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peachbibi · 5 months ago

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the one in which spencer didn’t tell you about meeting his ex

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: silly spencer, silly reader but happy ending because i’m too soft for this

a/n: i just saw that video with mgg and his ex and got sad. honestly thought i just want him to be happy with whomever

“I don’t think that’s fair”

You stand in front of your boyfriend, trying your best to understand why he acts the way he does. Although, it’s been almost twenty minutes since you started this conversation. Annoyance mixed with pain and confusion are spreading through your chest like ivy.

“What do you mean it’s not fair?”

Spencer looks bewildered. As if you aren’t speaking the same language he does. As if he doesn’t understand how his actions make you feel.

“I mean what I said, Spencer. You are not being fair” you grit through your teeth.

Deep breaths. You try to look at the clouds through the kitchen window; soft and white they are drifting in the sky. Look anywhere but his face because you are sure you will start crying pretty soon.

“I just went for a coffee with friends”

You leave an exasperated sigh, almost choking on it. The way he said it so nonchalantly and simply it breaks your heart. Your eyes search his face for any sign of delusion.

“She is not just a friend Spencer. You dated for three years. You wanted to propose!”

“I didn’t plan to see her that day. She just joined us for a coffee. I don’t understand why you are getting so angry about it.”

Because he didn’t tell you. Because he came home after work acting as if nothing happened. Because you love him so much sometimes it scares you. The fact that he loved his ex enough to propose makes something small and ugly churn at the pit of your stomach.

“Im not angry. Im upset because I found out about this from Penelope and-”

“Your face is flushed, nostrils flared and you are clenching your fists. You are clearly angry”

“Don’t profile me!”

“Technically, it’s not profiling since you are not a criminal and you didn’t commit any-“

He’s rambling with his brows stitched together. His hands are moving as if he’s explaining something so simple only you can’t understand. You can hear ringing in your ears. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“No, stop it. I can’t talk to you anymore”

You dismiss him and bolt towards your bedroom. His bedroom. You shut the door and let your body collapse on the floor. With your knees pressed tight to your chest and your back pressed to the wooden floor you finally let yourself cry. For some reason, it was always difficult for you to cry in front of Spencer when you were arguing. You would feel defeated. Now, hot tears are streaming down your cheeks as you think about the conversation you had earlier in your relationship. How he was in love with his ex girlfriend and how he even bought the ring. How she broke his heart by the phone. How he was scared to fall in love again because of how damaging the whole experience was for him. How he struggled to open up. You wipe your wet face when you hear a hesitant knock.

“Hey…Can we talk?”

Spencer’s voice is soft and full of warmth and you just hate the way he affects you. The way he makes your heart jump out of your chest, beat rhythmically with his own, squeeze so tightly it hurts.

“Depends” you sniff.

“I apologise”

You stand up and open the door. Even though you try your best to look cold and distant, you look wounded and lost.

“Oh, angel..”

You can see his hand twitch at the sight of your red eyes.

“You should have told me”

“I know. I panicked. I honestly didn’t know she would want to sit with us and then Derek-“

“But you understand why I’m upset?”

His eyes are big brown circles. Like a deer in the field he is watching you.

“I think?”

“Spence, you were so in love you wanted to get married. The fact that you tried to hide that you met up with her is so…painful”

Vision is getting blurry and you start blinking rapidly. Spencer just stares at you. Silence is so loud you can’t bear it.

“You think I have feelings for her”

He finally speaks. You don’t say anything because you’re not sure. Do you? Your gaze falls to the ground. Spencer makes a step towards you. His big palms reach behind your back. Your face is pressed to his chest and you feel helpless.

“I’m so sorry, angel. There’s no one else but you. You know that. I need you to know that. I love you so much. Please, tell me you know that. The only reason I didn’t tell you is because I didn’t want to upset you and I understand now that I was wrong and stupid and you deserved to know”

Spencer kisses the top of your head and rubs your back.

“Nothing happened. I swear. Derek and Penelope were there and they can confirm that. She just joined us for a coffee and left. Please, forgive me for not telling you straight away”

He pulls away to take a look at you. You know he is telling the truth. You know that there’s a part of you that feels a little insecure but that’s not his fault. Spencer never did anything to make you doubt him. He was always so caring and loving and attentive that it’s easy for you to believe that he just wanted to protect your feelings.

