#Spencer Reid Self Insert

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K

Part 1

Two months had passed since the case ended, your team was spending more and more time assisting the BAU with their cases, and you were still adjusting to being known as Mrs. Reid. The BAU’s teasing had mostly subsided, but Penelope couldn’t help herself, sending you daily texts with variations of “How’s married life treating you, sugarplum?”

Spencer, of course, was blissfully oblivious to half the jokes. You envied his ability to compartmentalize. For you, the line between personal and professional felt increasingly blurred—especially when you came home to find him sitting on your couch, flipping through one of your dog-eared mystery novels like he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your go-bag on the floor.

“Hey,” he replied without looking up. “Your landlord called earlier. The leak in your bathroom should be fixed tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, thanks?”

Spencer finally glanced up, his expression innocent. “It’s easier if they call me. You don’t always answer your phone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Easier, huh?”

He shrugged. “Legally, I’m your emergency contact. Makes sense.”

Your chest tightened a mix of irritation and something warmer that you weren’t ready to name. Spencer had a way of making the most unconventional things seem logical—like casually fixing your plumbing situation as if it were just another bullet point on his to-do list.

You crossed the room, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You know this is weird, right?”

“What is?”

“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “Being married but… not married.”

Spencer tilted his head, considering your words. “It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s not weird. We work well together.”

“That’s not exactly the foundation of a marriage,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked bite. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—try to figure out what this actually is?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “You mean, like dating?”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy and full of possibility.

“Maybe,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, it might help. Get to know each other outside of work. Outside of… whatever this is.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s logical. We could schedule something.”

“Schedule?” You laughed, the sound half nervous, half amused. “Spence, you don’t schedule a date. You just… go.”

His lips quirked in a small, sheepish smile. “Right. Of course.”

The First Date

Three days later, you found yourself sitting across from Spencer at a cozy little café near the library. He’d insisted on picking the place, and you hadn’t protested—it was quiet, intimate, and felt like him.

“I, um, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” Spencer said, gesturing to the spread of pastries between you. “There’s a 73% chance one of these is your favorite.”

You bit back a smile, reaching for a chocolate croissant. “Good guess.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and you realized he’d been nervous—an unusual look for someone so confident in every other aspect of his life.

“So,” you began, tearing off a piece of croissant. “Do we talk about work, or is that off-limits?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not off-limits, but we could talk about other things. Like… hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeated, amused. “You mean like your extensive knowledge of obscure trivia?”

“Or your knack for solving puzzles,” he countered, a rare teasing tone in his voice.

You laughed, the sound drawing a faint smile from him. For the first time, the awkwardness began to fade, replaced by something warmer—something that felt almost like normalcy.

Navigating New Territory

Over the next few weeks, your dynamic shifted in subtle but undeniable ways. Spencer started leaving his favorite books on your nightstand, claiming they were “better than the ones you usually read.” You, in turn, introduced him to your guilty pleasure TV shows, relishing the way he tried (and failed) to resist getting invested in the drama.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

One evening, as you cooked dinner together—a rare occurrence, considering your busy schedules—Spencer reached for the salt just as you turned to grab a spoon. The collision was minor, but it left you both frozen, faces inches apart.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back quickly.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “No, it was my fault.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. You busied yourself stirring the sauce, your mind racing. Was this what it felt like to be in a real marriage? The constant push and pull of closeness and uncertainty?

“I’ve been reading about communication in relationships,” Spencer said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course you have.”

“It says physical proximity is important,” he continued, his tone serious. “Small gestures, like holding hands, can build intimacy.”

You stared at him, torn between exasperation and affection. “Spence, are you saying we should hold hands more?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “It might help.”

You sighed, setting down the spoon. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

Tentatively, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. His skin was warm, his grip firm but careful.

“How’s this?” you asked, half-joking.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

“Good,” he said softly. “It’s… good.”

A Step Forward

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself leaning against Spencer on the couch, too tired to care about boundaries. His arm was draped around your shoulders, and you realized with a start that it felt… nice. Comforting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “Just tired.”

He didn’t move, didn’t press for more. Instead, he simply held you, his presence steady and reassuring.

In that moment, you realized something had shifted—not just between you, but within you. This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. It was becoming something real, something worth fighting for.

And as you drifted off to sleep, Spencer’s voice echoed softly in your mind.

“I’ve got you.”

You believed him.

The Unspoken Shift

It was late one night when the shift finally happened when everything you and Spencer had been tiptoeing around finally came to a head. The case had been grueling—intense, dangerous—but in the end, the team had solved it. The adrenaline had faded, leaving an unfamiliar silence in its wake.

You were sitting on the couch in your small apartment, your mind still racing from the day’s events. You’d barely had time to think about anything beyond work in the past few weeks, but now, with the threat neutralized, everything came rushing back.

Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by the chaos. He was curled up in the armchair across from you, his laptop open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. He kept glancing over at you, his face unreadable, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it.

It was in moments like this that you found yourself wondering what this was between you—this odd marriage of convenience that had slowly morphed into something you couldn’t quite define.

We work well together, Spencer had said once, so casually that it hadn’t quite clicked at the time. Now, though, as you caught him looking at you again—this time with a sort of tenderness that made your heart skip a beat—you wondered if he meant more than just work.

You shifted on the couch, trying to distract yourself. You couldn’t allow yourself to think too deeply, not with everything that was still unresolved. But Spencer’s voice cut through the silence.

"Y/N, I... I think I need to apologize."

You froze, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "Apologize? For what?"

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop, but he didn’t look at the screen. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, serious and a little vulnerable. "For... for how distant I’ve been. I know I’ve been focused on the cases and... well, on myself too much." His lips tightened, as if he regretted the words before they even left his mouth. "I’ve been pushing you away without even realizing it. And I’m sorry."

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. Spencer was never one to admit when he was wrong. He was always so logical, so composed. But tonight, something was different. There was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten, and you realized with a jolt that maybe you had been pushing him away too.

"You haven’t been distant, Spence," you said softly. "You’ve just been... you." The words felt heavier than you intended, but it was the truth. Spencer had always been focused, and driven, and even when he was there, he seemed so far away, locked in his own world.

"I know," he said, his voice low. "But that’s not an excuse. I—I should have been there more for you. You’ve been doing this alone, and that’s not fair."

You stared at him, processing what he had just said. Spencer Reid, always so sure of his intelligence and his work, was admitting—without words—that he wasn’t sure how to be a partner in this unconventional marriage. And as much as you wanted to brush it off, you couldn’t. You had been struggling with the same doubts.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said quietly, motioning between the two of you. “This whole… marriage thing. It’s not what I expected, either. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I know you are,” he said. “And that’s why I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know what this is, but... I don’t want to lose it.”

There was a long pause as you both let the words settle. You felt the weight of everything that had been building up—the awkward moments, the shared glances, the near-kisses that you’d both avoided. But in that moment, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep avoiding it.

“I don’t want to lose it either,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer inhaled deeply, his hand moving hesitantly toward yours. When his fingers brushed against yours, your pulse quickened. The touch was gentle, uncertain—but it felt like a promise, one you hadn’t even realized you were waiting for. The space between you seemed to shrink as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

"I think I—" Spencer started, but the words hung in the air, unspoken, because neither of you could say them aloud just yet. Instead, you reached for him.

You moved slowly, carefully, but when your lips met his, it wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t calculated. It was everything that had been building between you for the past two months. It was vulnerability and longing and the quiet admission that you couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

His lips were warm, soft, and he didn’t pull away, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he did. The kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened as you both leaned into it, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you felt right. Not because the kiss had solved everything, but because in that moment, you finally felt seen.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. Spencer’s hands were still lightly touching your arms, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but you didn’t want him to move. You didn’t want to break this moment of rawness between you.

“I... I’ve wanted that for a while,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your heart racing. “I think I have too.”

For a moment, you simply stayed there, sitting together, breathing in the same air. You didn’t need to talk, didn’t need to say anything more. Everything had shifted, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating at the same time.

You were no longer just coworkers. You weren’t just a married couple in name. In that kiss, you had taken the first step into something more. Something real.

And for the first time, you believed Spencer when he said he didn’t want to lose this.

The Quiet Moments After

The days after your first kiss were a mix of confusion and excitement. There was still tension between the work you did and the lives you were building together, but somehow it felt more manageable now. You and Spencer began finding ways to open up to each other—slowly, carefully, but with more and more honesty.

You would catch Spencer looking at you with that same soft expression as if he was still trying to figure out the person sitting beside him, but there was no hesitation anymore. No pulling away.

He didn’t say much, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was bringing you your favorite coffee when he knew you were having a rough day or simply sitting beside you on the couch, his presence had started to mean more. And with each passing moment, each new shared experience, you felt your connection deepening.

Maybe this wasn’t the marriage you had expected. But maybe, just maybe, it was the one you needed.

[reidmotif]

Between the Books

Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat. 

Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil? 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. 

And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.

You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.

 For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid. 

The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him. 

Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man. 

You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.

 You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed. 

His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.

 How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall. 

You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship. 

“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly. 

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?” 

“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him.  “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.” 

He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.” 

You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation. 

“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”

 There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?” 

You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?” 

“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues. 

“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.” 

You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead. 

“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.” 

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement. 

“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement. 

“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.” 

“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.

“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning. 

“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.” 

“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging. 

You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it. 

He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies. 

“You’re pretty hard not to notice.” 

He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left. 

Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to. 

You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that. 

Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read. 

You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night. 

There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon. 

You shrug it off. All in good time, right? 

It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind. 

“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here. 

He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.

 “I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.” 

He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal. 

“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-” 

In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted,  missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you. 

“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent. 

It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them. 

You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.” 

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer. 

“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly. 

“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.” 

There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent. 

And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend. 

“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.” 

Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words. 

“Oh? Why is that?” You force out. 

“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.” 

You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.” 

You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness. 

“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?” 

You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever. 

One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.” 

You don’t move a single muscle. 

And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again. 

“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs. 

He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before. 

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.

You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening. 

“Need to taste you. Please.” 

He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out. 

And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?  

“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment. 

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly.  You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release. 

Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream. 

How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you? 

How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?

It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.

“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.

The sight is downright sinful.

“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum. 

“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next. 

You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against  his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly. 

How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you? 

It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly. 

His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act. 

His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end. 

You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this. 

You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor. 

“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good. 

“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked. 

“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark. 

The sight makes a shiver go up your spine. 

“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt. 

“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release. 

“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.” 

It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to. 

The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well,  a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could. 

Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything,  and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.

“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once. 

“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened. 

“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers. 

“More than okay.” You whisper back. 

His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.” 

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out. 

“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.” 

He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief  can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out. 

You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic. 

You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you. 

this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3

[endearng]

Tie

Pairing: switch!Spencer Reid x sub!fem!reader Summary: Spencer gets unreasonably jealous of you. You let him take control to comfort and reassure him. That's what loving girlfriends do. WC: 3.6k Warnings: smut - oral (f receiving), edging, overstimulation, kinda softdom!Spencer, reader is compliant to everything he says, he's just as desperate as her, sir kink, creamp1e (i long for a better word), bondage, unprotected pinv, dirty talk (they yap), pet names, pussy slapping. Jealous Spencer deserves a warning of its own. Minors, please, do not interact. A/N: I have no excuse for myself (I'm ovulating). This is pure filth and indulgent because I was being tortured with thoughts of Spencer.

Feedbacks are always welcomed and appreciated <3 Masterlist

Subtle touches from Spencer all night had you going crazy. Well, they weren’t exactly that subtle.

During a particular conversation you were having with Rossi about Italian cuisine (you were an enthusiast, both of cooking and eating Italian dishes like nothing else existed), Spencer, who had an armed slung over the chair you were sitting on, started twirling your hair in his fingers. When you laughed at some remark about how French people are insane for combining dairy with fish, your boyfriend pulled your hair rather crudely. You glared at him from the corner of your eye.

You got somewhat angry because it was uncomfortable for you to be that intimate around others, but his teasing worked wonders on you. Now, you wanted his touch to be bolder, thirstier, needier, just to match your own sinful thoughts and wants. Right now, Spencer was saying goodbye to Rossi, who was waiting for a cab to take him and his wife back home. Spencer's hand rested at the small of your back. The wine you sipped all through the night, combined with Spencer's bratty behavior, was now making your pussy throb with need for your boyfriend. Nevertheless, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you all worked up in public. "Goodbye, Krystall, and again, happy birthday. Thank you for including me! It was incredible," you said to the woman, who hugged you warmly and thanked you with a smile on her face. "Looking forward to those cooking sessions you mentioned earlier," you said, a big smile on your face as you gave David Rossi a hug.

"Anytime, bellissima." He said simply as you pulled away, smile gracing his face. You held out your hand to Spencer to walk back to his car.

The nickname had struck a nerve. He wasn't jealous, no, he trusted you with his body and his soul, even if he, as a man of science, didn't believe in the latter — that's how much he loved and trusted you, and it was Rossi, for God's sake... Still, he was just another man. Another stupid, territorial man. He opened the door for you and you entered the car, giving him a peck on the lips, "Thanks, handsome."

"Anytime, bellissima," he said through gritted teeth after he closed the door and as you fastened your seatbelt, out of your earshot. He turned around to enter the car, taking the driver's seat.

You went home silently, but you could sense the heavy atmosphere between you on the way there. As you entered your apartment, he got down on his knees to take off your shoes for you. He always did it, no matter what. Apparently, acting weird was no exception to his care with you. You bit your lip, a little apprehensive to bring up the subject. "Thank you, baby," you said softly instead.

"You're welcome, darling." he said, not looking at you and taking longer than necessary in his task.

You sucked in a breath. "Okay, baby, what was that? We need to talk about it."

"What was what?"

"Just when we left the restaurant. I said thanks and you basically ignored me all the way here," you explained, even if you knew he definitely knew what you were talking about. your hand found the nape of his neck, making him look up at you. He had a guilty look on his face.

Busted.

He sighed, "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I was mean." He apologized, eyes sincerely searching your form and hands reaching up to rest on the sides of your hips.

"Why did you do it, then?"

"Bellissima. You know what it means. I just got... jealous? I should be the only one complimenting you," he said, now standing at full height in front of you. Kissing your lips, hands caressing your waist, touch light as a feather, "telling you how much you mean to me," you sighed as his lips brushed the skin of your neck, "how much it drives me crazy just seeing you," he bit the sweet spot just behind your ear, "my beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend. Mine."

You pulled on his hair so he could see your features. Looking him dead in the eye, with an almost angry look on your face. You wanted him to pay for everything he had done that night. "Baby, you were touching me all night, knowing that you were driving me insane. knowing you're the only one who gets to do that," you leaned in to kiss him softly. "And then throw a tantrum like the spoiled little thing that you are just because someone said a word to me? You know compliments mean nothing when it comes from someone who's not you, baby. Thought you knew better."

Silence. He looked at you like you kicked his dog. 

"Remind me, then," he retorted, looking you in the eye. "Remind me how much you're mine and mine only."

