#my love for this episode grows every day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nouearth · 3 months ago

Text

candy-wasted.

john krasinski x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. with halloween coming to a disappointing end, what's a better way to end the holiday than to get candy-wasted on john's offer of his king-sized candy bar?

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.7k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 domestic!au 〳 halloween!au 〳 husband!john 〳 established relationship 〳 kissing 〳 sexual content: top!john, bottom!reader, anal penetration, rough!sex, no prep, breeding, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), pain kink, slapping, spanking, armpit fetish, humiliation, degradation, body worship, cock worship, over-stimulation, extremely hung!john.

“Think that might be the last of ‘em,” John said, shutting the front door and turning off the porch light. “Not a single Lydia Deetz, Ennui, Deadpool, or Wolverine costume in sight.”

It was Halloween night.

Declaring Halloween as your favorite holiday would be unjust to the true fanatics. More than anything, you loved the celebration for the atmosphere. You loved the smell of autumn coming into full bloom by virtue of artificial cinnamon and apple in soy candles rather than the fresh leaves withering outside. You loved driving by neighborhoods to see all the houses that had been decorated, fictionalizing a house-decorating competition in the process. You loved how spooky TV would get, from horror movies to reruns of old sitcom episodes that had a Halloween theme.

Most important of all, you loved taking your kids out to trick or treat with John, watching them outgrow their costumes every year and growing teary-eyed at the likelihood that they’d eventually stop having you and John come along with them in favor of their friends.

Even though you mentally prepared yourself for the moment, you weren’t expecting this year to be the time where your son and daughter would tell you that they would be sleeping over at a friend’s for the celebration. As if there was any option for you and John to protest too, it suddenly struck you how quickly they were becoming their own person, because they had already packed their bags the night before.

But also—damn you, for raising them to be so direct.

When John returned back to the couch, you glanced at the bowl.

“Do kids these days not go trick-or-treating anymore? We’re doing less refills than usual,” You took the half-empty bowl from him and rummaged through the assorted candy bars. “When I was a kid, I used to circle my neighborhood multiple times because I was determined to not end the night with a barren bucket. I also knew my parents would steal from my stash whenever I was asleep, so that was another incentive to prolong the pain in my little kid legs.”

You knew you were babbling and were beyond caring. From the smile John gave you, he seemed more entertained by the endless vault of childhood stories than the horror marathon you two had started since six o’clock in the evening.

“All those candy runs seem to be paying off considering your calves are the size of bowling balls,” John laughed, arranging your legs to lay them across his lap as you resumed lounging. To prove his point, he began unzipping your costume’s pant leg one-by-one, ventilating your ankles and calves finally free from the tight spandex.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the draft in the air chilled the sweat on your skin, then another, when John’s large hands began stroking and kneading at your legs. You probably should have guessed that John had other intentions in mind since his hands only traveled north, in which your calves were nowhere to be found.

But what would be the fun in calling out your lover’s extremely apparent advances? For a brief moment, you two sat in silence, putting the TV on mute because the marathon had run its course, but also to hear the sound of John’s hands, calloused, warm, and large over the plane of your body, exploring you and the ribbed costume like he was learning texture for the first time.

It had been quite a long time since it was this quiet in the house. You had to have accidentally said it out loud, or John’s telepathic abilities were only awakened on Halloween night, because he was looking at you like you had whet his appetite, hazel eyes cataloguing your body like it was a dirty magazine, lips bitten in secrecy.

“What’s on your mind, Captain America?” You let your legs wrap around John’s waist when he pulled you to sit on his lap, fixing his tousled hair with a smooth swoop of your hand, and affectionately squeezed his large shoulders after.

God, John filled out his costume so well. No wonder you couldn’t stop glancing at him throughout the night, the tactical suit made him look much larger and imposing—you couldn’t help but run your hands all over his body and his tight muscles beneath the fabric, the contoured lines of the costume was practically inviting you to do so.

“I’m thinking… the neighborhood is quiet. I’m thinking that the kids are preparing for bed, and that the parents are drunk off their children’s candy stash, which means you can finally take it easy for tonight, Spider-Man.” John’s smile was terribly broad. You could feel him fiddling with the pull tab on the back of your costume with one hand while the other was caressing the side of your thigh, nearing dangerously closer to your rump.

It was a cheap costume that ran for no more than forty bucks, which meant you could feel the heat radiating off of John’s palm.

“Take it easy? I’ve been taking it easy. I got my popcorn, some king-sized candy bars, a scary flick, a rather inquisitive man holding me…” You shivered when his hand paused on your right buttock and squeezed. “Nothing’s beating this right now.”

He began kissing your neck, his beard ticklish and feathery over your flesh. “Really? Nothing at all?” Both of his hands were on your rump now, massaging tenderly at the handful of thick flesh in his palms.

