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips slammed forward.

“Mm,” you hummed softly. “You wanna use me now, Spencer? Is that what you want?”

His grip on the shelf finally faltered, and you could hear the whimper in his throat, the way he bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound that would echo in the library. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, I… I need to…”

“Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your breasts tighter around his length. “If you want it, take it. Use me.”

The moment those words left your lips, his hips jerked forward. The movement was sharp, desperate, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He fucked himself into the tight, slick warmth of your breasts. He stammered incoherently, half-formed words falling from his lips, barely audible over the sounds of his ragged breaths and muffled whimpers.

“Please, I—I can’t… I can’t—oh god…”

He finally snapped, his body trembling violently as the sensation ripped through him, the pressure too intense, too overwhelming. His hips bucked wildly, thrusting desperately into the warmth of your body, lost in the heat, in the wetness, in the need to let go completely—

And then, everything vanished in an instant.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open, his chest heaving as he took in his surroundings. No longer surrounded by warmth, no longer on the brink of release. Just the quiet stillness of his bedroom, sweat beading on his forehead, heart pounding in his chest, sheets tangled around his body… and the magazine lay open beside him, your image staring back at him mockingly.

Bunny ears perched on your head, delicate breasts spilling over, legs spread wide apart.

It took a few seconds for Spencer to catch his breath. He glanced down at himself, his eyes trailing to his painfully hard arousal, noticing the wetness seeping through his boxers and sticking to his skin. The rush of disappointment and adrenaline twisted sharply in his chest as reality hit him.

It was just a dream.

An embarrassing, all-consuming, impossible dream.

[spencers-library]

welcome to spencer’s library!

all my favorite fics and ones i wanna read! enjoy! <3

main blog :: @dumbautisticgirl

writing blog :: @spencersdoll

banners by @/cafekitsune

[spencers-library]

PLEASE I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE OBSESSED W HIS TUMMY AHHSJSJZMXX

https://www.tumblr.com/hotchs-big-hands/746828322146811904/so-this?source=share

The way I would do anything he asked for the privilege of humping his stomach

REAL I wanna ride his tummy cuz that’s more filthy IEUFIDXISJFJ 👉👈

Ofc I’m writing a blurb I caint help it LMAO

18+ only|gn!reader

You usually grind on his thigh, which is heavenly with his strong muscles that he flexes whilst you move. But he’s definitely noticed your love for his stomach. He’s softened with age and for a long time he wasn’t really sure what he thought about that, until you came along.

You’re always complimenting him and when you cuddle on the couch or in bed you love to nuzzle into his stomach or trace your fingers over it. You’re careful, of course, because of the scars covering his torso. But you hadn’t seen his body yet though because he always kept a tee shirt on, including when you were intimate. He was forever grateful for your patience and acceptance that he wasn’t comfortable showing off his body yet. Although, your unwavering affection makes his confidence swell and one day he goes without a tee shirt when he walks into the bedroom where you were curled up on the bed. It made him almost tearful how loving and affectionate you were, kissing his body until not an inch was left untouched.

He knows you love his body, and he loves to see you grinding on him to get yourself off so he gets an idea he wants to try. And so he prompts you when you’re getting it on one night.

You’re rolling your hips down on his lap, kissing Aaron hungrily, hands pawing at his chest desperately. He pulls back suddenly and you whimper in protest. He chuckles softly and holds onto you whilst he shifts back and lays back against the pillows.

“Honey, I want to try something with you tonight.” He says and you’re immediately intrigued. He smirks at you and gropes at your hips. “I want you to ride me.”

You’re confused because you’ve done that before, but you’re nonetheless still enthusiastic. But as you move to grab his thick cock he gently moves your hands away and beckons you with his finger.

“Slide your hips towards me, angel.” You comply, inching forward a bit but he hums. “Closer.”

You’re practically straddling his soft stomach at this point, then it hits you. Oh fuck. He wants you to ride his stomach. He encourages you when you brace yourself with your hands on his chest and with the first roll of your hips he knows this was a good idea. His cock twitches against his lower abdomen as you begin to ease into it now, humming softly and stroking the soft skin of your thighs with his large hands.

“That’s it, grind on my stomach, honey.”

You’re a mess, overwhelmingly turned on by the whole act. It’s filthy, getting yourself off by humping his stomach but you don’t care. You are emboldened when his hand slides past your thigh to grasp his leaking cock, jerking himself off in time with the roll of your hips. You’re not gonna last, and neither is he but you don’t want to try prolonging the edge, instead increasing your speed until you’re whining his name desperately and your body quivers with pleasure. He slips his thumb into your mouth and coos.

“Gonna cum for me, huh? Go on, cum on my stomach, baby.” He purrs and it takes only a little more grinding before you’re collapsing onto him, your orgasm ripping through you as you dig your fingers into his pecs. Aaron moans your name lowly against your chest and you feel the telltale sign of his own unravelling from the spatters of cum hitting your asscheeks.

You both lay there for a little moment as you calm down, then you slowly slide down over his cock with a grin when he hisses from overstimulation. From between his legs you kiss his thigh and pout slightly.

“I made a mess so I’ve gotta clean you up, Aaron.”

He groans loudly and his head falls back against the pillows in anticipation, a smile forming on his lips.