One of your favorite things about your relationship with Spencer was that, in public, your dynamic was totally different from what you were like between four walls. When you were surrounded by people, Spencer acted like a gentleman, always making sure to cater to your every whim, opening car doors, taking off your shoes for you, picking nice places to take you on dates, accepting your suggestions of what to wear — it was no coincidence that he looked a lot more styled lately, but you also loved his usual attires. It was how you met him and how you fell in love with him, after all.

But, in the bedroom (or wherever he decided to have you), it was totally different. You were compliant to everything he said, letting go of the control you had over yourself, over your relationship, over everything so he could take you to fucking heavens. You obeyed everything without so much a "yes, sir", and he fucking loved it.

He unzipped the skin-tight dress after leading you back to your shared room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, you stood before him, whose tie was loosened around his neck. "Is this all for me?" he asked as he saw what you had underneath your dress all night long, absolutely sick with the slightest idea that someone else could have that.

You sighed as he kissed your neck and trailed down to your breasts, easily unclasping your bra. "Yes, sir, all for you."

Just like clockwork, all his attention drifted to your breasts. One of his large, calloused hands held your waist securely and the other played with one of your nipples as he licked the other, his hot tongue circling the nub, making you whimper and sending a rush of wetness through your core. "mmm, always need my mouth full of you, angel."

"nnngh, it feels so good."

He smiled on your skin, biting your nipple afterwards. The sting made you see stars and desperate to feel him in some sort of way, you'd take anything he had to offer you. You just needed to be touched. As he continued your ministrations on your breasts, switching from one to the other, you moaned, your hands finding his hair. "Sir—ah—, can you please—touch me?"

He stopped his movements and looked up at you, laughing mockingly. "Is that all it takes, pretty? A few minutes of my mouth on you and you're already so pliant? So eager for me to touch you?"

"Yes, sir. I need you so bad."

"Tell me, then," he scoffed, "where do you want me to touch you?"

Your incoherent babbles meant nothing, so he just laughed at your poor attempt at an answer.

"You're so good at begging, aren't you?" You nodded, licking your lips with the sight of his wet ones. "Wanna kiss me, baby?"

"Always do. Can I?"

"Yes, you can." No matter how dominant he was, he could never deny you a kiss.

You leaned down to kiss him. The brush of your lips alone made Spencer crazy, craving more and more. He could spend hours just kissing you, never getting tired of the mind numbing sensation it had on him. You deepened the kiss, your tongue caressing his, earning a moan from his end. You smiled. "I love kissing you." You whispered as you barely pulled away, breathless.

"I know you do, pretty."

His hands trailed on the sides of your body, earning a shiver from you. Just as he reached the hem of your panties, they traveled up again, grazing the skin of your arms instead. As he found your hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze. He stood up and looked down at you, in for another kiss. "You have no idea what you do to me," he groaned. His words only spurred you further. "Take off my shirt. Slowly." he commanded. And you complied, taking every chance to brush your fingers against his hot skin, desperate to rake your nails on his chest, to make him shiver for you, too.

Spencer turned you around gently so you could see yourself in the big mirror placed in front of the bed. You watched as he pushed your hair out of his way, resting it on your left shoulder to give him access to your neck, his hands finding your breasts so he could play with them, too. He started with light kisses on your neck, lips barely brushing the area, making goosebumps soon erupt on your skin. His caresses got gradually more aggressive, making you blatantly moan his name when he bit the sweet spot behind your ear and grinded his clothed dick against your ass. You whimpered, overwhelmed with so many stimuli.

Turning you to face him, again, he sat you on the edge of the bed, covered only by your underwear in front of him. You could see the tent in his pants and you were desperate to taste him, to take him in your mouth in order to make him as crazy as he made you. God, the things you'd do to hear him whimper like he knew you loved to hear...

"Thinking about something, angel?" He chuckled, mocking you yet again when he saw what were you looking at and the position you put yourself in: cunt in full display after you placed both feet at the edge of the bed.

You nodded violently. That was how you always found yourself pleading for him. It didn't take much, honestly. "Please, sir, I'll do anything. jus', please, let me feel you,"

Anything...

"Aw, pretty, you're so desperate for me," his tone was condescending. "thought you'd wanted someone else for a moment tonight."

"No! No! Never, sir. Never. I only want you. I only want you to touch me."

Leaning down, his fingers raked over your stomach, ghosting over the fabric of your panties. Spencer groaned as he touched the wet patch on your underwear, glistening, begging for attention.

"'s just how much I want you..."

"Look at you, angel, begging me to have my way with you," he sneered, "so pretty..." he muttered, getting down on his knees.

Through your soaked underwear, Spencer caressed your mound and outer lips, almost as if he was drawing your cunt from scratch, tracing every single feature, making it cling even harder to the garment. Each touch made you feel eager. Want something, say something, right?

He teased you for what felt like hours, but when you were finally able to form a sentence, he pushed your panties to the side and he moaned lowly at the sight of you. "Spence—sir..." You started, but were cut by a breathless grunt that raked through you as he licked a broad stripe on your slit.

"You are soaked, princess, had to have a taste of you... you were sayin'?"

"Please, don't stop, sir," your hands flew to his hair, trying to push him back to what he had started.

"Nuh-uh, princess," he tsked, gathering his tie from the floor, "You don't deserve to touch me after the little show you put up today. I’m gonna have to tie you up, alright?" 

There it was. Your punishment.

One thing about Spencer is that he always made sure to tell you whatever he was planning on doing with you, both so that you could say no if you wanted to and also because it turned you on beyond limits. It made your heart soar, he was so careful with you, making every man on earth seem like straight up Neanderthals. You whined at his plan as he looked at you to see if you were okay with the idea.

You jutted your lip out, brows furrowing, but you couldn't disagree with him. Adorable, he thought. He tied both of your hands behind your back, using his fucking tie. "... Yes, 's alright. I jus' wish I could touch you so badly," you complained.

"I know, pretty," he cooed, "that's why I'm gonna give you a chance to be good for me, and when you prove to me you can do it, you can touch me all you want."

"O-okay," you stuttered as he started placing teasing kisses on your inner thighs. You sighed.

"You smell so good. Want me to taste you too, hm? You're soaked, your pussy is begging me to do something about it."

"Yes, yes, I do!" you almost yelled. "Please, sir, I'll be good for you."

"I know you fucking will." he stated. Just then, he started licking your pussy, delicately at first just so you could get used to the feeling of finally having him the way you wanted. His hands held your hips in place to stop you from moving. He was the one in control, after all.

Then, once he sucked your clit between his lips, he started flicking his tongue against the nub, eliciting moans from you. The taste of you in his tongue was something he could never get used to, every fucking time felt like the first. He felt addicted to the power it had over him. The best he could do was at least try to be in control. You squirmed, almost like you wanted to get away from him, but his firm hands held you in place. "Be good and stay still," he muttered against your core, slapping your pussy once. You nodded, whining, too lost in the feeling after the sting, in the feeling of his tongue punishing you in a rhythm that put you in a frenzy. Spencer's middle finger slowly pushed inside your fluttering walls. "You're dripping all over my fingers. What a messy girl."

Knuckle deep inside your cunt and mouth feverishly and steadily working on your clit, your boyfriend started to feel more and more desperate by the second with the sounds coming from your mouth. You, on the other hand, could almost taste your release, a complete mess on the bed, chants leaving your reddened lips from all the biting, "yes, sir! You make me feel s'good, you're s'deep in me. Fuck! I'm your good g—" as he heard your words tinged with desperation in a high pitched voice and felt the muscles in your pussy tighten, he quickly stopped his actions.

He would bet money that it hurt him more than it did you.

"Noooo..." you whined, like a spoiled brat. A breathless, messy, spoiled brat. You knew what you were in for from the moment he took off your shoes. "Please, please, sir. You can f-eel how desperate I am for you," you blabbered, trying to argue. "Can I show you?" You decided to take matters into your own hands. Well, as best as you could.

He stood up. "Let's see what you've got, princess." He gripped his shaft in front of you, making saliva pool in your mouth. "You're not even being fucked yet, and you're already this dumb, baby?" He sneered at you. You looked up at his face, taking in his dilated pupils watching you. You looked like any man's wet dream, perfect pussy on display, chest heaving with anticipation of what was coming next, face contorted in the filthiest expression in the world.

He would be happy just to watch you, but he was actually able to taste, touch, see, smell and hear the whole thing.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

Half sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and already off of his slacks and briefs, he beckoned you over to his lap. You kneeled somewhat awkwardly on the bed to hover on his lap, cunt dripping arousal on his belly as you did so. He groaned, the dominant facade faltering for a moment. He had to be the most indulgent dominant man ever, because he was barely able to resist you and your seducing ways. "See how wet you make me?" You whispered, eyes focused on his, which looked directly at the sheer liquid pooling on his stomach.

"You're such a good girl, baby" in a weakened voice made its way out of his mouth. "Since you asked so nicely and you have proof, why don't you show me how much you love riding me, huh? Come on, pretty, sit on my cock. Ride me." His commanding sentences made your cunt gush yet again.

"Yes, sir!" you exclaimed, ready to obey his commands.

Spencer gripped his base and rubbed his dick against your folds. He groaned, biting his lip and it took every single ounce of self control not to kiss him senseless. After some more teasing, he muttered, "You can do it now."

You sat down on him, slowly, pushing the tip in. "Fuck," hoarse voice, just the way he loved it, "you feel so good, sir. And you're not even fully in yet."

"Come on, nice and slow, princess."

You sank a little further, his girth stretching you out so deliciously that it made you shut your eyes closed as goosebumps erupted on your skin, pure bliss running through you. "Fuck—ah— you're so, so hard, sir," you hissed.

"Yes, that's it," he grabbed your hands in one of his. He felt you clench around him. "Gonna make sure you get off on my cock alone."

Recalling his demand, you obeyed. Nice and slow, savoring the feeling of having him buried to the hilt inside of you. each time you pulled back just to slam his dick inside again made you feel dizzy. Spencer was mesmerized by the sight before him. First, your expression told him how much you enjoyed riding him, mouth agape to let out the dirtiest moans and words, unlike the poised woman he liked to brag about to whoever listened. "Fuck, you're so deep. 's so good, love it when you let me ride you, sir."

Spencer kept silent for a moment, still admiring your form. He watched as the hair on your skin shivered each time he started to meet your thrusts, eager to make you his. his eyes drifted to your breasts, bouncing with every movement of your bodies. It was wanton, watching you get off on top of him, using him to chase your own high, but the sight that got him enthralled was your pussy making his cock glisten with your arousal. "Yeah, pretty? So what do you say? D'you remember you have to be nice?"

"Thank you, sir"

"Thank you for what?" he urged.

"That's right. You're taking me so well, princess, fucking hell," he cursed. "Such a tight pussy, baby, so perfect for me."

“Thank you for letting me sit on your cock. Ah! I'm all yours, sir! Yours."

At this point, Spencer was a goner below you. You rocked your hips and he met you thrusts ruthlessly, focused on chasing your high. You slowed your movements, clit grinding against his pubic bone, dick still rock hard inside of you. You felt the telling signs of your orgasm approaching and, mind filled with thoughts of all the filth you've done with him. You still wanted to do much more. "Fuck, pretty girl—you're so good at taking me."

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, your tits brushing against his skin adding to the whirlwind of sensations. "Can I come, sir? Please! I want to come all over your cock," all your sentences sounded like heavenly, pathetic whines to Spencer's ears.

"You hafta take it, princess," he groaned, hands guiding your movements. "Take. It." He urged, words emphasized by two particularly hard thrusts. “Wanna come inside of you.”

"Yes, please! I'm all yours—Spencer!" You yelled out his name as your orgasm washed over you, still grinding against him.

The sound of his name leaving your lips was enough to follow you not shortly after. “Gonna come—fuck—inside you.” He gritted. After spilling inside you, he kept fucking his cum back inside with a few sloppier thrusts.

You crashed beside him, taking a minute to catch your breath. Spencer quickly reached to undo his tie on your wrists, kissing the soft skin after removing the garment. You chuckled at his care. “Don't ever stop me from touching you again,” you muttered.

“What are you going to do, angel? Stop me?” He laughed softly.

He cleaned you both up and you had your hands free to caress your boyfriend’s skin all night long.

The next morning, Spencer had you on the phone as he walked in the bullpen, saying “yes”, “of course”, and a series of different agreements, gleeful expression on his face.

He heard Derek Morgan chuckle. "Aw, Reid, she already telling you what to do?"

"There's no time for her to start, you know that, Derek," Emily quipped.

They had no idea you were telling him about the wet dream you had about him fucking you in the middle of the bullpen.

[friendoftashi]

all mine | spencer reid x reader (nsfw)

because your job required so much travel, you and spencer were well practiced in quiet sex. at first, when your relationship was just clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, it was out of necessity.

the first time hotch allowed the two of you to room together, he handed the keys over with a firm look and “behave yourselves,” muttered under his breath. spencer flushed and morgan whistled.

“thank you, sir. you won’t regret it, i promise.”

you cut your eyes at morgan, who quickly fell back in line for the elevator.

spencer pulled away from your feverish kisses, chuckling under uneven, rapid breaths.

“what?” you questioned him, his amusement contagious.

“it’s just… whenever i imagined the first time we were assigned to the same room, i expected to feel relief at not having to sneak around anymore. but really i’m even more aware of our coworkers in the next rooms over.”

your lips curl into a smirk as you bring your arms around his neck, staring up at him.

“i’m naked in your bed and you’re thinking about our coworkers?”

“i just,” he brings his hips back to yours, settling himself right when you need him, “i don’t like anyone else hearing your pretty noises. all for me,” he’s mumbling against your neck. “plus, we’d never hear the end of it from derek.”

you gasp out a laugh in response as his hands find your waist, squeezing their way down to your ass, the backs of your thighs, repositioning your hips slightly to meet his at the perfect angle. you groan together, and spencer is quickly smashing his mouth against yours to muffle the sound.

he’s everywhere, hands on your breasts, kissing the jut of your hip bones and pulling your panties to the side. as he tweaks a nipple between the fingers of his left hand, his right holds your leg up as his tongue dives between your folds. your back arches as your hand flies to cover your mouth. you know the routine.

he eats you out sloppily for a few minutes before surging back to your lips. without breaking the kiss, he’s reaching for the pillows above your head. immediately, you know what he wants. you flip onto your stomach, lift your hips in muscle memory. spencer settles one pillow under your hips, the other under your head. he pets your hair and leans down to peck your shoulder before shoving his boxers off. on nights when spencer is especially worked up, often still buzzing off the adrenaline of capturing a particularly difficult unsub, he wants you from behind. this way, your noises are muffled by the pillows, his against your neck, while he sinks onto you. faster and faster, until the bed begins to squeak and he has to change his pace.

he’s bucking into you slowly now, his chest flush with your back. with your hands intertwined, his lips against your ear, hes whispering, more to himself, over and over, “all mine.”

[reiderwriter]

I'm Your Fluffer!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader (best friends to lovers)

For @imagining-in-the-margins FWB Challenge!