You must have indulged in the warmth and strength of John’s grip on you for far too long, because out of the blue, he began knocking the silence out of you with strong smacks to your ass, drawing out a collection of moans and grunts from you as he fixated on marking up your neck until your mouth was in vicinity.

When his strong palms came down onto your cheeks again, your lips parted at the right moment he would seize them, capturing your mouth for a slow, languid kiss. John’s lips tasted like a celebration. You could feel the crumbs of sugar from the fruit ropes he was eating prior roll off his lips and onto your tongue, flavoring the kiss of green apple. You moaned, gently holding at both ends of his jaw, while your hips grew conscious of how your body was reacting to John’s tongue invading your mouth, pressing your growing tent against his pelvis with slow rolls, pushing your ass out to meet his hands.

“Nothing at all, unless…” You groaned when the stinging over your covered ass was only heightened by the unrelenting grasp John had on your ample skin. If he wasn’t so busy tonguing your mouth open, you wouldn’t be surprised to find him tearing your costume into two within the next second. “You have something to bestow upon me?”

“Ever heard of a monster-sized candy bar? I got one that’s filled with vanilla cream for you, specifically curated to your taste buds. What do you think? I’ll trade ya’.” The spirit of Halloween affected him as he laughed into the kiss, the tip of his nose crinkling in effect and swiping over yours when he resumed in exploring your mouth.

“I think it sounds like a trick, you a con-man?” You lightly pushed at his chest to break from the kiss, then lingered to silently admire his well-built pecs. You weren’t sure if you were more turned on by John’s hard-work and dedication, or the fantasy of him as a superhero—saving you from your ultimate demise.

Regardless, your hips only rutted harder, swooping low to brush your erection against his, then raising them high, to grind your rump over his arousal.

“Keep moving your hips like that, and you’ll find the answer soon.”

An inquisitive hand of yours reached in between John’s thighs. It didn’t take long, hardly a millisecond, to find what you’d been searching for.

The mass in your palm was overwhelmingly large and thick. You felt your throat go dry when the weight of John’s bulge was heavy enough to unfurl itself within his suit, across his right thigh, and reach to a point of hardness where one hand of yours found it impossible to tame it alone.

You stroked the enormous print, focusing on the apparent head with your thumb, and then squeezed. Hard.

“Fuck, (M/N). Upstairs, now.”

As you sat on your knees, the scent of arousal filled your nostril. There was something enthralling about this position, being bare and naked on the carpet, while you were looking up at John’s hard cock through your lashes. He was already monstrous enough, but the angle from below provided insight just exactly how jaw-dropping his size was.

“I’m sorry I doubted you, Captain. What would you like in exchange?” Bracing your hands on his strong calves, you nuzzled the underside of his erection. You sucked in a breath at the smell of it. The heat and musk built from a long day of work, finally released out into the air, tickled your nose pleasantly and made your mouth water. “‘Three musketeers?’ ‘Butterfingers?’ ‘Hershey’s?’” You slapped his heavy cock over your lips, mouthing over the tender spots of his glans.

He had his arms behind his head, exhaling slow and steady, sporting an expression that told you he was the luckiest man alive, not that you needed that affirmation, as you held his cock tight around the base and suckled at the plump, pink tip. “How about ‘(M/N)’s Pieces?’ Yeah? Is that up for grabs?”

You could feel his hairy thighs tense up when you taunted him with the tiniest licks over his heavy, full balls. It was amusing, watching his cock jolt over your face—like they were envious of such half-hearted actions.

“You mean, the candy that would make a kind and handsome dad, such as yourself, turn into a ferocious beast of a man?” Holding John’s lustful gaze, you took a long and slow lick at the underside of his shaft, the girth of it thicker than the width of your tongue.

You felt complacent when he let out a hoarse moan upon pressing your nose deep into his cock-slit, inhaling deep. “Yeah, that one…”

You traced the prominent veins on his cock with your tongue—thick, pumping blood vessels that made him throb over your mouth with rage. “You know, you’d have to work really hard…” Between fondling and suckling his full sack into your mouth, you stroked his shaft and muttered, “To break me into pieces.”

It was difficult enough to maintain some semblance of order, but the taste of John’s sweat, blooming delicately and stimulating your appetite like an hors d’oeuvre, made you nearly submit as your knees felt inclined to spread wider, and wider, letting you enjoy your last moments before you’d yield.

You hoped you were distracting John enough, being caught in the middle of humping the air and fucking yourself back on some imaginary dick would’ve gave him the upper hand.

“I do—oh, fuck…” He choked back on a moan, the heat of your mouth as you suddenly slid his cock inside melted the composure off his face. His thick shaft strained, stretching your wet mouth uncomfortably. The chances of you taking all of John inside of your mouth was slim to none. You’d done this so many times, tried everything, from practicing with a dildo to enduring the tears welling, to get him down your throat, but your body wouldn’t give in—it simply couldn’t.