“You are the only one I want”

He kisses your forehead and you melt. More tears are pouring down your face but mostly because of how overwhelmed you feel. How much love and even relief you feel after his words. Spencer brushes the tears away with his thumbs.

“Please, don’t cry. I don’t know what else to do. If you want me-“

“No, I believe you. I just…I love you so much it’s scary sometimes”

Spencer smiles and plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I know exactly how you feel”

You pull him into another kiss. A more sensual one. The desperation and need to feel him right now is so intense you just want to drown in him. Good thing that he indulges you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid prompt #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst

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vatelixx · 2 months ago

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The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

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Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, ��Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

#criminal minds #sub spencer reid #sub spencer #halloween #unsub!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #CRAAAAWLING BACK TO U #idk guys they might be in love??#all i do is write smut wtf (i need help)

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love-belle · 1 year ago

Text

you got me thinking nonsense !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which heartbreak led to her real love and she'd be damned if she didn't make sure everyone knows that.

for when they're everything to you. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

prequel - light as a feather ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - posting this i simply couldn't resist!!! i'll try my HARDEST to post carlos' version of shout out to my ex tonight but if not then tomorrow fs <3 thank u so much for reading, i love u <3

taglist - @marsdreamworld @eviethetheatrefreak @22yuki @incoherenciass @bb-swift @willowpains @lordperceval-16 (tagging all those who asked for part ii <3)

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, f1updates, exwagsclub and 79,726 others

paddock.club y/n y/l/n and charles leclerc spark dating rumours as they were seen out on a "date", which were further confirmed as the couple shared a kiss. for weeks, y/l/n and leclerc have been having coy and not-so-platonic interactions on social media and fans have speculated that these two are more just friends. this news comes after y/n's break up with a fellow driver of charles and while neither y/n or her ex have commented on this, it's clear that they didn't have a clean break up as there were rumours of cheating surrounding the ex. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

tagged charles_leclerc yourusername

589 comments

username LMFAOAOOA THE WAY LANDO ISN'T EVEN MENTIONED HERE

username "the ex" ur so right he's not worth mentioning 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

username olivia was talking abt lando when she sang "some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning"

*liked by oliviarodrigo*

username my true parents fr ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username she looks sooo happy with him im so happy for her

username love how none of yes are surprised like we all saw this coming

username the way l*ndo isn't even mentioned ONCE like that's what u get for cheating babes!!!!!!!!!

username CHARLES AND Y/N FUCK YEA

username she genuinely looks so much happier with charles like this is the type of relationship she deserved ❤️

username IM ❤️ SO ❤️ HAPPY ❤️ FOR ❤️ THEM ❤️

username no bc there was no way they thought that they'd be able to convince us that they weren't together

username istg i see one person comment some out of pocket shit im SWINGING

username l*ndo's crying rn like i can Feel it

username no bc HOW'D he pull 😭😭😭😭😭

-> username fr like u put him near y/n he starts malfunctioning

-> username no bc that one interview where he forgot his own team's name js bc y/n walked past him is LIVING proof

username i know the driver's gc is WILDIN rn

username see now idk who to be jealous of

-> username the only correct answer is both

username no bc IMAGINE THE SONGS SHE'LL WRITE ABOUT HIM!!!!!!

username pretty people (y/n and charles) ruining it for the ugly people (me) by getting together

username oh so he got GAME

username everyone bffr y/n was probably the one who took the initiative

username guys stop with all the l*ndo slander comments i can't like them all

username charles leclerc i will never forgive u for taking my wife

username im sooooOOOOooo normal about this. ha fucking ha.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,792,712 others

yourusername nonsense is now yours!!! i wrote this song on my very close friend's bedroom's floor and i can officially say that this is the most unhinged song i have ever written :) i love u all sooo much i could cry <3 (charles_leclerc be my personal photographer pls ❤️)

15,628 comments

username HELLO?????? PLEASE IM CRYING WHAT IS THIS SONG AND WHY IS IT MAKING ME CRY AND HORNY

username IM TALKIN OPPOSITE OF SOFT?????? Y/N?????????