Prompt: "I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." "Do you want the benefits?" "Yes- No... I'm your fluffer!" (Inspired by New Girl) (yes, I suggested this prompt, bo idc if that's cheating)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, choking, mentions of spanking, and butt worship, slight Dom Spencer, bratty reader, creampie. The classics, yk.

A/N: I'm back!!!! I took a break because I couldn't bring myself to even look at a word document for about a month, but there's nothing like a Pom challenge to get me writing again! I did have a lot planned for my 1 year anniversary, but because I was sick, and then busy, and then work got hectic, I had to put it off. I still am going to try to finish my kink bingo Carr, though, even though its a month late, but I had two fics left iirc, and I have both of them plotted, so I may as well! I will, however, be abandoning the final epilogue of I Can't Help Myself, because I wrote myself into a depressed corner with that one, and honestly, some people were getting very pushy about it, and it wasn't fun anymore. Anyway! This one was fun to write, so I'm going to stick to one shots for the foreseeable future, or incredibly limited series.

Masterlist

Spencer was your friend. A good friend. Your best friend, perhaps. A really good, very best friend.

Obviously, you were good friends because he always knew when you were feeling down. He bought you flowers regularly when he passed by flower shops. He came over to your place and helped you build every piece of flatpack furniture you had, which, as a single woman in your mid-twenties, was every piece of furniture that you owned.

You really looked forward to the movie nights the two of you had weekly. The popcorn, the blankets, the cuddling, his lips by your ear, in-time translating the foreign movies word for word as you watched it, the shivers down your spine as you pressed further into the heat of him.

Spencer was the best best friend you could ask for.

He was also the most frustrated.

“Kid, what are you doing this weekend? I'm thinking of hitting some clubs, you know, getting my groove on, maybe meeting A few ladies,” Morgan smirked, rubbing his hands together as he gently moved side to side, already dancing to himself as he anticipated his big weekend out. “You in, or are you in?”

“I can't. I promised Y/N I'd help her with some document digitalisation. We're going to order pizza and watch Star Trek while backing up her entire paper trail.”

The smile on Spencer's face was so stupid that Morgan had to stop himself from wiping it off of him immediately.

“Man, you are so down bad for that girl,” he mused, shaking his head.

“What? Down bad?”

“You like her. It's okay to admit it.”

“We're friends. I'm happy being friends,” Spencer said, picking up his bag and walking to the elevator desperate to escape a repeat of a conversation he'd already had three times that week.

“You know everyone thinks you're dating.”

“Well aware. Despite the number of times we've both stated to the contrary, people don't seem to accept ‘we're just friends’ when they hear it.”

“That may be because you're doing things that just friends don't do.”

“Everything we do is totally platonic.”

“You buy her flowers-

“I buy my mother flowers,” Spencer said, turning on the man and raising his hands in exasperation.

“You know that's different. Do you buy Emily flowers?”

Silence.

“What about JJ?”

“I bought JJ flowers!” He grinned triumphantly until the other man spoke again.

“When she was in the hospital. Giving birth. Okay, what about the movie nights?”

Rolling his eyes, the younger man walked on, pressing the bell for the elevator and allowing his friend to keep bothering him.

“Friends watch movies together, Morgan. We've watched movies together, are we dating?”

“One, you are not my type, pretty boy, and two, you didn't exactly have your dick pressed against my ass the entire time we watched a film now, did you?”

“Be q- be quiet. I don't have my dick against her ass ever.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, was it pressed against her stomach instead? I know she likes to lie on top of-”

“Derek!”

The elevator arrived, and the two quickly jumped in, to Spencer's relief.

“All I'm saying, kid, is-”

“Hold the elevator!” You shouted, running to it quickly with Penelope Garcia on your heels.

“Thanks, Spence!” You said, smiling at him as you entered the small space.

And continued your not too unsimilar conversation with Penelope.

“So, as I was saying Penelope,” you shot her a look that told her you were finished with the conversation. You were not dating Spencer Reid, and you were unlikely to in the future because of his total and complete lack of interest in you.

“You can set me up this weekend, right? It's been an age since I've been on a date, and I would really like to-” you glanced around the elevator and whispered the end of your sentence, suddenly mindful of your company. “You know.”

“If you're absolutely sure, I have a few men in mind that could throw you about, but-”

You squealed and squeezed the woman as the elevator landed on your floor and jumped out of the elevator quickly, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, Pen, you're the best!”

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer called out behind you, desperately holding the elevator open for a few more seconds.

“I thought we were doing your papers this weekend? Star trek, pizza, remember?”

You stared guiltily at the floor as you forced your voice to sound as casual as possible, not sure you could make any excuse that didn't sound pathetic.

“Oh, sorry, Spencer. I totally forgot. We can rain check, right? I… I really need this.”

Spencer was aware of what disappointment felt like, but it never hollowed out his chest like your lack of eye contact in that moment did.

“Yeah. Sure, of course. We can do that whenever.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Spencer. You're the best… friend.”

He smiled and let the door finally shut, aware of the two sets of eyes now watching him.

It took a surprisingly long time for the ‘I told you so’ to come, but come it did, as if Morgan were unable to help himself.

“You're telling me that you're not into her at all?”

“I'm…not into her like that at all.”

“And you're fine with me setting her up on a date with a man that'll do somewhat empowering, somewhat disgusting things with her?” Penelope piled on.

“What? That's…that's not my business,” he ground out.

“No. Of course it’s not. Because you're not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly, I'm not her boyfriend-”

“You're her fluffer.”

With a pat on the shoulder, the elevator hit its last stop, and Morgan exited, leaving Spencer scrambling after him as Penelope waved the two of them off.

“What? No, what's a fluffer?”

Morgan chuckled and waved him off, walking to his car.

“Come on, what's a fluffer, and why am I hers?”

“You've seen porn before, right?” The older man asked, pausing as he opened his driver side door. “Actually don't answer that. The fluffer is the person who keeps the actors and actresses… ready between takes. Prepares them for the good stuff.”

With a bright flush across his cheeks, Spencer tried his best for an indignant look, landing somewhat closer to a petulant child.

“I am not her fluffer. We have never-”

“I know you've never. If you had, we wouldn't be standing here right now having this conversation. What I'm saying is you should.”

“We're friends!”

Climbing into the car and closing the door, Morgan dismissed the younger man quickly, but he wasn't finished.

Knocking on the door, Spencer waiting a beat, then two for it to open again.

“I'm not her fluffer.”

“You build her furniture and cuddle with her. You're doing everything a boyfriend would do, without any of the boyfriend rewards.”

“What rewards?” he gasped, exasperated.

A single look was all the reply he got before Morgan out his keys into the ignition and started driving.

Spencer never made the decision to turn up at your house later that night. He just found himself all of a sudden at your front door on a Friday night, pulling out the key from the plant pot by the front door and letting himself in. Unlocking his shoes, he called out through the apartment, letting you know he was there as he slipped into the house shoes you'd bought him after the first of many movie nights.

“Spencer? We cancelled earlier, remember?” you said emerging from your bedroom, fitted in the tightest dress he'd ever seen you in. He already had no answer for your question, but seeing you like that, getting ready, he had no answer to any question at all. If you'd have asked him his name, he wouldn't have known it.

Well, he would've, but only because you'd said it only three seconds ago and had reminded him that he was, in fact, standing in your apartment when he should've been literally anywhere else.

“Um. I'm…I'm just-” he scratched the back of his neck, waiting for something to come to him.

“Spencer, I'm leaving in like an hour, so there's no time to watch a movie, and I have to get ready, so-”

“I'm… I'm angry?”

You raised an eyebrow at his questioning tone, unsure where this conversation was going.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah..yes. I'm sure. I'm angry. We, we had plans, and you gave me like an hours notice and cancelled them to go do something stupid-”

“Spencer! I'm going on a date. That's not stupid.”

“It is when you have me!”

He half shouted, half murmured the words, as if he himself were unsure of how confident he was in making that statement.

“That came out wrong-”

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“What I mean is- I mean…Morgan said that-”

You crossed your arms and sat yourself on the arm of your sofa, looking forward at him and waiting for him to get through whatever this was. You hoped the entire time that he was saying what you'd wanted him to say for the last year and a half.

“Have you ever watched porn?”

Not what you were hoping for, but a start, at least.

“Spencer!”

“That came out wrong, I- don't throw the couch cushions at me. I have a point, I swear!”

You lowered your next projectile and gestured for him to go on, not fully relinquishing it just yet.

“I'm your fluffer! I get you…in the mood for dates, and- and- I do all the boyfriend stuff without any of the boyfriend benefits!”

He stood in front of you, red-faced, and you stared him down a second or two as you collected your thoughts.

“Do you…want the boyfriend benefits?”

“Yes! No, wait - wait a second. I- I- What are the boyfriend benefits exactly?”

You threw the pillow down and turned your back on him, not entirely sure what you were expecting from the most oblivious genius on the planet.

“Y/N, wait. Wait-”

With a hand wrapped around your wrist, Spencer spun you around, and, tripping over your feet, you landed hard on your sofa. Your fall should've been relatively pain-free, but for the 6-foot man that landed directly on top of you.

“Get up.”

“What are the boyfriend benefits?”

“You should know if you're saying you want them! Now, get up!”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Spencer!”

“Y/N!”

You groaned and writhed under him, but he just dropped his weight onto you, unmoving, hands pinning your wrists lazily, leg poking between your two, hips pinning yours.

It certainly wasn't the closest you'd ever been, but in those circumstances, during that conversation, you felt more flustered than you had before.

“What are the benefits.”

“You really want me to say? You're not afraid it's going to throw off our friendship, ruin whatever good thing we have going?”

“I think that if you go out tonight, and enjoy your date, and get a boyfriend, that he's going to feel weird about this good thing we have going and it's going to be over anyway. Tell me.”

You desperately searched for a way out of this situation, but a stronger part of you wanted to simply wrap your legs around him and let him take as much advantage as he could.

You settled for disturbing him.

“Fine. A boyfriend would be able to spank me.”

“Y/N, be serious.”

“I am. I like it. A boyfriend would pull my hair back and make me count as he hit my cute round ass until it turned all red, and I couldn't sit down comfortably anymore. A boyfriend would then kiss it better.”

You'd never spoken about sex with Spencer, and you hoped the vulgarity would force him back to his senses. Instead, he didn't stir, and you had no choice but to continue.

“Another boyfriend benefit would be choking me. I like that, too. Are your hands big enough to wrap around my throat, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly and do confidently, you weren't sure you actually heard it outlook until he spoke again.

“What other benefits, Y/N?”

“A… boyfriend would get to cum inside me,” you whispered, suddenly aware of hips rocking into yours slowly as his cock poked up, listening intently to the promises spilling from your lips that you likely should've regretted.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want the benefits.”

Your body was hot everywhere he touched you, but he didn't move, didn't follow through on anything just yet. But you were aware of his head moving closer and closer to yours and panicked.

“And what have you done? As my fluffer? To deserve those benefits?”

“What have I done?” He asked, pulling back an inch. Even as his chest rested, flush against yours, your breasts pushed up against him as his hands held yours over your head.

“I-I bought you flowers-”

“Emily buys me flowers, too. So does Penelope. Should I let them be my boyfriend?”

With your hands in use, you took advantage of his distraction and wrapped your legs up and around his waist, rolling your hips up into him.

“I suppose I do like flowers, though. What else?”

“I… We're always t-together?”

“We work together.”

Using the leverage of his weight against yours, you rolled up harder into his hips, grinding into him slowly as you watched his resolve melt away.

“The m-movie nights are-”

“The movie nights where you rut your cock into me while we watch a movie? Friends do that all the time. You're just translating the movie for me after all.”

“Y/N, please don't-”

“Don't say that? Okay. I'll just let someone else hump against my thighs to get off because you're too proud to admit you want to sink your dick into me and pound me?”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe that's why you don't have the boyfriend privileges, Spencer. Because I'm waiting for something, you're too much of a prude to try-”

His lips meet yours before you can finish the thought, and you're not sure whether it's a triumph or a defeat.

After precisely five seconds of his lips on yours, though, you no longer cared.

Releasing your hands gently, he lifted his hips an inch, distracting you enough to force his tongue into your mouth as his hand found its way between your legs.

“Did you really mean it?” He asked between kisses as you rake your hands through his hair, getting lost in him. “About the benefits?”

You allowed yourself to imagine it for a second, Spencer's hands on your throat. His hands on your ass. His mouth buried between your legs.

You moaned into his kiss, and he laughed - actually laughed - as he pulled away.

“Spencer!”

“No, no, please, don't let me keep you from your thoughts, I'll just be down here.”

His fingers reached your clit and he wasn't surprised to find you already wet, legs spread. Snaking another hand to your neck though, he wasn't exactly as opposed to the ideas you'd flung at him as he'd acted.

You gasped as his hand closed around your neck, the prettiest necklace you'd ever worn. You grabbed a hold of his hands as he pulled your underwear off, pushing them down your legs as he gently pushed your legs open wider and replaced his fingers with his tongue.

You curled up on yourself, craving your body to watch him devour your pussy as you tried your best to keep your breaths shallow, to keep breathing entirely as he squeezed your throat.

His tongue licked and flattened, his head bobbing up and down and then stilling as your hips began moving by themselves, letting you ride his face as you moaned and whined and desperately ran towards your climax.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulder, pressing down on his back to keep him in position, grabbing a handful of hair as you jerked against his face, fucking it as he looked up at you through hooded eyes, drinking down every drop of you.

His hold on your neck tightened, and you felt your body shudder as you squeaked out his name, not wanting this to end so soon, needing to feel more of this. He let you ride it out until you were whining in frustration again, hips twitching from the friction of his tongue against your cunt.

Then he pushed away.

He wasn't gone long, but you followed him up. You thought about pushing him down to the couch again, thought about sitting on his pretty boy face and doing it all over again. You thought of turning over and presenting your ass to him, letting him punish you like you'd promised. Your thoughts ceased as quickly as they came when he pulled his cock free of his pants, not even bothering to pull them off fully before pulling you into his lap, lining himself up, and pushing you down onto his hot, hard, lengthy cock.

You swear you would've screamed if his to guess hadn't already claimed your mouth. A good scream. A “holy shit holy shit holy shit” scream. Definitely a “I didn't know it was that big, and honestly I'm a little scared” scream. But overall, a “god that feels so good” scream.

From the lack of movement, you were sure that Spencer was giving you a moment to adjust to his intrusion, and you were thankful as you clung to his neck, hands balling in the material of his shirt on his back.

Although he was bigger than expected, he wasn't uncomfortably large, and you calmed quickly, giving him a quick nod as you buried yourself in his neck, hiding your face to stop yourself from drooling, mouth wide as he tipped you back against the couch pillows, lifting your legs slightly and slipping his hands underneath yous thighs, and began his steady pace of thrusts.

You were sure your world was imploding on itself, that all your senses had ceased except that of touch, and his touch was fire. But you heard the wet, slutty sounds of your pussy welcoming him, you smelt the sweat against his skin, and, opening your eyes, you saw the absolute pleasure blasted against his features as he groaned in your ear.