He was much too big for your own good.

John was large. Tall. Always has been, and always will be. His muscular legs were open wide, his face was slack-jawed from your tantalizing tongue, and even though you could barely fit half of his cock inside of your mouth, you were still in control.

You pulled him out with a gasp, nearly choking back on the spit pooled in the back of your mouth, and sniffled. “You do? You sure about that?” There was no doubt that the inevitable was going to happen. Gagging on John’s large cock was a given, but it was the messiness of it all, that made your cock leak. “I don’t think you can handle it.”

His cock was coated thick and heavy in a glorious sheen of spit, translucent pearls shining on the veiny skin. One hand was massaging his balls while the other was adamant in slicking him up until the weight of your own saliva was enough to weigh him down.

You temporarily freed John from your fist to slap his wet and large cock around. It was delectable, watching his giant tool swing from the impact of your smacks. Webs of thick spit occasionally flung to your face, as if his dick was fighting back against your horrendous taunts, but all you needed to do was tame it with your mouth again, and the reign on John’s body resumed.

“I am, and I can…” John grunted, his abdominal muscles flexing. You could see his toes curling into the carpet at the corner of your eye, swirling your tongue over the swollen pink head while the rest of his monster cock was being man-handled by your quick hand, tightly grasping to keep your hand from slipping.

“You absolutely sure?” Your words turned him on, his cock maddening in course as it spat out drips of pre-cum from the squeezing grip you had around his shaft.

The substance wouldn’t stance a chance against your urges, you eagerly went on to lap it up, forcing more of the viscous fluid to come out with competitive strokes to aid.

“I’m sure—baby, come on, enough—“ He struggled to contain his moans, arching his hip forward to push himself further into your mouth, but you wouldn’t have it. Instead, you reeled yourself back, slapping his cock once again as punishment, and remained at tip’s length.

You could tell he was getting frustrated, you knew of his mannerisms for years now. For God’s sake, you were his husband. His jaw tightened and his eyes leered down at you with sudden alert—like a silent warning. He exhaled sharply as if the draft in the room had infected his strong body with frostbite.

Nonetheless, you continued entertaining yourself, knowing the consequences—anticipating them, rather.

You tongued the urethra of his dick, welcoming every drop with greedy sucks, all while you hadn’t left John out of your sight for a single second. You could make John orgasm right then, you were so sure of it.

“You really, really, really sure?” Your smile was smug, feigning innocence while you mouthed on his thick piece of meat, stroking yourself to the copious amount of pre-cum leaking from his tip.

John’s gaze immediately darkened.

He loved watching you slap his dick across your face. He loved being in awe at his own size, especially when you’d shower him in praises as you compared his big cock to your forearm.

I’m going to break my ass taking you, John. Holy fuck…

He loved having his dick sucked, point blank period. How sloppy it could get, how nice his cock felt when it was being slimed up with such pent-up arousal. You were confident that you were over-delivering in that department too because the lower half of your face was dripping in your own saliva.

“What’s the matter, big man? You don’t want to fuck me anymore? Break me into pieces like you originally wanted to? Think you won’t satisfy me enough?” You pursed your lips over the plump head, provoking John by the sudden languid pace of your wrist. “Answer me,” You slapped his large cock again, your own erection throbbing from watching John grit his teeth in sudden refusal to give in.

“Are you sure or not? Huh? Answer me,” John sucked in his teeth every time you smacked his cock, and you proceeded to hound him harder, narrowing your tone. “Your cock’s useless. Can’t satisfy me. Can’t satisfy a fucking flashlight with how big it is.”

“Ghoul got your tongue, or what?” You smacked his cock hard. “Your big fucking cock—” His cock swung. “—seems to be doing—” Pulsed in a fit of pique. “the speaking for y—“

A harsh slap cut your taunts short.

You let out a gasp, your hand instantly coming up to hold your cheek and tranquilize the stinging pain. Shock crossed your face, bewildered as though you hadn’t been anticipating his catharsis the entire time.

“Enough,” He pulled you up by the jaw to meet your lips hungrily, his large hands clamped tight around your neck like you were fresh carp farmed for hatchery. “You’re really testing me today, aren’t you?”

The kiss was searing, your lips volunteering themselves to be bitten and sucked to be forgiven upon the increasing pressure around your throat. Maybe you were still coming to terms with the slap, but it swallowed you whole nonetheless, rendering you incapable of producing a single coherent thought.

You whimpered softly, his resentment was beyond recall as his hands remained solid, one thumb looming over the center of your throat, “Hit me again—“

He stabilized you with one hand around your throat, squeezing tight, and let his other hand swing across your cheek, harder than previously.

“F-fuck!” You could feel your cheek blooming with heat, stinging as if a million of rose thorns had prickled your skin to poison you with its color, and you couldn’t have asked for more.