username nah she's unhinged

username "on my very close friend's bedroom's floor" BABE WE KNOW

username how quickly can u take ur clothes off pop quiz 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

-> username oh she's wild for adding this

username IN LOVE WITH THE OUTRO

username PLEASE touch some grass and meditate

georgerussell63 wish i never heard it but cool beats x

-> yourusername i too wish u never heard it but thank u russell george x

username i know sebastian texted her after this

*liked by yourusername*

username okayyyy so at least he's winning off the track

-> username OH UR SO WRONG FOR THIS

username at least my girl's getting some good dick y'all leave her alone

username im a changed woman after hearing this song

username u gotta keep up with me!!!!! i got some young energy!!!!!!! i caught the l-o-v-e!!!! why do u do this to me!!!!!!!

username i know charles is blasting the SHIT out of this sin anthem (encouraging)

-> username PLEASE NOT SIN ANTHEM

lilymhe when will you write a song like this about me :/

-> yourusername if u would like i can show u????

-> lilymhe i'm On my way!

-> alex_albon STOP I'M STILL HERE

-> yourusername alex look away

-> charles_leclerc i'm

-> yourusername u too babe look AWAY

-> username BABE

-> username DID SHE JS CONFIRM IT FR FR

username said u like my eyes????? AND u like to make them roll??????

-> username if someone said that to me i would be AT the altar in most white dress ever

username charles won at life fr

username WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABT HOW GOOD SHE LOOKS IN THESE PHOTOS

-> username my heart stopped she's so barbie coded

charles_leclerc nice song

-> yourusername thank u

charles_leclerc any particular muse behind this?

-> yourusername js this cool guy i've been seeing

-> charles_leclerc "cool" huh? 😏😏😏😏🤪🤪🤪🤪🤗🤗🤗🤗🫡🫡🫡🫡🥶🥶🥶🥶😩😩😩😩🤧🤧🤧🤧☺️☺️☺️☺️😘😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰🥰😚😚😚😚

-> yourusername yes charles u are cool

-> username MY GOD SOMEONE TAKE AWAY THIS MAN'S PHONE

-> username y/n be honest does he blush and giggle when u call him a pet name????

-> yourusername what do u think

-> username I KNEW IT OMG

charles_leclerc if the person in front of the camera is you, i will gladly be behind the camera for the rest of my life.

-> yourusername the most romantic thing u have ever said to me

-> charles_leclerc that's not true

-> yourusername u called me a chameleon yesterday

-> charles_leclerc because you wear a different shade of eye colour everyday

-> yourusername eye shadow* baby

-> charles_leclerc okay :D

-> username WHO IS THIS MAN

-> username nah he's GONE for her

≡;- ꒰ twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 1,538,976 others

charles_leclerc she wrote a song for me and while it wasn't the most romantic one, the sentiment is still appreciated. y/n, i adore you completely, even if you spend more time with my mom than you do with me. mon cœur ❤️ ( my heart )

tagged yourusername

12,629 comments

username im

username js gonna leave yeah (ABSHDHDJSJJSSJ)

username what do u MEAN charles is in love and what do u MEAN that it's not with me (i love them both sm)

username okayyyy she wrote how much she loves u and ur little thing that's the MOST romantic thing ever

-> username nah bestie given the way she wrote the song im not it's *little*

*liked by yourusername*

-> username GIRL PLEASE WHY ARE U LURKING

username i love them both so much

carlossainz55 you two make me nauseous but it's been a long time coming 🤍 happy for you both !!