And before you could form another coherent thought, he'd claimed another boyfriend benefit, as, rocking his hips against yours, he slowed to a stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

“Spencer!!” you moaned, but he wasn't done, spitting on his fingers and finding your clit again as you squealed, twitching and turning and milling his cock with your movements as you found your second release.

You moaned his name again, though it sounded less like his name this time, and more like a definite noise complaint from your neighbours in the morning.

“Spencer?” you asked, still trying to regain your breath as he, once again, collapsed on top of you.

“Mhmm,” he said, slowly pulling out of you, watching the mess you'd made together drip out too, and resisting the urge to push right back into you and go again.

“Was that a friendly fuck, or a boyfriend fuck?”

His eyes snapped to yours again as you continued.

“I just want to give Penelope the correct reason for cancelling on her friend when I text her-”

“I came inside you.”

“So you did.”

“Y/N!”

“.... So that wasn't a fluffer thing, but a boyfriend thing, got i-”

With a kiss, he shut you up again, and you realized quickly that you probably wouldn't have the time to send that text anyway.

[astrophileous]

A Well-Kept Secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: While working on a case in D.C., Spencer didn't expect to hear a familiar name being mentioned as the sole surviving witness. Or, in which the team discovers Spencer's well-kept secret.

Warning(s): established secret relationship, mentions and/or depictions of death/physical violence/gun violence/injury/attack, signs of trauma, survivor's guilt, curse words, hurt/comfort, nudity but it's not sexual, allusions to sexy times, mentions/implied alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5900-ish

Author's Note: hiya! I decided to write this lil piece after seeing the fic challenge posted by @imagining-in-the-margins abt the family/found family trope. I had a lotta fun writing this one and I think it's got potential to be something more. So pls comment or message me if you wanna see me exploring with this idea (either turning it into a series of connected one-shots or multi-parters). Don't forget to like/comment/reblog and give me a follow :) I hope you enjoy! 💞

Criminal Minds Masterlist

When Hotch had notified the team to haul their asses up and drove all the way to D.C., Spencer never expected that it would also entail him having to suffer through a mini heart attack.

The series of attacks around D.C. had been dominating the 6 PM news segments in the entire country. What was initially perceived as a suspected sequence of robberies gone wrong--since the first two targets to have been hit were a bank and a prestigious auction house--soon turned into a nationwide panic as people realized that there was a bigger game at play.

After the third attack was found to have occurred in the headquarters of one of the top, up-and-coming renewable energy startups in the states, the D.C. police finally started to entertain the idea that perhaps they hadn't been dealing with their usual petty robbers at all.

And naturally, that was when the BAU had been called in.

As soon as the team entered the Metropolitan PD bullpen, they were struck with the smell of panic and the sight of chaos.

"Agent Hotchner?" A middle-aged man in a gray shirt and blue tie appeared in front of them. "My name is Detective Mills, we spoke on the phone."

"Of course, Detective." Hotch shook the other man's hand. "This is my team. Agent Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. I have two others already at the latest crime scene. What can you tell us so far?"

"As you can see--" Detective Mills gestured towards the frenzied scene behind him, "--the entire D.C. area is going haywire after news broke out about yesterday's attack. The public is demanding the city to be put on lockdown, and I'm getting pressure from above as well. We received information that nearly half the city has called in sick today."

"A classic response to mass paranoia," Spencer noted.

"Well, paranoia or not, I just want to start getting some answers." Detective Mills began to lead the team further into the bullpen. "I have every pair of hands I could spare in this. If they aren't out there chasing leads, they're here interviewing the victims, friends, and families."

"Any luck so far?" Emily asked.

"Nothing more than what you've probably seen in the files."

Detective Mills pushed open the door to an office in the corner, away from the havoc in the center of the station.

"Lieutenant Jeffreys retired a couple of weeks ago. The lucky bastard." Detective Mills scoffed jokingly. "It's the most decent space I can spare at the moment. Think you'll be fine in here?"

"It's more than enough, Detective. Thank you," Hotch replied.

"What about the witnesses from yesterday's attack? Have you had the chance to interview them?" JJ asked as the rest of the team started setting up.

"Some of my men are with them right now. But I doubt they'll have anything useful. Just like the other two cases, the attack happened while most of the office was out. The rest left behind were DOA at the latest scene."

"They're rapidly devolving," Spencer pondered out loud as he skimmed over the case files. "They went from killing a non-compliant security guard during the first attack to executing almost every witness in the last one."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"It says here there is one survivor." Spencer showed the word he had underlined in the case overview to JJ.

"Yes, there is," Detective Mills confirmed. "I had one of my men talk to her. There's not much she could give us. Thing is, she wasn't even supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"She didn't work in that office. She was a consultant who just happened to be visiting. Poor girl's pretty shaken up. She hid in a supply closet the entire time. She was the one who found the bodies and called 911."

"So, the perpetrators never checked the rooms while they were holding the victims hostage?" Hotch questioned.

"Not according to her statement, no. See, I thought it weird myself. Do you have any idea why?"

"Not sure." Hotch hummed, deep in thought. "Perhaps our UnSubs didn't think to check because they didn't know someone was in there. Detective, you said all of the victims were the only employees of the company who didn't attend the event downtown, correct?"

"Yeah, they were the only ones who weren't listed as attendees. Why? Do you think those people were specifically targeted?"

"Unfortunately, we can't rule out anything yet this early in the investigation," Hotch said. "We need to talk to the witnesses to know more. JJ?"

"On it." JJ nodded. "What can you tell us about yesterday's sole survivor, Detective?"

"Not much. I didn't interview her personally, one of my men did. She works at a consulting engineering firm in town," Detective Mills replied. "I believe her name is... what is it called?"

When Detective Mills mentioned the name, Spencer's heart instantly crashed inside of its cage.

"What?" His hand had stopped scribbling on the board. In a matter of miliseconds, Spencer had crossed the room towards the doorway where Detective Mills was standing. "What did you say her name was?"

Dumbfounded, the detective stared at a dread-stricken Spencer before spelling out the name once more.

"Why? What's wrong?" Detective Mills asked in confusion.

JJ touched Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

But Spencer, either too alarmed or merely choosing not to acknowledge both questions, asked instead, "Where is she? I need to see her."

"In the waiting room by the pantry--"

Spencer didn't even wait for Detective Mills to form his complete thought before dashing out. JJ exchanged a glance with Emily following Spencer's sudden exit, perplexed by his odd turn of behavior.

"I'll go get him," JJ announced before leaving the room, chasing after a flurry of wavy hair and a wool-knitted purple vest sprinting across the bullpen.

The roaring commotion inside the station was almost loud enough to rival the intensity of your racing thoughts.

Almost.

At this point, you didn't think there was anything you could do anymore. The vivid images from yesterday's attack were playing continuously in your head. There was nothing you could do to stop them.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you mourned the loss of sleep that you failed to get the previous night. As if the waking nightmares weren't torment enough, the images had somehow translated even more cruelly into your subconscious. You could barely close your eyes for three seconds without feeling like you had been brought back to that place.

Cold, cramped, and alone. Fearing for your life in the tiny supply closet that smelled more like death than bleach.

At the sound of the door opening, you quickly turned around in your seat to hide your face away from prying eyes. The last thing you needed at that moment was having a complete stranger seeing you fall apart in the middle of a police station.

But when the voice came carrying the sound of your name, it wasn't the voice of a complete stranger you had heard. It was a voice you knew more than you probably knew your own. A voice you loved and a voice you had longed to hear for the past gruesome twenty-four hours.

"Spencer?" You turned back towards the door, seeing the face you adored most in the whole world staring back at you.

"Sweetheart."

At the speed of a lightning, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you and gathered your broken little pieces into his arms.

Spencer's touch was everywhere. Your hair, your neck, your shoulders. As if he was checking whether you were real. That you were actually there inside his arms, and you were not a simple imagination that his mind had conjured up.

Surrounded by the safety of his embrace, you could feel the shattered pieces of yourself beginning to mend once more.

"Spencer," you uttered his name again as you pulled away, still in disbelief that he was physically there with you.

"I'm here," he promised you as he cupped your face gently.

"Spencer, what are you... How..."

"My team is working your case. We arrived half an hour ago," he explained simply. "Sunshine, why didn't you tell me? I thought you were still in Alaska?"

You had previously apprised Spencer that you would be hard to reach during your trip since you would be spending most of your time at the power plant site where cellphone receptions were scarce. So when an entire day went by without him ever hearing from you, Spencer didn't have any reason to be worried.

Never in a million years would he have ever predicted that you'd be caught in the middle of a hostage situation.

That thought alone caused Spencer to squeeze your hand a little tighter than usual.

"I'm sorry, Spence," you said sincerely. "My trip ended earlier than planned. I arrived back yesterday morning. I actually wanted to surprise you last night. After yesterday's... incident, I wanted to call you, but my phone was shot--"

"Wait, what? You were shot?"

"No! No, baby. Not me. Just my phone," you assured him. "But that's why I couldn't call. I did attempt you once using this station's phone, but it went straight to voicemail."

At the new piece of information, the colors immediately drained from Spencer's face.

"That was you? Fuck. I didn't--I didn't know. I rejected the call because I didn't know it was you."

"Hey." You stopped his guilty rambling with a hand to his cheek. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here."

And then, because Spencer needed to make sure that you really were okay, he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter this time.

"Uh, Spence?"

The sound in the doorway snapped you both out of your mutual reverie. You looked up to see a blonde woman there, staring in an equal mixture of shock and confusion at the sight in front of her.

Spencer begrudgingly untangled himself from your arms before getting up to approach her.

"JJ, do you mind if I do the cognitive for this one?" Spencer asked.

The woman--JJ-- shifted her eyes a few times between you and Spencer. "Um, of course. I'll just go and inform Hotch. Tell us if you need anything."

After JJ's departure, Spencer closed the door again to award you both a much needed privacy.

He grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and dragged it before sitting down right in front of you.

"I need to start the interview now, sweetheart. Think you're up for it?"

Your whole body went rigid for a matter of seconds before you forced it to restart again. It was gone as soon as it came, but Spencer noticed it just the same.

"Look at me," Spencer ordered softly, using his delicate finger to nudge your face up until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know it's scary. I don't want you to have to relive yesterday either, but it will help us catch whoever did this."

"I've told the police everything I knew yesterday. I was hiding the entire time." Like a coward. "I didn't see anything. I don't have anything else that could help you."

"I know that, sunshine. But as I've told you before, our method is slightly different. We won't be just focusing on what you saw, but also what you smelled, or maybe even heard." Spencer took your hands then, squeezing affectionately. "I'll be here with you the entire time."

The nod you gave him was hesitant, but it was a start nonetheless. You listened intently to Spencer's words and closed your eyes just as he had instructed.

"We'll start at the beginning," you heard him say. "Why don't you tell me why you went there yesterday?"

"I, uh, received a call from my friend, Nick, after my plane landed. We had been communicating back and forth since his company seeked my consultation for one of their upcoming projects," you began. "I wasn't even supposed to work because I had requested the day off. But Nick said it didn't have to be a formal meeting, so I agreed to meet him."

"Tell me what you remember after arriving at the office."

Your mind traveled back to that specific time one day prior. You remembered walking into the place and seeing its unusual state of vacancy even though there was still a good half an hour left before lunchtime.

"I just assumed everyone had gone to lunch earlier and shrugged it off," you recalled.

Spencer nodded his head. "Did anything else strike you as out of the ordinary?"

"No? I don't... I don't know. It was only my second time being there, I'm not sure what was normal and what wasn't."

"Okay. That's okay. You're doing good so far, sweetheart," Spencer quickly interjected, trying to get you to calm down before your distress could turn into a full-blown panic. "Now, what did you do next?"

"I followed Nick into his office."

Nick was keeping his promise true. It hadn't felt like a formal meeting, just two old college buddies reminiscing about the past and discussing possibilities of the future that, of course, included the company's upcoming project which you would be working on with him.

"I excused myself to the bathroom at some point," you added. "When I first heard the commotion, I thought nothing of it. It's like the idea that a group full of armed men had taken over the building didn't even cross my mind. I mean, why would it? I was on my way back to Nick's office when I saw them."

You recalled turning a corner after exiting the bathroom only to see those figures carrying machine guns and shouting at everyone to get on their knees or put their hands above their heads. You remembered sprinting the way you had come from and opening the first door you could reach that just happened to be the supply closet.

"Let's go back to the moment you saw them," Spencer urged gently. "How many people were there? Do you remember any conspicuous detail? Maybe one of them had tattoos or spoke with an accent. Anything that distinguished them."

Taking a deep breath, you tried replaying those crucial seconds slowly in your head.

"There were four of them. I couldn't see much. They were all wearing identical black clothes."

Suddenly, an unexpected piece of memory rushed to the front of your mind. You opened your eyes in shock, meeting Spencer's curious gaze that had been kept intently on you the entire time.

"I think at least one of them is a woman," you told him.

Spencer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"One of the guys said something about... fucking this place up. And then she laughed. I heard her. It was definitely a female laugh."

"Good. That's good."

"Yeah? Do you think it'll help?"

Spencer nodded assuredly, bringing his hand to leave calming strokes on your head. "I know it will. You've done a great job, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."

The praise Spencer gave eased the tension in your shoulders. As if having been granted fresh air after decades of confinement, you were finally able to let yourself breathe again.

Spencer continued his loving strokes on your head. Little by little, the weight of his touch melted the resolve you had built into a pathetic puddle on the floor. Without its mental shield protecting you, your tears sped forward, gathering in your eyes until they spilled on the vast path down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey." Spencer's voice was laden with panic after seeing you start to cry. "Sunshine, what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I-I just... God." You struggled to get the words out in between sobs. "I'm a coward, Spencer."

"What?"

"All of those people... They died because I was a fucking coward."

Your admission tore into the air before stabbing Spencer right through his chest.

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true."

"But it is!" you cried out, pulling away from Spencer's grounding hold around your shaking body in favor of your own arms. "I was a coward. I ran and hid because I was too scared to die. Too scared to fight. If I had just tried a little harder, I could've called for help. That way, maybe all of those people wouldn't... And Nick wouldn't..."

A haunting image flashed behind your eyes. The image of Nick's limp and lifeless body on the floor, among those of the others. You remembered crying next to him, punching his chest, body, and arm despite having seen the gunshot wound on his forehead. It took you another five minutes before you eventually managed to gather yourself together, found a phone, and dialed 911.

Not that it made any difference. They were all already dead.

Spencer could hear his heart breaking at the sight of you curling into yourself, recoiling from his touch because you somehow believed you didn't deserve his affection at that moment. If Spencer could just transfer all of your pain towards him, he would. Seeing you beat yourself up that way over something that happened and was done to you was the worst kind of torture he ever had to endure in life.

And Spencer had been through more kinds of torture than the general population in the world.

Deciding that he had seen enough of your self-deprecating torment, he reclaimed your hands inside of his palms and urged you to look at him.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Spencer asked incredulously. "How can you even think that way? Sweetheart, what happened to those people, to Nick, it is not your fault."