It was too good. John’s large hand imprinted hot on your face, and it felt too fucking good. You were branded, an extension to the wedding band around your finger, a reminder of your undying love for him.

“Get on the fucking bed,” John growled, tugging on your lower lip with his teeth, slow yet imposing, before sending you away with a gentle kiss on your stricken cheek, a much-needed relief you had been silently clamoring for.

The metal clanking behind you sounded like church bells, but you resisted the temptation of looking over your shoulder, fearing that whatever John had in mind, he’d strip it away upon your lack of diligence. You crawled onto the bed on all fours and anticipated nervously

At long last, you felt your royal throne crumble into a million pieces.

You suppressed an urge to swear. The heat emanating from a strip of leather when he struck your ass was bartered directly with the devil himself. Another peep out of you, and John would’ve banished you to hell to pay your dues to the fallen angel.

“It was cute, I have to admit…” Your body jolted when John muttered near your hear. In the time his hand was soothing your whipped ass cheeks, the other had a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back for you to look at him. “Seeing you think you had control over me, even going as far as to humiliate me and my cock—did that make you happy? Huh?”

“I-I don’t know—“ You struggled to find the words, your mouth parting instead to lean in for a kiss in hopes to distract him, but John quickly caught on. He knew you, very well in fact, yanking your head back harder to coax a gasp out of you. As John had expected, he then pushed a thick wad of spit into your mouth before pulling you by the back of your neck into your original position.

You shuddered, smacking your lips at the arousing taste of John’s saliva spreading in your mouth. You savored him, wanted John to last forever on your tongue. You didn’t want to swallow. You wanted to simply let his spit pool with your own and mix into the perfect elixir that would work perfectly as a muscle relaxant, something that would greatly aid you in taking John’s cock—knowing the likelihood that he wouldn’t be easing up anytime soon.

“Answer me.” Your eyes widened in a silent plea when John taunted you with the belt in his hand. Before you could moan out so much of a beg, the leather in John’s hand came down swinging at your buttocks and seemingly cut through flesh. In turn, your four limbs gave out from the electrifying bolts of pain, making you collapse onto your stomach from the arresting strength of John’s resentment as you cried out in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck! F-fuck, fuck, fuck…!” You writhed in bittersweet glory, choking back on swears and instead, what came out were delicious straggled sounds that made John’s cock uncontrollably pulse. Your hands roamed the bedsheets, clawing at the silk material in search for a physical outlet to release the tension in your body. “I-I’m s-sorry—“

His cock was near you, lubed up in a thick, alluring sheen. Maybe John wouldn’t mind if you held him. Plead for him to stop with lazy, but abiding stroke. You bit your lips and stretched over to grab him.

He lifted your head again for you to face him. You sniffled, letting the tears roll down your flushed face before another wad of spit would accompany them in their journey. “You’re not answering my question. Were you happy?”

Upon barely brushing your fingers over the head of his cock, you reeled yourself back when the belt came striking down on your ass again, breaking skin as repercussions to your hedonistic behavior. Your legs came up to kick back at the air violently, grinding out the pain by digging your swollen cock into the bed.

You had enough.

You needed John.

Now.

“Y-yes! I was fucking happy! Watching your large cock swing like that. Degrading you to the point where you were too ashamed to answer me. Abusing your pathetic tool because it’s too immersed in its own girth to know that I actually despise your cock. Should’ve seen the look on your handsome face—god, I could’ve came right there. All because I was in control. You fucking let me, you fucking delusional self-obsessed cuck—”

At breakneck speed, John curtailed you of your vigorous speech by shoving your face into a pillow, mounting on top of you with one foot pressing hard to the back of your head, and grunted, “How do you like me now?” Pushing all of his body weight to vault you out of an escape route, you felt his cockhead suddenly breach your hole.

“Holy—shit!” You sobbed at the discomfort, kicking your legs back as John pushed more of his large cock further in, adding onto the painful stretch of your unsuspecting hole. You felt his a palm on your ass, spreading one cheek open to aid the slide. “Fucking, more—Johnny! More, more, more—“

“There we fucking go, fuck. Look at that hole. Fucking swollen around me, and I’m only halfway in,” he licked his lips, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm as he loosened your raw hole with shallow thrusts, his cock pushing deeper at every rut.

Your body’s natural reaction was to propel yourself up for some air, but after the first turn, John instantly took both of your wrists and bound them behind your back, your back muscles squeezing in effect. When you pushed your ass out, his foot pressed harder like it had the power to bury you six feet under if John had no concept of restraint.

It was painful, all of this, your neck was hurting, but especially your hole, his unrelenting thrusts—but, be that as it may, you were so happy that you didn’t have to remind John to leave you unprepared. Otherwise, the pleasure of John’s large cock gutting you raw wouldn’t have overstimulated you, not to this profundity. Your wriggles only made John hold onto your wrists tighter, his heel press deep into your nape, you were sure it would be bruised by the next morning.