-> charles_leclerc thank you for your approval <3

-> carlossainz55 had to make sure you'd treat her better 🤷

-> username "treat her better" is speaking VOLUMES

-> username i love carlos so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username y/n being the grid's favourite is my aesthetic 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

username I LOVE THEM SOOO MUCH THEY'RE MY PARENTS LIKE AJSJSKSKSJKSKKS

username "mon cœur" can u hear me SCREAMING 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

username they genuinely deserve all the happy things in life like im SO fr

username ferrari better get their shit in order bc i know that if they fuck up again y/n is fr gonna destroy them and idk if that's gonna be by words or by a song or she's straight up gonna fist fight them

*liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and carlossainz55*

danielricciardo at least she writes you songs, she writes me threatening messages

-> yourusername U CALLED ME THAT MCDONALD'S CLOWN

-> charles_leclerc i'm not gonna intervene

-> danielricciardo BECAUSE YOU LOOKED LIKE ONE

-> yourusername THAT'S JS CHARLES NOT ME

-> charles_leclerc i am going to intervene

username im so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ about them

username i just fell to the floor what the fuck

username IM SOOOOOOOOO *cries*

lewishamilton 🫶🏼

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username i KNOW lando is pulling at his hair rn

username THAT NOTE OH MY GOD

username pls god when will it be me

username im so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

yourusername wdym "u said u like my eyes and u like to make em roll" is not romantic

-> charles_leclerc the most romantic thing i have ever heard in my eye

-> yourusername ❤️

yourusername i love ur mom

-> charles_leclerc i know

-> leclerc_pascale mon ange 😘

-> yourusername MAMA LECLERC ❤️❤️❤️

-> charles_leclerc and i'm right here...

yourusername cannot wait to write songs for u my entire life

-> charles_leclerc cannot wait to compose piano pieces for you 😘

-> username IM SCREAMING

-> username WHAT DO U MEAN HE COMPOSES PIANO PIECES FOR HER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username they're so

username i would give anything to have a love like that 😭😭😭😭😭

username im crying.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, lilymhe and 2,975,327 others

yourusername looking at u got me thinking nonsense!!!!!!!!!!! also special thanks to landonorris bc if not for him i wouldn't have met the love of my life so thanks dude even if ur a prepubescent piece of shit

tagged charles_leclerc

18,629 comments

username IM HOWLING WHAT THE FUCK

username THE TAG THE CAPTION

username prepubescent piece of shit will forever be engraved in my brain ❤️

username LMFAOAOAOAO

username y/n y/m/n y/l/n u will always be famous

username IM CRYINF WHAT THEBFUCK

lewishamilton both of you 💕

-> yourusername we love u lewis <3

username she will never let l*ndo live in peace and i love her sm for that

username i just cackled out loud why is she so funny

username SHE'S SOOOO UNSERIOUS

username i js know charles is MADLY in love with her bc HOW can u not be

username she's so unhinged. i love her.

username screaming

lilymhe i thought we were something

-> yourusername babygirl u own my heart and 4ever will

-> alex_albon wow.

-> charles_leclerc oh my god

username they're so adorable 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username THEM

username no bc charles deffo manifested this shit like imagine having a crush on someone for YEARS and then they date ur friend but the friend cheats on them and u end up together like woahh wildddd

-> username and then they write a song about u

-> username AND THEN THEY WRITE A SONG ABOUT U

oscarpiastri a scream just erupted from *his* driver's room

*liked by yourusername*

-> username target audience reached 🫡

username stop with the l*ndo hate comments i seriously CANNOT like them all

username i would do anything to go to a driver's meeting ANYTHING

maxverstappen1 nice caption

-> yourusername thank u :) an angry dutch proof read this

username max proof reading this caption is sooo funny like omg

-> username they're truly destroying his peace and i respect them so much

username i truly cannot wait for the next race

username NO BC DID SOMEONE SEE THAT CLIP WHERE NONSENSE PLAYED IN THE PADDOCK WHILE LANDO WAS THERE AND HE LOOKED SO 😒😒😒😒😒😒

-> username LMFAOAOAOA THAT WAS HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY

-> username truly a cinematic piece ❤️

charles_leclerc was the first photo necessary

-> yourusername absolutely like look at my man ❤️

charles_leclerc looking at YOU got ME thinking nonsense

-> yourusername stop im blushing

charles_leclerc i thought we'd be nice

-> yourusername no YOU'D be nice i'd be mean

-> charles_leclerc okay amour ( my love )

charles_leclerc i love you ❤️

-> yourusername i caught the l-o-v-e

-> yourusername i love you more ❤️

username IM SOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username charles and y/n ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username me when.

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc fluff

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