"B-but, if I hadn't run away--"

"Then you would've died, too," he cut you off. "Sunshine, there were four of them with machine guns. No one stood a single chance against them. Those people were there to kill. There was nothing you could've done."

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Spencer needed you to hear it.

He needed you to know the truth no matter how unacceptable it was.

"If you hadn't hid from them, we would've found seven bodies there instead of six. And I--" Spencer took a shuddering breath, "--I would've lost you."

Your shoulders deflated at his revelation. "Spence--"

"So please--" he searched your eyes then, using his thumb to sweep away the remaining tears under your eyes, "--stop holding yourself accountable. I promise I will do everything I can to find those people and make them pay for what they did."

Spencer's vow triggered a new wave of tears that compelled you to sink into his awaiting arms. He let you stay there until you had cried your tears dry. It was something he also secretly needed for himself after suffering through the short-lived horror over the mention of your name in relation to the heinous case. He just needed to make sure that you were okay.

A few minutes passed by with you in his arms. Eventually, Spencer had to tear himself away to finish his job. He asked you to wait as he wrapped up the transcript of your cognitive interview, along with his professional report over it.

"I need to run somewhere real quick. I promise to be back in a couple of hours," he notified JJ as he handed her the interview report. "Tell Hotch for me? Thanks."

Without waiting for his friend's reply, Spencer rushed back to the waiting room before leading you out to take you home.

Back at your apartment, Spencer guided you towards the direction of your bathroom as soon as you had stepped into the threshold.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Spencer?" you remarked playfully after he refused to let you take your clothes off yourself.

"Yes." The gleaming mischief in your eyes caused him to flick your nose lightly. "Just to get you ready for your bath. Get your head straight, will you?"

You scoffed at his back as he turned around to check the water temperature in the tub.

Once you were submerged safely inside, Spencer left the bathroom to give you some privacy. Meanwhile, he began rummaging through your drawers to pull out a change of clothes, a towel, and a clean sheet for your bed.

By the time you exited, Spencer had changed your bedsheets and lit one of your favorite candles on the bedside table. He asked you to sit down on the bed as he kneeled before you, helping you put on the pajamas he had picked out with little prints of sunflowers on them.

None of Spencer's touches were sexual. They swept over your skin with the care of an artist handling their most precious work. When his eyes found yours, you swore you could almost cry from the intense adoration that seemed to shine so brightly out of them.

As he guided you to lie on the bed, you were surprised to see him following suit. He got under the covers with you, pulling you close to tangle every inch of your limbs with his.

"I love you, Spencer," you admitted to his chest, heart heavy with the deep appreciation and overwhelming affection for the man beside you.

Spencer looked down at your confession, finding his favorite pair of eyes already looking earnestly at him. Instinctively, he reached for your chin with his fingers, tugging your face upward until he could capture your lips with his.

The kiss was slow. Careful. Filled with silent promises and discreet reassurances. When you both parted, Spencer didn't pull himself away. Instead, he let his forehead touch yours while his eyes stayed closed.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" you asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetheart. Now go to sleep."

Although the two of you knew his answer was a lie, you both chose to pretend otherwise. You knew Spencer still had responsibilities to fulfill, along with a promise to you that he intended to keep. You knew that when you woke up later that evening, Spencer would already be long gone, and you would be forced to bask in the traces of himself that he had left behind.

But for now, Spencer was still there, in the comfort of your bedroom, lying on the bed next to you. And that knowledge alone was good enough for you to finally drift further into the land of sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Spencer's loving embrace.

"I'm telling you," JJ insisted, looking at her entire team minus Spencer and Hotch. "There was definitely something going on between them. Why else would he request to take over the cognitive for me?"

"Maybe he was feeling generous," Rossi deadpanned, earning an unimpressed glare from JJ.

It had been a full week since the BAU team had arrived in D.C. to investigate the series of gun attacks in the city. Just the day prior, they had successfully made their fourth arrest, bringing this case to yet another satisfying conclusion in the eye of justice.

If nothing else was amiss, they should have been on their way back to Quantico in less than an hour. In the meantime, though, JJ felt obliged to gather her team members in the middle of the bullpen to share her suspicion about a certain scene she had accidentally caught on their first day working the case.

"Pretty boy did seem more emotionally involved in this case than he usually does, though," Derek pointed out.

"Right? Right?" JJ replied almost too enthusiastically. "Come on, aren't you guys at least half as curious as I am about who this mystery girl might be? Don't you wanna try finding out who she is while we're still here?"

They all stared at each other in hesitation.

"Or, we could just ask Spencer directly and let him explain?" Emily suggested, receiving incredulous looks from the other three in response. "Yeah, you're right. What did you say her name was again?"

"I don't remember," JJ answered.

"It must be listed in the files somewhere, right?" Derek immediately sprung into action, reaching towards the scattered case files that might contain the name they were looking for.

"Just to be clear, I am not taking any part in this." Rossi sighed.

"Got it!" Derek waved the offending file in hand, giving it to JJ, who instantly began skimming over it.

"Alright. Says here that her name is..."

JJ read the name aloud when unexpectedly, an answering sound sprouted from behind them.

"Yes?"

Every single one of them turned in shock at your voice. You smiled at their wide-eyed expressions, waving your hand a little awkwardly in the air.

"You!" JJ exclaimed.

"Me?"

Emily nudged JJ in the ribs, making the blonde woman wince.

"Y-you're the witness from the startup case, right?" JJ said, trying to rectify the situation.

"That's me."

"What can we do for you, Miss?" Rossi asked, stepping forward and away from the rest of the group.

"I'm actually looking for Spencer. Do you know where he might be?"

"Spencer Reid? You know Reid?" Emily asked.

Before you had the chance to reply, the man in question came strolling into the bullpen, rambling animatedly to Hotch who was walking beside him. The moment Spencer caught sight of you, though, he immediately abandoned Hotch's side and rushed towards where you were standing.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," you told him, fitting yourself easily into Spencer's side as his arm went around your waist. "Hi, Hotch."

The older man called your name in greeting. "I got your message. You wanted to talk to me?"

"I wanted to ask you--well, all of you, actually--" you glanced around at the other team members, "--if maybe you all would let me treat you to lunch? As a thank you for your hard work on the case."

Hotch nodded in response. "It's fine with me. We don't have to be back until tonight, anyway. Everyone?"

Instead of replying to your offer, Emily voiced aloud the question that was circling everyone's mind.

"You know her?" Emily looked at Hotch before dragging her eyes away towards you. "And you know him? You know each other? How?"

You gazed up at Spencer's eyes, seeing them shining with the same mirth as the one you felt dancing in your stomach.

"I guess this is supposed to be the part where I introduce myself, isn't it?" You chuckled.

Extending your palm, you shook each of their hands while telling them your name, them responding back with theirs even though you already knew who was who long before you had even met them.

"I still don't understand," JJ admitted after you finished shaking her hand. "How did you know Spencer and Hotch?"

Once again, you looked into Spencer's eyes, a question bouncing around in yours. Spencer's nod of affirmation was the only go-ahead you needed.

It's time.

"I'm Spencer's girlfriend."

"She's my wife."

You turned your head towards Spencer in shock.

In front of you, Spencer's teammates were causing an uproar.

"Wait, what?" Emily stared dumbfoundedly.

"You have a girlfriend?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"You're married?!" JJ shrieked.

"Hold on a second," Rossi interjected, holding his palms out as if to tell everyone to stand down and calm themselves. "So which one is it? Girlfriend or wife?"

And that was how you found yourself sitting in the private VIP room of your favorite restaurant in the city with some of Spencer's closest people on earth.

"That's the craziest story I've ever heard," Emily pondered in astonishment.

Rossi, Derek, and JJ were all wearing an identical look on each of their faces after hearing the story of how you and Spencer met: by drunkenly getting married in Vegas after only knowing each other for barely one night when you both weren't even twenty-two yet.

"If someone were to tell me yesterday that there's another member of this team who also went to get married while drunk in Vegas, I would have never even thought of mentioning Spencer's name," JJ mused.

At your curious expression, Spencer explained, "Rossi also got drunkenly married in Vegas to his third ex-wife,"

"Why didn't you two get a divorce?" Emily suddenly asked.

It was something that everyone who knew about your situation with Spencer had questioned at one point or another. The real answer was because you and Spencer had both been reluctant to go through the nasty and lengthy legal process of getting a divorce. Therefore, you decided to part ways without doing anything about it, vowing to only track each other down if one of you ever needed to end the bond because of another impending marriage or any other urgent matter.

But that reason alone was usually not enough to appease people's curiosity. And over the years, you and Spencer had poked fun over that particular fact by coming up with the most outrageous lie you could muster up.

"She wanted to get a divorce," Spencer fabricated smoothly. "I persuaded her otherwise because I had this inkling that someday we were gonna fall in love."

Usually, any other people would coo sweetly at Spencer's statememt.

But these weren't any other people. These people were Spencer's family in more ways except flesh and blood, and even without their profiling skills, you knew they could see right through Spencer's little deception.

"That sounds like bullshit to me. Doesn't that sound like bullshit to you?" Emily asked, turning to JJ for support.

"Yeah, that was bullshit, alright," JJ claimed vehemently, prompting an innocent-looking grin from Spencer and a series of chuckles from everyone else.

"When did you two start dating, then?" Rossi spoke up from one end of the table.

"About two years after Vegas, right?" you estimated, to which Spencer nodded in confirmation. "He strolled into my place of work while he was on a case, and then he asked me out."

Derek sat up on his seat after hearing the new information. "Wait, when was this? Why didn't I know about this?"

"The beginning of my second year in the BAU," Spencer offered. "Elle knew."

"Elle? Elle Greenway? You told Elle but not me?" Derek looked offended.

Spender shrugged nonchalantly. "Elle was assigned with me that day."

"Unbelievable." Derek slumped back down in his chair. "Penelope is gonna freak when she finds out what she missed today."

"Penelope? Oh, she already knows," you told him.

That revelation earned a collective disbelief look across the entire table.

"Yeah... I, uh," you cleared your throat, "I actually just went shopping with her two weeks ago."

"You've got to be kidding me," Emily muttered.

"You told Penelope but not me?" Derek sounded hurt as he pointed his accusatory stare at Spencer. "You even told Hotch!"

"I didn't tell Garcia. She dug through my history and found it out herself. Had to bribe her with candies and chocolates for a whole month to keep her quiet," Spencer grumbled. "And I had to tell Hotch. We needed to add her number to my emergency contact list."

Despite Spencer's concise explanation, Derek still seemed unsatisfied by the whole ordeal.

"How long have you known?" he finally decided to ask Hotch.

"A while," the man answered from his seat at the opposite end of the table from Rossi. "They even babysat Jack a few times for me."

"I don't believe this," Derek scowled. "Pretty boy's got himself a girl for the last six years, and I never knew? Outrageous."

"Technically, we've been married even longer than that," Spencer responded, as if he was unaware of the imminent glower that Derek was sending his way. "Eight years since Vegas."

"That's longer than any of my marriage," Rossi remarked before sipping his drink.

The laugh that resonated upon Rossi's little comment elicited an affectionate smile on your lips.

"So, you live in D.C., then?" JJ asked, at last stirring the conversation away from the topic of your and Spencer's secret marriage-slash-relationship.

"I do, yeah. But most of the time, I live out of my suitcase," you answered. "My firm has clients all over the country. A few overseas, as well. I'm lucky if I even get to have an entire week to sleep uninterrupted in my own bed."

Even then, you truthfully quite enjoyed the work you had to do. You didn't mind having to travel some place new every other week. In fact, you somehow believed that your constant need to travel for your job, and Spencer for his, was one of the reasons why the two of you worked so well together.

Although people might think that two adults who had to travel for a living were a recipe for a disastrous relationship, you and Spencer had so far proven otherwise. Because of your respective schedules, you could sympathize more with the other anytime they had to go somewhere urgent for work. It only made you savor every single second you spent together because of how much precious each one of them became.

The rest of lunch unraveled with the same bucket of smiles, jokes, and laughter. It felt good to finally tell the few people who meant the world in Spencer's life the truth about your relationship. It was also a huge relief to see them opening their arms and welcoming you into the family without an ounce of hesitation.

"Hotch?" Spencer called out after everyone exited the restaurant. "Will it be okay if I stay in the city for one more night?"

"As long as you promise to be back for tomorrow's briefing," Hotch reminded sternly, but the meaningful look he passed over you before he entered his vehicle spoke of a thousand things left unsaid.

"It was so nice meeting you," JJ said as she took you in her arms. "And I'm sorry again about your friend."

"Thank you. And thanks for all of your hard work in catching those guys."

"Of course, it's what we do." JJ smiled as she pulled away. "Invite me and Emily the next time you and Penelope hang out, okay?"

"Will do," you promised.

You watched as every single one of them scrambled into the two black SUVs, waving your goodbye until the cars drove out of your sight.

"I think that went well," you commented before looking up at Spencer. "Do you?"

"I think it went as well as it could."

"So--" you began, circling your arms around Spencer's neck, "--we have more than twelve hours until you're expected back at Quantico. What do you wanna do?"

Spencer nudged your nose with his. "I can think of a few activities we can partake in."

"Really?"

"Really."

Just as he was a hairbreadth away from pressing his lips to yours, you suddenly tore yourself out of Spencer's arms.

"Like getting some frozen yogurts?" you asked giddily, smirking at the dumbfounded look that you managed to put on Spencer's face.

"Fine. Let's go get some frozen yogurts."

Spencer had to hide his amused grin at your elated squeals. He was more than content at that moment to let you produce those addictive sounds at the mere prospect of frozen yogurts.

But later that night, he had a whole different set of activities lined up to pull those same sounds out of you once more.

And it might or might not potentially involve an entirely different yet creative use of frozen yogurts as well.

Spencer simply just hadn't decided yet.

[spencahreadreid]

A moment's silence when my baby puts her mouth on me.

smutsmutsmut!! i've never written smut before, if something's wrong please let me know!! giving head (spencer receiving), no y/n, no gender specificity, a little rushed, no idea how many words, send asks!!

"There you go, honey.. take it all" Spencer's voice is almost shaky, guiding you by your hair further down onto his cock, stopping when you gag. But after a minute you began moving on your own, letting your spit dribble down to the base, your plans are ruined when he grips harder to that fistful of hair and pushes you down.

This doesn't happen without the relentless murmurs and whimpers of "oh baby, I'm sorry..". Along with multiple praises of "yes my sweet, taking me so well." Either way, the sudden vocal approach was different, and it just spurred you on further, humming out a moan. A simple thing clearly had a huge impact on the man above you, hips bucking, leading to a cough as you pulled away.

Strands of saliva that once connected you to his flushed red tip, broke and retracted back, leaving a clear, bubbly line of drool dripping from your bottom lip. His thumb came down wiping softly over the substance before pushing it back into your mouth. Accepting it, you pushed forward, sucking lightly on the digit before pulling off with a lewd 'pop'.