You felt so used, your body at his disposal. Your cock was painfully rubbing between your pelvis and the bed from the impact of his strong thrusts, but you were leaking and throbbing nonetheless, staining the sheets from the thrill of it all—of being John’s personal fuck-toy.

“Feels fucking incredible. Shit, baby—“ His cock was digging into you like an excavator, slow in its journey, but you could feel him sowing excitement deep into you, nearing the crown of your prostate with the grind of his hips. You clenched tight, gripping your aching walls around the girth to provide John an incentive to go at you harder.

Not loose enough.

He had to fuck you open.

And you were desperate.

The perks to being married was that pleasuring one another came second nature to both parties. Luckily, you led a charmed life, and John was here to bestow upon you your weekly demands.

He released his foot on you, but you groaned when he pressed his remaining weight on top of your writhing body. “If you’re good…” John panted hot on your shoulders, accompanying the abruptly slow roll of his hips with chaste kisses to the shell of your ear and the moist parts of your neck. “Maybe I’ll let you play with your cock.”

“Please…” You flexed your toes into the sheets when John nearly pulled himself out, thankfully leaving only the swollen tip in.

“No, I had a change of heart. Maybe, I’ll let you jack off until you explode all over your sweaty body,” you pushed your ass back to slide more of him in, but a hard smack to your ass nipped your oscillation in the bud. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’ll be good—promise…” you looked over your shoulder at John with glistening eyes and a sniffle, finding yourself frowning when he pulled himself completely out, and insisted on rubbing his wet cockhead over your raw, blossomed pucker.

“See? This is how it’s supposed to be—the natural order between you and I,” he sighed, giving into your desperation, and pulled you in for a sweet, lingering kiss after releasing your hands. A sigh of relief, you braced yourself half-way up with an elbow, the other hand reaching back to rest on John’s nape, and locked his lips deeply into yours, pacified by the soft fur of his beard on your chin.

His tongue messily swiped over yours as you both had intended to explore each other’s mouths. You two met in the middle, bridging each other’s spit from one mouth to the other. When a dribble of drool dared to leak from the corner of your mouth, John had incredible foresight and was already lapping it up before it could trail to the bottom of your chin.

“Say you love my cock…” John whispered, swaddling you into his arms from behind and carefully maneuvering your body on top of him as he switched positions, reclining himself onto his back.

Interlacing his legs with yours, John then pushed them apart with the spread of his knees, twisting his ankles over your own to lock you in place. He angled his hips to slide his dick over your taint, letting you wallow in the sight of his plump tool nearly curve over your throbbing erection.

“I love your cock…” You muttered softly, nuzzling the side of his kempt beard. The smell of bourbon vanilla lingered delightfully in your nostrils as you watched him from the corner of your eye, drooling when you caught a glance of his large cock spit thick drips of pre-cum over your balls.

It was fruitless to even try to attempt to close your legs, John’s calves overpowered your own by tenfold. In spite of your wish, John compensated by reaching below, trailing his warm hand over your ribs and stomach in passing, and wrapped his hand around your cock, slowly pumping.

“Say, you’ll be a good boy for me…” Brushing your hair back, John claimed a hold over the back of your head, raising his left arm to welcome your face into his armpit.

You moaned at the warm, musky odor. The thick hairs reeked of sweat. Salty and slightly spicy in your nostrils, yet you couldn’t help but inhale for more, breathing in the natural pheromones and making your cock dribble out ample amounts of pre-cum when the aroma of John’s masculine scent fogged your passing judgement, and had you licking at his pit.

John cradled the back of your head, quickening the strokes on your cock seemingly as a token of his appreciation while you buried your face in the bush of dark hairs, nuzzling and licking long stripes over the plane. It was addicting, yet embarrassingly filthy as it registered how easily John had reign over your freewill. Your spit gathered in the center of John’s armpit, where the hairs were grown the thickest. They were beads of your devotion, and you couldn’t have felt prouder marking your territory.

Your mouth watered and tingled at the ripe taste lasting on your tongue, then, when John suddenly tipped your chin up and spat inside of your mouth—you felt like you were in heaven, like your body wanted to crumble in front of him from the intimacy of it all.

He captured your lips again, and you muttered softly, “I’ll be a good boy…” You watched him with lustful eyes, anticipating his next move. His right hand had stopped stroking your cock in favor of massaging your tight balls, making you squirm with desire. When his other hand released his hold over the back of your head to toy with your perky nipples, the simultaneous pleasure carried a hoarse tune of desperation out from your throat.

“You’ll be daddy’s good boy?” He nuzzled your ear, kissing the shell of it.

“I’ll be whatever daddy wants me to be,” you slowly rolled your hips when you could feel John line his cock over your hole, lubing your pucker with the thick fluid leaking from the crown.

“And you want daddy’s big cock?” He rested one hand on each thigh respectively, spreading your legs farther by the aid of his knees.  “I’m aching inside…” Your cock twitched upon feeling so completely vulnerable and bare for him.

“Then, let’s turn that ache into pleasure, shall we?”

That was all it took. A heartbeat, a single push of John’s hips, one strong stroke, and he claimed his territory. It was beautiful. Your silky flesh fluttered and clenched on his cock, and your eyes popped open wide when he slammed upward.

John ripped a glorious moan out of you. Your neck strained with beautiful veins as your attempts to bite them back were powerless in comparison to the spark of passion in John’s hips. You could see the very moment the fire flared in John’s eyes, his fingers gripping a mound of your thighs until they had turned white.

You were filled to the root, uncomfortably-so as John’s biceps bulged with strong veins on account of the bend of your legs. He capsized them, holding them back at the crook while he deliciously hollowed your hole deep with his monster cock, your feet dangling in the air from the pure drive.

It was a reminder. That you were his. That you were his only. Nobody could ever own you like he owned you now. John made sure those thoughts wouldn’t dissipate by making sure you felt every inch of his plump, meaty cock burrow in and out of you. John was adamant in making this more than a memory. He wanted you to wake up and sleep thinking about him. Thinking about his cock. Thinking about how brutally stretched you felt right now, and that you didn’t mind at all—because it was John, your loving husband. He would do anything for you, and right now, he was living up to his many vows of loving you fiercely, of completing you, of loving you forever and every day.

“T-too much, John—“ It wasn’t, you were lying—it was fucking perfect, but god, did you love making your husband feel powerful. You loved feeding his cock with arousal, feeling him throb harder while he pummeled himself faster into you at your spoken truth. “Cock’s too big—“

“I’ll make a cunt out of you, wear out your tight little hole until it’s leaking like one,” He growled. You cried out from unabashed lust, holding your legs back to expose yourself further, and John set the animal free at the depiction. He held your waist, dragging your unsullied hole through his hardness until only the tip was left before connecting the drop of your weight with a powerful thrust, punching into your prostrate.

“That’s what you are, right? My good little cunt? Just a good boy who can do nothing right, but take my large cock.” John gutted loud moans out of you, his gaze locked on your wrecked expression because watching you take his cock was equally as gratifying as sinking himself of you, down to the root. “Say it. Say you want daddy to make a cunt out of you.”

You were falling in love with this animalistic side of John. With the sensations he was supplying and overwhelming you with. Your cock was sure to agree, throttling as if there was a phantom hand stroking its shaft.

“I want—a fucking cunt. Want daddy to make a cunt out of my hole, please—“ You felt deviant, like those words shouldn’t have left your mouth, but it was all the worthwhile because John kissed you hard on the mouth, groaning.

Up to the hilt, John thrusted into faster—harder as you choked back on a moan and nearly gagged on his tongue. “I’m going to fill you up with so much of my cum, you’d be leaking for days.”

“Oh, God—“ You gritted your teeth, exhaling loud and hard because it was coming. Your stomach clenched and your balls tightened without the need of your hand.

“You’d be lucky to walk tomorrow, (M/N). You’d need my help walking you down the stairs. Even then, I wouldn’t be so sure if we’d make it to the floor. Knowing the prospect, I’d just take you right then and there, on the fucking stairwell, making your ass gape once again.”

“John, s-stop—I’m going to—“ Your eyes rolled back until John could only see whites. His words supplied you with the mental picture of the filthy smut coming out of his mouth. It came to you naturally—the smile on your face. You were broken in your state of reverie, dazed by the fantasy of taking John’s cock anywhere and anytime he pleased. Using you however his mind and body desired like he was now. Balls-slapping against your taint, sweat sticking your body to one another, pants and groans loud in your ear, the air thickening with the act of pure lust, pounding into you with no intention in letting you recover your breath. “S-stop, fucking coming—“

“Look at me,” John ordered you, panting.

Your eyes were heavy when you looked up, mere slits from the weight of your desires, heavily drugged by John’s poisoning rapture on your wrecked body. You pressed a smile against his mouth, making no attempt to kiss him, but to simply be in close proximity, pressing his nose against yours. He grappled at your hips, digging your insides with the weight of his large cock, piercing into prostate harder and faster as he took a bargain on your orgasm coming to a near.

You were stunned, the gutting you were enduring from John hitting you like a ton of bricks. You emptied your throat of sounds, the inner walls dry and scratched like the desert. All you managed for John was vigilant whimpers, any more forewarnings were fallen on deaf ears as you’d been knocked into a trance that melted your speech into meek garbles of incoherency.

It only took a few more seconds before your brain rewired itself and had your body floundering within John’s loving embrace, alerting you awake. With the help of John’s cock continuously assaulting deep at your prostate, you felt your body tense up, your hole clenching around pillar John’s pistoning staff to stop him, but he prevailed, breaching through the resistance, and slammed hard into your prostate once more, splitting your ass open and knocking the orgasm out of you.