Taking initiative, lifting your soft hands, the ones he loved and kissed tenderly on the first date were soon wrapped around him. It was different to your mouth, but a gasp still left him at the contact, he was grateful for anything at this point. As your tugs slowly lessened, you could tell he was missing the warmth and wetness of your perfect mouth around him.

So you gave him what you wanted, parting your soft lips, replacing your hands with the familiar sensation, lightly grazing your teeth against the tip. "Fuck, please-" he sounded strained, desperate. Usually it was you under him, begging for his touch, hips bucking and pleading for him. No matter how much you missed that, him taking care of you, it still felt good to get him off.

That feeling inside him was clearly increasing, he twitched inside your mouth when you'd taken him further into your throat. His hips bucked and he was almost immediately gone, even then, he was still gentle, still cared for you. "I'm gonna cum, baby I'm- please!". Tears were welling up in your eyes, gag reflex being abused over and over, slightly blurring the face of pure ecstasy above you.

Clearly he was holding back, not wanting to surprise you with cumming down your throat without warning. You nodded the best you could and it was over for him, two more light thrusts and the coil snapped. Hot, white spurts of his release coated your tongue, already half pulling off him when Spencer had grabbed onto your head. Keeping you where he wanted you, the salty liquid had spurted up and onto your face, there he was, watching in awe.

Your lips, cheek, some on your nose. Smiling down at you, he took a second to admire the way you looked on your knees between his thighs. On the ground, hands on your own lap, staring up with those big wide eyes of yours.

"Oh look at you, so messy.. who did that?" You both laughed at his comment, clearly he found himself hilarious. "You di-" unable to finish your sentence, breaking into a fit of coughing and struggled breaths. Immediately, he was concerned, and felt extremely guilty.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I'm so sorry.." caressing your cheek softly with his thumb, the night ended quickly with a hot tea brewing, more to soothe your throat than anything. With tea finished, arms around your waist, laying under the covers staring each other in the eyes. Almost like cheesy teens, TV softly lighting up the room, also serving as a light background noise. Soon, tiredness took over both of you, your eyes starting to droop before his.

"It's alright, just rest for me.."

[clrasecretdiary]

I do, I do, I do | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which spencer proposes to you.

Absolutely tooth rotting fluff

Contents: Head over heels spence, pet names (honey, angel, darling...)

Warning: none!

a/n: title is a reference to "helpless" from Hamilton & there's a scene inspired by "the tortured poets department" (can u tell I love music?). This is my favorite fic I have ever written.

---

You and Spencer have been dating for 5 years now and, since last year, the team had begun asking the two of you - especially Reid - when were you guys going to “tie the knot”. You and Spencer had talked about it, both agreeing that you both did want to get married, but we’re not in a rush.

Now, you’re at Spencer's house getting ready for one of Rossi's famous dinners. When you look through the mirror, you see Spencer leaning against the door, watching you getting ready while he cuffs the sleeves of his black button-up shirt.

“You’re looking divine angel”

“Thank you honey” You say, turning to him “By the way, this is your last chance to kiss me, unless you also want to wear some red lipstick to Rossi’s”

He giggles, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom to let you finish getting ready.

Later that night, you, Spencer and the rest of the team are all sitting at the dining table, talking and laughing. This is one of those few, but extremely special moments in which you guys forget all the horrors that happen at work and just are happy together.

You’re in an extremely exciting talk with Garcia about the latest fashion news, a topic that both of you really loved when you feel Spencer playing with your hands, something he usually did, so you did not pay much attention to it. But, at a point you felt him place the small ring he sometimes wore on your finger, specifically your left ring finger, the one you put wedding rings on. When you looked down at it, your heart almost stopped.

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear “It looks perfect on you” and then took it off, continuing to talk to Morgan about… Something. If you were to be honest, after that, you spaced out for a couple seconds, your heartbeat seemed so loud that it replaced all the other sounds around you.

—

2 months later, you’re remembering this moment as you get ready for a very suspicious dinner date with Spencer. Since what happened on Rossi's get together, you knew he was thinking about it and started your detective work to try and figure out when it might happen.

You had asked - no, begged Morgan and Penelope for any kind of clue. It's not that you wanted to know exactly when and where, you just needed a clue to know how to prepare yourself. After a while, you just gave up and decided to let it happen.

You became suspicious when Spencer asked Hotch for you both to have a day off, something you both rarely requested. He also bought you a Vivienne Westwood dress you had been eying for years now.

“Spencer Reid, you did not. Oh my god you're crazy” You said as you opened the box

“Did you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it, thank you so much” You say, leaning in to embrace him in a tight hug

“Maybe I can take you to dinner this Saturday, and you can wear it” He says between giggles because of how wide your smile was, oh how he loved pampering you.

“Sounds perfect honey”

Now, finally the day you had been so excited for. Could Spencer just have felt like giving you the dress? Yes, but for some reason you felt there was more to it. Maybe the way he spent the whole day trying to hide how nervous he is, the way he’s letting you take your sweet time getting ready, saying things like “don’t rush honey” or the mysterious call he received from Morgan earlier that day but you were sure something was going to happen.

You finish getting ready and get into the car with him, he’s showering you with compliments the whole way. When he stops the car something is off, this is not a restaurant, in the dark you can’t really make out where you are but it seems familiar.

He gets out of the car, going around and opening the door for you, helping you get out. He walks you to the entrance of the place and opens the door that you now have recognized to be the library you two loved and also the place we’re he finally asked you out on a date after years of secretly-not-so-secretly being in love with you. Only now, there was a small round table there, with lit candles and a table set for two.

The shock made you not realize that Spencer had now let go of your hand, as you look to your side, you're met with your boyfriend down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand.

“Honey, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You’ve been my best friend, the best thing that ever happened to me, you make all the crazy stuff we go through easier, because we’re goin through it together. There’s no one I would rather live life with than you, so will you marry me?”

“Spencer..” That’s the only thing you manage to say, shocked and feeling a kind of happiness you never experienced before. “Of course I will. Oh my god I love you so much” You say, pulling on his arm so he stands up and you kiss him deeply. Feeling an amount of love you never thought was possible.

Once you pull away, he places the delicate ring on your hand and kisses you again. And all you can think is how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Secretly Mine

Summary: Spencer and Reader have been seeing each other for a while without the team's knowledge

Category: Fluff

Couple: Spencer/BAU Fem!Reader

Content warnings: None

Word count: 1.5k

Eight months have passed since your arrival at the BAU. You’re an integral part of the team. Hotch has been sure to let you know. You’ve stood out with your eye for detail at certain crime scenes, outshining even some of the team’s more seasoned members. Luckily, the academy’s rumors about the Quantico team’s bond have rang true time and time again, so competition and jealousy never became an issue. It only made them respect you and even open up to you.

One person who has particularly opened up to you is the genius of the group, Spencer Reid. The secret you learned: he’s a gentle kisser. Almost childishly chaste, but nothing seemed more fitting for his personality. What was surprising was the setting of your first kiss.

New York City police invited the team to investigate the terrorist cell killing random people across the city. Their attacks grew more volatile by the time you all arrived, placing bombs on government vehicles. One of these bombs hurt Hotch, and SSA Joyner did not survive the same blast. The results could have been worse, considering.

Your team faced the problem of uncertainty regarding who (if anyone) had been injured at that moment. Spencer was with Rossi at the police station while the rest of you were on the ground. That damn terrorist organization interfered with signals and transmissions all the time, and this was no different. You, by your luck, were the most difficult to get in contact with, despite being safe at Federal Plaza. You met with the team when it was safe to do so and all targeted areas were cleared. Most of you sighed in relief. Garcia even held your face, as if to make sure you were real, alive and, breathing.

Spencer held your face too, but not in the same way. You both took refuge by the water cooler, surprisingly where no one was present in a once-crowded New York City police station. You talked about what happened, Hotch’s current condition, and how long to expect these nerves to last. Your nerves didn’t settle, though, when Spencer’s knuckles brushed your cheek as he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You didn’t blame these nerves, though, when you leaned into the touch, looking up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Spencer was cute, obviously, but workplace relationships are highly unprofessional and even a liability, if the case they just survived wasn’t enough proof of that. You’d think (well, you knew actually) Spencer of all people would know this. He knows everything. When you had a case in Baltimore involving the Ravens, he told you their name came from Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous poem. Then he explained the detailed theories surrounding his untimely death. Spencer believes it has something to do with cooping, whatever that means, you dared not to ask. There’s nothing he doesn’t consider.

So, Spencer must have considered all the odds of professional behavior in that moment by the water cooler since his lips delicately brushed yours. It was barely a kiss at first, until he leaned in for another, to where you could feel the warmth of his mouth and felt that he could do with some lip exfoliant. The last part you didn’t care about because it was practically over before it began. Neither of you said anything about it. Instead, you stayed there for a while, not touching or talking. Then Morgan told the team to pack up and get ready to go home.

Throughout the past month, you and Spencer have shared many kissing sessions. Not at work, though, because you both still have some sense. Kissing Spencer, though, tends to not leave you with much sense. His gentleness is not a front. His touches are tender and he’s never pushed you beyond your limits. It’s a good thing then that he’s a gentleman, so he earned kisses through dinners, movies, and day trips. It was something to look forward to in between grueling cases.

And it wasn’t even off work when Spencer would bring joy to you. There was a case recently in North Carolina that shook you more than you cared to admit. You didn’t want to mention what specifically, as it’s something you haven’t spoken about in a long time, but the team picked up on it quickly. They checked on you and even asked if you needed to sit out. You powered through and came to a satisfactory (for lack of a better word) conclusion. Afterward, Spencer invited you to ice cream. It was a welcoming change of scenery, despite the ice cream place being called Jack the Dipper. It was hilariously fitting, so it really wasn’t an issue. Spencer didn’t ask about what happened or what made you feel so disturbed. Throughout the night, he just made sure to ask if you were okay.

You haven’t been okay for a while. Not because of that case, but because it’s been three months now and you are still running around with Spencer without the team’s knowledge. The team might feel cheated (and Hotch might be pissed) because they are not aware of this information, but the uneasiness of all this was starting to settle in. The fear, the worry that this might just be all for nothing. Outside of the office, he shows that he cares. He knows things about you that you haven't revealed in some time. And apparently he has done the same. Bruises from harsh kisses around your bodies linger under work clothes from a weekend in, and the team has been none the wiser. And you’re not sure if you’re as okay with it as you thought you were.

The team went out to the bar on a Thursday, celebrating a government holiday the night before (i.e. a three-day weekend). The team took shots, bet money, threw darts, and Emily ended up with the most by closing. You would’ve coughed up more cash throughout the night if you were confident in your bets.

Spencer barely looked at you. Didn’t brush your hand or even stand near you for too long, like you had the plague or whatever Poe died from. It didn’t help the feeling in your core, and neither did the walk home. Morgan drove Garcia home, Hotch with Rossi, and J.J. with Emily. And of course, Spencer with you. When J.J. drove away after boasting about avoiding a ticket on an expired meter, Spencer didn’t hesitate to reach for your hand. It was nice, and as the weather grew colder, it was a welcomed warmth. But how could it not feel at least a little sour?

His apartment wasn’t far from here, so you walked. Your hands were laced the entire time, but he didn’t breathe a word and you couldn’t tell if that should make you feel better or worse.

It wasn’t until you climbed the steps to his door that he asked, “Are you staying the night?”

You swallowed. Unlike Emily, Garcia, and Rossi, you were on the side of tipsy rather than in dire need of a toilet to bury your head into. “Sure.” You said. “If you want me to.”

“Yeah,” He said, fiddling with his key and lock. “Of course I want you to.”

He finally opens the door and turns on the living room light. You barely had time to put your purse down before his lips were on yours. They were still chapped like the first time, except you could forgive that because of the growing cold outside. His hands hold your waist, they creep to your back. You couldn’t help but lean in, away from the door he pressed you into. It was when Spencer moaned in your mouth that you broke away. Catching your breath, you try putting together a sentence. But breathing is difficult right now for both of you. Spencer’s eyes are lazy and his breath still lingers with a scent of the mint gum he spit out when he showed up to the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you think it’s the start to an actual apology. “I was trying to stay patient.” He kisses you again, softly. And you kiss him back still. He moans again. “I want you.”

You swallow again. Your throat is so dry. “Spencer, I—”

“I want to tell them.” He interrupts.

You blink, it quickens as you take in the words. “What?”

His hands cup your face. He brushes the messy bangs from your forehead. “I want to tell them. About this. About us. I just…” He trails off. That is not something you’re used to seeing. “I want more time with you.”

As Spencer’s words sank in, you felt a mix of apprehension and longing, wondering just what could go wrong. A lot, in fact. But you have to believe he’s being honest. Why wouldn’t he be?

And with a soft smile, you reached for his hand and met his gaze. “I want that too,” you said, feeling the weight of it finally being lifted off your chest. “I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about it earlier. I was being selfish.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But I would. Because it’s true. But that changes now.” The look on his face, the fully sober look on his face. He’s all in. “I will tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

[sailorholly]

Appetizer

Summary: A night out with the team takes a delicious turn.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

See my Masterlist Here

“Give me your panties.” Your boyfriend Spencer, commanded. He was different since he got out of prison. There was something dark about him now. You weren’t complaining. Sure, you missed the old Spencer, but now he was rougher with you.

The sex was good before, but now he didn’t treat you like a porcelain doll, afraid you would break even from the lightest touch. He was still sweet to you, but you would have to say the sex is better.

You look at him with wide eyes, reaching your hand under your dress to remove them. You place one hand on his forearm to steady yourself, pulling your feet out one at a time. You fold them, placing them in his outstretched hand. He puts them in his pocket, grabbing your hand before you leave to meet the rest of the team.

When you arrive, you take a seat next to Penelope. She beams as you settle in, telling you how beautiful you look. You order your drinks when the server stops by. Kristy, Matt’s wife is talking about their kids, but you stop listening when Spencer’s large hand caresses your thigh.

Your eyes meet his, he lifts an eyebrow at you. You turn back to the conversation, Spencer leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms. “I don’t want to hear a sound fall from those pretty lips. Do you understand?” You nod your head, breath caught in your throat.

“Alright love birds, get a room!” Penelope teases you. You smile and laugh, pretending you weren’t affected by Spencer’s words. You are suddenly thankful you chose a black dress, so nobody else would see your arousal flooding the fabric.

Spencer’s hand inches higher, so close to where you need him. You continue talking with the girls while Spencer talks about the case the team just solved with Luke and Rossi. You squirm, the anticipation making it hard to sit still. Spencer removes his hand, taking a sip from his drink.

You stifle a whine, pretending you have to cough. Spencer’s hand returns, higher than before. You wonder if he can feel your desire for him dripping down your thigh. Your silent question is answered when he rubs it into your soft skin. The heat from his hand makes you throb. If he would only move his hand a little to the left and put you out of your misery.

The server starts taking everyone’s orders starting with Penelope. She hands her menu to the smiling man, who acknowledges you. “For you, miss?” Spencer plunges two fingers inside you, and you can’t remember what you were going to order. You were lucky you didn’t cry out at the sudden intrusion.