John held your gaze, marveling over the ecstasy in your otherwise blown-out expression. His brows furrowed in utter fascination as your mouth parted open, only for your moans to adhere to your throat instead, blowing your load in agonizing silence. Thick ropes spurted powerfully out of your throbbing cock, splattering messily over your chest. With the buck of your hips, you graced your face with your cum-shots, additionally provoked as John used the strength of his heels to lift himself to meet you at an elevated height, fucking the cum out of you.

The sound that came out of you was guttural, transporting you into another dimension where you were caught in a whirlpool of toe-curling sensations. Rubbing a hand over your stomach, he could feel it sink in as you liberated yourself from your high, uncontrollably spilling over your pelvis in midst. Yet, despite your dazed state, your eyes never left his, provoking him to come inside of you with desperate, but gentle murmurs on his lips, as well as the addition of the ring of muscle spasming around his shaft.

“Fill my cunt up, make me fucking leak…” You showered his lips in soft whispers, finally releasing your grasp on your legs to stroke at his cheek. Squeezing, caressing, urging—for him to seal your hole.

On the drop of your legs, you squeezed them close together until your knees touched, confining his shaft between the clamp of your inner walls. You clenched hard when he was buried to the root, foiling the pace of his hips, and let your swollen insides bring him closer.

“Oh… shit…” John’s eyes rolled back, and finally spilled with a shudder.

His large cock jerked deep inside of you, and soon, you felt his warm seed fill you to the brim. You felt your bond with John transcend, higher, beyond space and time, with every pulse of his thick veins pumping cum deep into you.

Upon capturing John’s lips for a kiss, he circled his hips, making you moan languidly into his mouth. You swallowed every breath of his, swirling your hips against his own cautious thrusts in retaliation, gratified by the warm, thick coating of cum your insides were receiving, soothing your spellbound hole and stirring his connection to you.

“Didn’t hurt you too bad? Think I slapped you too hard.” John asked softly, gently rubbing a palm over your stricken cheek. You could see guilt in his expression as he brought you closer to claim your lips The moment was soft, the complete opposite of previous events, silent apologies to your mouth as John’s mouth was lingering, yet electrifying all at the same time as he sucked on your lower lip.

“You. Were. Perfect.” You warded off the guilt with a smooch after word, rubbing his chest. “I asked for it, you know that. It was fun, wasn’t it? Something different to spice up the bedroom.”

“Hm…” He laughed at your sudden eagerness, as if you hadn’t been debilitated from his cock moments prior. Tucking one arm behind his head, his other hand idly began petting at your head. He retired for the night with the shut of his eyes, contemplating on their newfound kink. “Let’s see how I feel when you’re the one slapping me next time. Then we can judge it accordingly.”

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm.” “I’m pulling out the dumbbells. Too late to go back on your word now, John.”

“Wait, now that you—“

“Not a single word, or I’m making you call me ‘Doctor’ as an early punishment.”

“We both know how this will turn out. I just need to pull my dick out, and you’ll be back onto your knees, no matter how much you try to resist.”

“I… plead the fifth?”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#john krasinski x male reader #john krasinski x reader #john krasinski x you #john krasinski x m!reader #john krasinski imagine #john krasinski smut #male reader #x male reader #x reader #m!reader #male reader insert #male reader smut #x you #x you smut #x reader smut #reader insert #nou.fics

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vanteguccir · 19 days ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　MIGRAINE

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Spencer has suffered from headaches since his teenage years, but nothing like the one he's experiencing now. When a bad migraine decides to hit him during his work time, Y/N is right there to help him, just like she promised she always would.

WARNING: Somewhere between ep 11 and 12 from season 6 | Migraine, pain, throwing up, Spencer being "babied" and taken care of (just like it should've happened when he had his migraines).

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The first time Spencer Reid experienced a migraine, he was sixteen years old. At the time, he had chalked it up to stress. It wasn’t unusual for him to push his mind and body to the limit; classes by day, independent studies by night, and taking care of his mom full-time.

But, like most things in his life, Spencer adapted. He found ways to manage the episodes, learning which triggers to avoid. Over time, the migraines became something he lived with. He rarely talked about them; they felt too personal, too vulnerable. And vulnerability wasn’t something he had been taught to show, not in childhood and certainly not in his line of work now.

Since joining the FBI, the migraines have remained manageable. Sure, the stress of chasing unsubs and staring at evidence under glaring lights could sometimes bring on a headache, but they were rare enough that he didn’t worry. Until today.

The pain started as a faint pressure, a dull throb behind his eyes as soon as he woke this morning with a call from Hotch, Y/N's warm body against his own doing nothing to ease it, but he had dismissed it, thinking it was just lack of sleep since they've just got back from a case in New Mexico.