The server smiles, but you can tell he is growing impatient. “I, umm.” You begin, but Spencer cuts you off. “She’ll have the steak medium rare.” He answers for you. You smile at him in appreciation as his slender fingers curl, hitting your g-spot.

You quickly grab your glass and bring it to your lips, trying to stay silent. His thumb slowly swirls your clit, and your vision goes blurry. You grab his arm, needing something to steady yourself. The server comes by with the appetizers for the table, giving you a sideways glance. For a brief second, you think he knows.

Any worries about that fade as quickly as they came while Spencer’s long fingers slide in and out of you. You’re silently praying that Penelope can’t hear the obscene squelching every time his fingers glide into you. She’s none the wiser, gushing to Tara about her latest date.

Spencer continues working you with slow strokes of his fingers, his thumb dragging across your clit in small movements. Your fingers dig into his leg under the table. You watch as he acts unaffected, eating the greasy appetizer with his free hand. You shouldn’t be this turned on in public, in front of your coworkers sitting right beside you.

The server returns with everyone’s meals as Spencer picks up his pace. He adds another finger, strumming your clit with his thumb. It’s an effort not to rock your hips into his hand when you are so close. His thumb works faster as he curls his long fingers once more, tipping you over the edge.

Your steak is placed in front of you, as your orgasm rips through you. You grip the table, needing to hold on. You’ve never came this hard in your life. “Are you alright, miss? Your face is flushed. Would you like some more water?”

“Y-yes please.” You manage to mumble as your pleasure fades. Everyone looks at you, Emily asks if you want her to go to the bathroom with you because you do look quite flushed. You refuse, blaming it on the restaurant being too hot.

After your refill of water, everyone starts to dig in. Spencer removes his hand from between your thighs, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth. His tongue swirls around the tip of one of his fingers. “Mmm” he moans as your taste reaches his tongue. “If the main course is as delicious as the appetizer, I’ve found my new favorite restaurant.” He winks at you, wiping his hand on his napkin.

Tags

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lover-of-books-and-tea @lamentis-10 @zzumkii @megharat-barnes-reid @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid @loz-3

[hereforhalstead]

I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS SO PLS ENJOY

So you and Spencer had a friends with benefits thing going for a while but you broke things off when you felt you were getting emotionally attached and it didn’t feel like he was and in so many words he had already told you not to fall for him

Anyway you’d distanced yourself for a few weeks and ignored his calls but one night you get a call from one of the team saying that Spencer had been drinking at the office after a tough case and all he wanted was for you to go and get him

After thinking for a few seconds, you say no and tell them to say you’re out or busy so you can’t go and get him.

Time goes by and then he turns up at your door, looking super disheveled and honestly broken with his head hanging, leaning on your doorframe as he barely mutters out like ‘you wouldn’t come and get me? Don’t I mean anything to you?’

Then you have an argument with your pent up feelings and it ends in the old classic where he kisses you and whilst you’re trying to push him off he’s like ‘tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll go’ BUT YOU CANT

[hotwritergf]

if you haven’t already gotten a request like this…munch spencer? thank you <3

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel⛅️🌻

"You are not a morning person at all, are you?"

Spencer chuckles, rubbing the last remainder of sleep from the inner corners of his eyes.

Goosebumps decorate his arms as the breeze travels in through the cracked open window. Hiding your face in your shoulder as you groan, his hands rub up and down your back as he speaks. Soft as velvet, he pecks your forehead.

"Lazy little girl... As much as I enjoy having you laying on me like this, and I do.. Enjoy it. I need breakfast. Studies show that eating breakfast regularly may reduce the risk of obesity, type 2 diabetes, cardiovascular disease, high blood pressure, and stroke too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, not meaning to offend his early morning ramblings but aiming to rile him up just enough to see how much you can pull at his strings until he snaps.

"Talking, always talking."

You chuckle, shooting him a sarcastic grin.

"Oh you don't like me talking? You know men and women speak about 16,000 words every day, and you can't stand to hear me say a couple?"

Spencer offers you a pouty face in response to your distaste of his ramblings, but you can see the smirk straight through it. It's a cute attempt you think to yourself, he's cute.

He's especially cute in the mornings, his uncouth curls that are all tangled up in sleep and dreams. His hazel eyes seemingly looking a little more green in the sunrise creeping through from the curtains. His morning voice that is so uncharacteristically deep until he lets himself yawn and it goes back to normal, but still just as attractive.

You shuffle off his chest, now laying with your back to the headboard and your legs spread like a starfish, just to get the last laugh and hog the bed. Spencer smiles at you; the sort of smile that sends butterflies into your stomach and the flutter down into lust between your thighs.

That smile is trouble, and he knows what it does to you. Squeezing your thighs together, you run your fingers over his shoulders, chuckling when he shivers slightly.

Eagle eyed, Spencer notices your desire for him building. He places his palm flat on your stomach, reaching upwards towards your breasts.

Grinning, he starts to kiss your neck, his hand gently rubbing up and down your thigh as he kisses you. The kiss is deep, passionate and they only get more and more sensual as his fingers tangle in your hair, intertwining his fingers and your curls.

"I'll keep going for as long as you like... As long as you're comfortable, darling."

His hands find your underwear clad heat, one of them on your hip and the other tracing lazy circles just south of the bow on your waist band, finding your hyper-sensitive clit immediately. Chuckling when your breath hitches and your hips buck up into his fingertips.

"I just want to make you feel good, baby."

He hushed, rubbing the side of your hip reassuringly. Planting gentle kisses over your panties, mouthing over your clit as he works with your gasps and moans.

"You still wanna keep me quiet sweet girl?"

Spence teases, his voice riddled with want. You can do nothing but nod as he looks down at you, eyeing you up like his prey.

He smirks and steadies his weight onto his elbows, reaching up to whisper in your ear.

"Your wish is my command."

Spencer lays you down, manipulating your body into being in the perfect position for him. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, yanking them down your thighs and tossing them across the room.

"Did you know that some biologists believe that oral sex may have helped the evolutionary process, since sexual pleasure between mates helped early humans choose better partners."

He mutters with his head rested on your sternum, looking up at you fluttering his eyelashes innocently as if he doesn't know he's relentlessly teasing you. Spencer chuckles, moving back down to finally taste you. Kissing over your bare cunt before opening his mouth and allowing his tongue to flicker over your clit. His tongue works lightly, slowly teasing over your bundle of nerves.

Your thighs squeeze over his ears, clamping his head in place as he pleasures you. Spencer groans, unable to speak as his face is trapped between your thighs, not once stopping his affection. Soft moans bubble up in your throat and you're unable to hold them back as they escape, exposing a symphony of carnal desire. His hot breath against your core spurring you on more through his kitty-licking on your clit.

For someone with Mysophobia, Spencer eats pussy like a man starved. If he didn't enjoy your noises and put your pleasure above his own in all over aspects of your life, you'd be sure he does this for his own pleasure only. Spence takes your sensitive bead between his lips, sucking softly his mouth is warm and oh-so inviting.

You tweak your nipples as they ache in isolation, grunting in response to both touches. Rubbing one between your fingers at the same rhythm as your boyfriend between your thighs.

He begins to lick through your swollen lips, collecting all of your wetness on his flat tongue as he goes, swirling it over your clit. The familiar feeling grows in your stomach, desperate to make itself known. You squeeze his head between your thighs once more, non-verbally letting him know you're close to coming undone.

"Please please please, I'm close"

You whine, writhing on the bed, gripping the sheets with one hand and holding his head against your cunt with the other. Spencer sucks against your clit again, the pressure just right as you push his face deeper into your pussy. Every stimulation sending you closer and closer to the edge.

"Shh, show don't tell."

He murmurs into your pussy, his words vibrating against you. His curls tickle against your inner thighs as he expertly circles his tongue against your clit, he takes your hand out of his hair and holds them down with his own, immobilising you as you approach orgasm.

You come undone, your clit swollen and needy. You push your thighs together, so hard that you're worried Spencer might suffocate between your skin. Your ass bounces from the bed, hips trying to reach the sky as your mind levitates from your conscious. Your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami, all of your nerves stand on end as Spencer refuses to stop licking.

Freeing your wrists from his grip, you pull his head away frantically, giggling through his forced overstimulated. Your mind delirious from the pleasure, he glances at you like a puppy whose favourite toy has been confiscated before chuckling and admitting defeat that you can't take anymore.

"You taste like heaven."

He smirks, licking the left over reminisce of you off of his lips as he teases.

"Are you feeling more like a morning person now?"

[reidmotif]

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress. 

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being. 

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket. 

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness. 

That’s where Spencer Reid came in. 

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet. 

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well. 

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day. 

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.” 

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage. 

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him.  “I’ll try to cut down on it.” 

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you. 

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft. 

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were.  “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second. 

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.” 

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted. 

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.” 

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.” 

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze. 

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.” 

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?” 

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.” 

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply. 

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice. 

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.” 

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently. 

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.” 

“Work?” He asks, softly. 

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.” 

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you. 

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago. 

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.” 

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent. 

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this. 

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out. 

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say.  Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex.  He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. 

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat. 

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning. 

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper. 

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?” 

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him. 

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.” 

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate. 

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath. 

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?” 

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you. 

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out. 

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference. 

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent. 

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed. 

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you. 

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose.  Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this. 

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end. 

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do. 

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs. 

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath. 

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs? 

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved. 

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is. 

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end. 

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms. 

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along. 

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him. 

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm. 

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him. 

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly. 

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice? 

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head. 

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod. 

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead. 

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.” 

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out. 

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed. 

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along. 

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow. 

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.” 

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[angelinajolie0213]

putting a pair of your used panties in Spencer’s go bag. giving him a kiss and a hug goodbye like the sweet, innocent girlfriend you are. sitting in bed all evening, aching for him to call, giggling to your self as you think about how he’ll react. but there’s no call. for the whole case. which makes you anxious asf, but whatever. when he finally comes through the door of your shared apartment, he presses you against him and gets all upset about how he couldn’t sleep because all he could smell was those damned panties every night.

[reiderwriter]

📃 Desk Duty 📃

Unit Chief Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: After taking a bullet on a case, Spencer orders you to desk duty. After two months of pushing papers and his pushing you away for fear of hurting you, you've had enough.

Warnings: Established BDSM scenario, public sex, masturbation (female and male), mentions of sex toys, breaking and entering, multiple orgasms, squirting, shoe riding, slapping (ass, face, pussy), wet/dirty/messy sex, deep-throaring, face fucking, exhibitionism, risky sex, creampie, sloppy sex, pet play (puppy), Hard Dom Spencer, bratty sub reader, degradation (slut, whore, bitch used). Confessions of love at the end because I'm not a monster.

A/N: Hello, it's me, painfully single, back with another in a series of fics that I think will haunt my (wet) dreams for eternity. Thank you to @lightvixxen for requesting shoe riding all those moons ago, I am so glad we share in the same brand of brain rot. Enjoy~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

The first time you were shot, you were surprised it hurt so much. Of course, you knew it was going to hurt. You knew you'd eventually be shot. 

But the graze to your arm stung like a bitch, and had you whimpering on the floor of a warehouse like a small child who'd fallen off their bike for the first time. 

You'd picked yourself back up, and, luckily, the shot had avoided doing any serious damage, but you were relegated to desk duty for two months after. Just until you could prove you weren't traumatised, and there wasn't any permanent damage to your arm.

Two months of staying home while your boss gallivanted around the country, happily diving in front of bullets and jumping on bombs. Two months of staying home waiting for him to come back and rail you. 

You'd been sleeping with Spencer Reid practically since he'd become the Unit Chief, and with the announcement that there were only a few more weeks left until Emily Prentiss came back from her special task force, you were really losing time alone in the office you'd been enjoying the pleasures of one another in. 

Of course, there would still be motel rooms for you later, but soon he wouldn't have the keys to your room, making your secret trysts slightly riskier. You weren't sure you wanted everyone in the office to know just what it was the two of you were getting up to in your spare time. 

So, with your last two months of freedom relegated to desk duty, you sulked. 

Spencer was clear that he was leaving you behind so you could recuperate, but you didn't exactly expect him to go cold turkey. 

You'd been apart before, having been sent on separate inmate interviews, and you'd made do with a poorly connected video call, a dildo and your hands, getting all the inspiration you needed watching him pump his cock in his fist.  

But somehow, your injury had made him borderline chaste, and he refused to even touch you while you were still in - his words, not yours - recovery. 

It had been a month since he'd fucked you. Hell, it had been a month since you'd even seen his cock. A month since you'd had any kind of orgasm, first because your dominant hand had been out of action, and then because you'd felt so frustrated without him, you couldn't bring yourself to do it alone. 

He messaged you daily, called practically once every eight hours, and made sure you were eating and sleeping even from halfway across the country. 

But he didn't make any mention of your growing frustration, even as you tried your best to tempt him into sin. 

A month into purgatory, you'd started hinting at your own needs. Your teammates had taken a case in Atlanta, and you'd stuck behind a days drive away and heard absolutely nothing. 

You'd called, and Luke had picked up, making his presence known before you could royally screw up and beg for something to fuck. 

“H-Hi, Luke. I was just wondering how the case was going. Is there anything I can help with from the office?” You asked, stammering on the phone as you pulled your hand out from between your thighs. 

“You want to help? At 11pm at night?”

“Sure do! You know me… go-getter?” You stuttered the words, not even believing them yourself, biting your lip in anxiety and hoping that Luke would just think you were going stir crazy. 

“I'll hand you to Reid, he's been talking about some case files you might be able to help with.” 

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

You heard the phone switch hands, and then you heard movement until the line went quieter, and Spencer's voice popped into your ear. 

“Y/N?” 

“I miss you,” you sighed before you could say anything else, fingers sliding between your thighs before you could think to stop yourself. 

“I miss you, too,” he whispered hesitantly, but you heard the smile in his voice as he answered. 

“You're working so late tonight, I'd hoped…” you trailed off, feeling your skin heat as your free hands lipped into your underwear and you touched yourself for real this time. 

“We think he's working under the same MO as the Night Stalker, like a copycat, so we're keeping to late hours. What's that sound?” 

“Nothing,” you said, giving your lie away almost immediately with a moan. 

“Are you… Y/N, are you touching yourself?” He asked, already knowing the answer. 

“I told you I missed you. It's been a month since you've touched me, someone has to do it-” 

“Stop it.” 

His words were blunt, and there was no hint of excitement in them, no telling if he was saying this so he could play a part in your unravelling. 

“What?” 

“Stop touching yourself. Y/N, you are not allowed to touch yourself.” 

“Not-? Spencer, what the fuck!” You exploded, sitting up from your comfortable position on the bed, set alight in indignance. 

“I'm the only one that gets to touch you like that, you're not allowed to cum unless I'm there,” he ground out, and just as you heard the smile in his voice earlier, you heard the frustration and arousal now. 

“Well, Spencer, if you'd have brought me along on this case instead of leaving me here, maybe you'd get a say in who gets to make me cum.” 

“Y/N, you're injured, and you haven't been cleared to fly. A doctor needs to-”

“You're a doctor. Technically. You could sign off on me. You could've had me right there in your bed tonight, but no.” 

He scoffed down the line, and you saw his face flash so vividly in your head that it pissed you off. He was hotter when he was angry. 

“Nice try. I tried that myself once, but it doesn't work. Now go to sleep and get some rest.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he hung up. His words lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, and you threw the phone down in frustration. 

He wasn't listening again, and you were sick of it, and you we're sick of pushing paper at a cubical when you should've been out in the field doing your actual job. You were sick of being celibate and at home alone, when you should've been in a dark corner somewhere letting your boss use your body, letting him pin you to the wall and work out his frustrations.  

You should've had your lips wrapped around his cock, you should've had his hands buried in your cunt, slapping your ass, his teeth teasing your nipples, something. 

Instead, you had your phone camera and a bed, and a personal vendetta against the word 'no' coming from Spencer Reid's mouth. If he wanted you to stop touching yourself, he'd better get his ass home and make you. 

Shedding your clothes, you set up your camera and began your week long crusade. 

The first video received a response in the form of a call you let go straight to voice mail as you recorded the second one. 

He didn't call again after that, but you knew he watched each and every video you sent. 

You knew he watched the video of you fucking yourself on a wall mounted dildo in the shower. You wondered if he let him imagine it was him, taking his cock in hand in the morning as he washed and prepared himself for the day. 

You knew he watched the video of you playing with your boobs alone in the elevator at work after hours. You wondered if he was still working late when he saw that one, or if, like last time, maybe Luke had grabbed his phone first and seen it before him. . 

You knew he watched the video you shot in his apartment. It wasn't that hard to get into, knowing exactly where the spare key was hidden and letting yourself in comfortably. You let yourself dress in one of his shirts and set the camera up, pushing a bullet vibe inside yourself, and turning on the camera, playing with the hem of the shirt and the sheets below until you finally flashed the camera and him the sight of your wet cunt. 

You filmed a few videos there, fingering yourself, spreading yourself so he could see just how far you'd opened yourself up for him, sinking down on to progressively bigger silicone cocks and mumbling his name over and over again. 

You knew he watched every video, even though you'd sent ten over the space of an evening. You knew he was likely somewhere stroking his large, hot cock, wishing he was buried deep in you, but too stubborn to let you know that now. 

The day after the case ended, you knew that his return meant punishment, but you couldn't stop yourself. 

An hour before the teams expected arrival time, you excused yourself to Spencer's office. The first time he'd fucked you had been in there. He'd pushed you over his lap and slapped some sense into you, spanking you until you were a drippy mess waiting for his cock to enter you sharp and fast. 

You'd since sucked his cock under the desk more times than you could count, and the view from the window was more than familiar to you as you enjoyed being pushed up against it as he took you from behind, the both of you revelling in the fact that anyone could see you defiling the building together. 

With half an hour to spare before he returned and ended your fun and games, you mounted the arm of his couch and began rubbing yourself against it. You rocked your hips slowly back and forth against it - as horny as you were, it was still embarrassing to be so horny you'd resulted to humping pieces of furniture to meet your needs. 

You'd thought about getting drunk and finding a random dick to take home with you, but it didn't interest you half so much as fucking with Spencer Reid did. You'd never had the talk about exclusivity, but you knew just as well as he did that you were locked in. He was your boyfriend, whether he realised it or not.

And now, you simply needed his cock so badly, nothing else would do. The closest you could get was a piece of furniture he'd fucked you on before. 

You slipped your panties off quickly as your timer sounded a ten minute warning, knowing his plane would be landing any second now. You'd factored in the walk from the jet to the office, praying to the gods above that he took the initiative to get ahead on paperwork instead of going straight home. 

You rocked back and forth on the arm of the couch until his door opened narrowly and he let himself in, just as your clit rubbed the corner of the couch and you moaned out gloriously. 

“Y/N,” he hissed as he slammed the door shut. You didn't stop even as he crossed the room and grabbed your hips, instead lunging for his lips and meeting them with your own. 

Your tongue clashed with him for the first time in a lifetime, and you whimpered at how good he still felt pressed up against you. His chest was a solid shield, and your puffy nipples pushed up against it, rubbing deliciously with each grind. His hands were large, his fingers long as they clawed themselves around your hips and drew you up.

“You just can't follow orders, can you?” He asked between kisses, between breaths where you weren't sure if he'd slap you or shove his fingers down your throat. “I should fire you,” he whispered as he reluctantly pulled away. 

“But Spencer,” you said, gasping jokingly as you pawed at the front of his pants. “Who would you fuck on cases then? Who would be your controversially young fuck doll?” 

You meant it to be a joke, but the slap he delivered to your ass made you think twice as you clapped a hand over your mouth. 

His hands roughly pulled you into him again, and you were unable to rise up enough again before he hit you again. You jilted forwards with a little moan and just gave in to the sensation, pressing your face into the pillows as your hips rose. 

“You're acting like such a desperate little slut, I don't think you deserve to even lick my cock. Fuck, I don't even think you deserve to lick my shoe,” his words cut deep as you realised how angry he was, his fingers tangling in your hair he yanked you upwards. 

“Wait, please - Spencer, please, I need-” 

“Need what? You need to suck cock? You need to put yourself on display in a public place? Need everyone around you to know just what it is we do when we're alone?” With each question, he worked on bruising your ass cheeks harder, until he finally pushed you to the floor, and you sank down, automatically spreading your legs for him. 

“Pathetic. You don't deserve this cock, baby.” 

“No!” You cried out, not willing to accept that outcome at all as you panicked. “I'll do anything, please, Spencer, I'll do anything!” 

You whimpered and cried out in real frustration and fear, knowing that he absolutely would kick you out if you didn't act fast. Spencer may have been fine with you taking control some days, but this obviously wasn't one of them. You sat yourself on your knees and clasped your hands together, attempting to seem half the serious devotee and half the irresistible vixen whose chest was accentuated by the movement.

“Okay. Show me just how much of a desperate slut you are,” he said, lifting his foot from the ground and nudging it between your thighs. 

Reluctantly, you widened your stance, spreading apart just enough for him to notch his shoe against your clothed pussy. 

“Ride my shoe, Y/N. You're such a good little boot-licker. It shouldn't be a problem, right?” As if to answer your own question for you, he bobbed his knee gently, and your clit ground into the edge of his shoelaces, causing a sharp, fast burst of pleasure to spark through you. 

You still were too shocked to answer, but he smoothed your hair from your eyes as he continued to bounce his foot, and you left all of your concerns behind, slowly grinding down. 

“What a dirty little slut, I didn't think you'd actually do it.”

Wrapping your arms around his leg, you pressed your hips up and down hesitantly, looking into his eyes as your mouth dropped open in a silent moan. 

“That's it, good girl,” he said, letting his leg go still as you did all the work, shaking your hips back and forth on his shoe as you gave him pleading looks, unable to form words for the overwhelming shame and embarrassment.  

“You look like a puppy,” he blurted out, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling it back, hard, exposing your throat to him as he watched you with curious eyes. “Like one of those puppies who gets so excited to see you, she starts humping you. So fucking horny and desperate. You wouldn't even care who was in the room with us, right now, would you? You'd just keep going until yiu came.” 

You gasped as he slapped your face, tongue falling out of your mouth as he inspected his little play puppy. He smiled, as if happy with your reactions, and leant back on the sofa, releasing your hair from his grip as you continued to struggle in vain toward your orgasm. 

It was another two or three seconds before you realised he was pulling his hard cock from his pants, and another moment or two before he slid his hands back into your hair and guided your dumb, stupid, wet mouth over the top of his cock quickly. 

You let him move your head just how he liked, let him push you down almost farther than you thought you could go. You ground your bare clit down into his shoe as you deepened your breaths, relaxing your body as you took inch after inch of his cock down your throat. 

His hands were wound so tight in your hair that there wasn't space to move. You gagged, once and twice, but he held you in place still, enjoying the spit that spluttered around the base of his cock, the spasms of your contracting throat against the tip and length of his cock. You breathed deeply, ignoring the feeling of his pubic hair tickling your nose, scratching your cheek as you flattened out your tongue under his cock. You wished he would move, wished he would give you the space you needed to cum faster. 

The desperation of the last few months built up and built up, and you knew that you were close to cumming, your hips rocking out of tempo now, crashing into his foot wildly, ass shaking as you felt his shoelaces rubbing uncomfortably against your thighs. 

“God, what a pathetic little bitch, are you going to cum? Cum on my shoe, whore, show me how fucking desperate you are.” 

You felt the exact moment your body convulsed against him, you knew the exact movement that made you cum, because you felt the flood of moisture pool underneath you as you squirted all over his floor. You made a note of reminding him to replace the rug before Emily returned. 

Your whole body shook as you sat in the pool of your own cum, but he refused to let you pull away. 

“Has my little puppy made a mess? What a shame. You can't stop yet, though.” 

His grip on your face somehow became stronger, though not unpleasant, as he pulled your head up the length of his cock. You spluttered slightly, feeling the tension slip out of you as he emptied your throat. You didn't have more than a second to react before he quickly snapped your head back down over his cock, down to the base of his dick. 

“Keep up, Y/N, this is what you wanted, remember.” 

You choked on his cock, and he smiled down at you, taking your gags for nods as he proceeded to fuck your throat, deep and hard. 

“So wet and warm for me, like a perfect little pet,” he said, hips already lifting off the couch as he tried to sink deeper into you. 

You knew from experience that he'd soon grow tired of the limits of your mouth. He liked to hear you. He liked to see you drooling rather than feel it on his skin. As much as he could force his cock down your throat - and you deeply enjoyed when he did - he could get deeper if he sank into your pussy and you both knew it. 

This part was just to lube his cock up, nice and wet, until he could take you nice and quick without having to touch your pussy. He needed you nice and wet and ready for him, especially on days like today where you'd been nothing but a cock tease in need of a harsh fucking. You deserved nothing more.

As predicted, he pulled your head off his cock after a few seconds and hauled you to your feet. You tried to climb onto him, to grip his cock in your hand and just sink down where you belonged, but he stood, too, lifting you up with him. 

“Window,” he said, and you knew he must be close if he was ordering you around one word at a time. You nodded, but he kept his hands on you, moving you to the window quickly. 

You knew he'd bend you over, take you against the outdoor window, whispering in your ear that anyone outside could see you if they just looked up. Instead, this time, he moved you to the opposite side of the office. The window he pressed you against was the one overlooking your desks, the one where, should he happen to open the blinds, every member of your team would be able to look up and watch you take his dick. 

“Everyone left,” he whispered quickly as he shifted the blinds up an inch so you could see. 

You breathed a sigh of relief noting that it was as empty as he claimed, but it didn't last long as he gently pressed his cock into your cunt, finally filling you how you'd needed to be filled for the last 60 days. 

“Fuck, t-thank you, sir!” 

All thoughts about the office below faded as he lifted your leg in his hand and let it rest on the edge of the window, pushing your face against the cold glass. Your office may have been empty, but that wasn't to say that there wasn't someone working late in the other departments, a janitor happening to pass through. 

You knew, but you didn't care as you begged him to fill you up more and more. 

“Just like that, just like that, yes!!! Fuck yes, Spencer I missed this, I missed you. Missed you so much,” you moaned as your hands slipped down the glass, already fogged with condensation, your hot breath hitting the cold glass. 

“Needed this? You've been fucking yourself nightly for the last week. You didn't need this like I needed this,” he moaned, biting into your neck with a sharp kiss as you moaned loudly for him.

“Two m-months. You haven't fucked me for two months, what else was I supposed to do?” 

He groaned in your ear again, reaching a hand around you and slapping your clit as he formulated an answer. 

“Rest, you were supposed to rest,” he said, thrusts speeding up as your cunt gripped him tighter and tighter the closer you got to your second orgasm. 

He groaned and pressed your face into the glass, holding you there and screwing his eyes shut as you both chased release. 

“I didn't want to rest, I w-wanted to be by your side.” 

His head rested against your shoulder as he felt the last waves of pleasure race towards him. His hand pushed down to your clit and rubbed you, sending you right over the edge with him as he filled you with his cum. 

Neither of you could stay upright, collapsing down to the floor in a heap. Usually when he came inside you, he waited a few moments to pull out so he didn't make so much mess when he did. But in his exhaustion, in your shared bliss of finally reaching that precipice after so long, he slipped out early, as cum was still shooting from him. 

You heaped together on the floor, chests heaving as you lay on top of him, your peace only broken by a single thought. 

“We..-’ you gasped, breathing unsteady. “We need to deep clean this office before Emily comes back.” 

He looked down at you, a look so serious and shocked you wondered if he was angry. And then he laughed. Short and soft, he giggled, and you couldn't help but join in, wrapping your arms around your stomach as it began to hurt, chest heaving from the pain of all your joy. 

He sat up and gave you a hand up as well as you surveyed the damage. 

“The rug has to go,” you said, feeling hot and embarrassed as you noticed the new wet stain on the near offensive fluffy thing. 

“We should probably get some new throw pillows, too,” he remarked, and you nodded with a grimace. You made to stand up, but your legs felt weak, and you wobbled, but he was there to catch you, as he stood. 

"Maybe just a new couch," you muttered, flushed with heat as you remembered how you'd humped the arm rest not even twenty minutes ago.

He closed the blinds before moving back to the couch and sitting you down on his lap once again, such a familiar place for you to be these days.

“You….” He started, worrying g his bottom lip with his teeth. “You really missed me?” 

You startled, taken aback by the question. You thought the videos had made it clear, let alone the last half hour of intimacy. 

“I… Yes, Spencer. I missed you a lot. I always miss you.” 

“You… you do?” 

You nodded again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Y/N, when I am no longer your boss, in approximately a weeks time, would you possibly consider being my girlfriend?” 

For the second time in the last two minutes, the man had you floored. And perhaps a little bit angry.

“I'm not… I'm not your girlfriend now?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I-” 

“Because I already told my friends about you, and I was definitely saying the word boyfriend, but if that's not what this is, I can correc-” 

You saw the panicked look in his eye as he pulled you in for one last kiss. 

“That's what this is!” he said frantically, cutting you off when you opened your mouth with another kiss. “I thought you wouldn't think that this was- no!” He kissed you again as you tried again to speak. 

“Listen to me! I'm o-older than you, I thought I had to ask still. Do people not ask anymore?” He kissed you before you could answer. 

“Rhetorical question.”

“I love yo-” you attempted to confess, but his lips covered yours swiftly, even as his eyes opened wide when he pulled away. 

“Wait, no, say that again,” he begged, eyes weak and shiny and absolutely endearingly pathetic. 

You shook your head and sealed your lips, miming, zipping them shut and throwing away the key. 

“Y/N! Tell me again, tell me you love me again,” he said, kissing each of your cheeks. You poked his chest hard, and he kissed you once more. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, and kissed you again, trying to draw from your lips the words he had cut off earlier, losing himself in the pleasure of the moment as you sat together in the dark office, totally enamoured with one another.