Y/N's eyes were sure to catch it all, how his shoulders were more hunched, his steps just a touch slower, and the faint crease between his brows that seemed to just stay there. She knew his body language like the back of her hand; something was off.

But Y/N didn’t hover or prod. She knew Spencer’s rhythm, his boundaries, and she knew that he didn’t need her hovering or asking every ten minutes if he was okay - he hated that. She trusted Spencer to come to her if it became too much.

Instead, she slid a small glass of water and Spencer's usual medication across the counter to him, pairing it with a piece of toast slathered in butter and his first cup of coffee.

She didn’t say a word about it, only kissed his cheek softly as she leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper as she murmured "I love you", her lips lingering for a moment.

And Spencer was sure that her kiss would magically make him feel better in no time - silly him. By the time they arrived at the BAU, the ache had deepened, expanding until it felt as though his entire skull was caught in a strong fist.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, sitting at his desk, Spencer struggled to focus. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sending jolts of pain that spread down his neck and shoulders.

A sharp sensation had settled behind his left eye, making it impossible to fully open without a stabbing pain shooting through his head. He pressed his fingers to the sides of his head, attempting to massage away the discomfort, but it was futile.

A tingling sensation kept creeping along his arms, the nerves in his fingertips hypersensitive to the touch of his pen. Even the faint friction of his clothing against his skin felt unbearable, leaving him breathless. His limbs kept moving around in his chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make his muscles feel like they were ready to snap.

Across the bullpen, Morgan leaned casually against the edge of his own desk, glancing momentarily at Spencer while talking with Ashley, a teasing smirk growing on his face as he noticed the younger's pace while flipping pages - it wasn't slow, but surely slower than 'Spencer's normal'.

"Looks like someone’s slower than usual today." Morgan called, his tone lighthearted as he hoped to pull Spencer into their usual playful demeanor.

But Spencer didn’t respond - which wasn't news when the genius was concentrated, squinting his eyes at the too bright lights above him, sending harsh glares on his desk that seemed to burn straight into his brain.

He tried to look up in a tentative of looking at Derek, but as soon as his eyes moved, his vision sparked with white flashes that momentarily blinded him, not noticing how Morgan's smirk faltered as he exchanged a concerned glance with Y/N across the room, who had been shooting Spencer glances for quite some time now.

Frustration started to bubble inside Spencer as the pages of the case file in front of him seemed to blurry even more when he moved his eyes back to it, the letters swimming across the paper as if they were mocking his attempts to work.

The sounds around him only seemed to make things worse. Across the bullpen, Prentiss's deep voice rose in conversation with JJ, sharp and too loud for his own taste. The gentle tapping of Ashley's keyboard sounded like a woodpecker drilling into his ears. The steady rustling of paper, the faint squeak of wheels on rolling chairs, even the scratch of Y/N’s pen on paper, it all seemed to close around him, leaving him struggling to breathe. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in an effort to keep himself from snapping.

But the worst part was the impossibility of concentrating - Spencer’s mind was usually his greatest ally, a place where he could retreat and find order even in chaos.

He stared at the case file in front of him, the report on Andrew Jacobs, a killer who had brutally murdered several women, including his own wife. Spencer knew the details of the case intimately, had memorized every little thing, every piece of evidence. But now, as he tried to write his report, the words wouldn’t come.

His pen hovered over the page, trembling slightly in his hand as the muscles in his fingers twitched. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, determined to start, but his mind was blank. No, worse than blank, it was fractured.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to write a sentence.

Andrew Jacobs exhibited narcissistic tendencies, as evidenced by-

The thought dissolved as another burst of pain shattered his focus. The rest of the sentence was lost, replaced by another white flash. His hand tightened around the pen, and he nearly snapped it in half as he exhaled a shaky breath.

He tried again.

Jacobs selected victims that resembled-

The throb in his temples flared, and he dropped the pen, his hand too weak to hold it.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to shut out the light, the noise, the overwhelming sensations. He hunched over his desk, his breathing shallow and labored, trying to ride it out without drawing attention to himself - well, more.

Maybe caffeine would help. It had worked before, maybe inconsistently. But it was better than nothing.

Pushing back his chair, Spencer stood, determined to exterminate his pain. But the pace in which he did it sent a wave of vertigo crashing over him, the room tilting precariously to one side.

His vision narrowed as he stumbled, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the desk, but his fingers missed the mark. His foot caught on the leg of his chair, and he tripped forward, nearly knocking over a stack of case files in the process.

Lucky him.

"Spence!" Y/N’s voice cut through the cloud of his disorientation, filled with concern.

Before he could even process what was happening, her hands were on him, one steadying him by his biceps, the other catching the stack of papers before they could scatter across the bullpen.

Spencer forced a quick, shaky smile, hoping it would be enough to stop her worry.

"Sorry." He said, his voice as steady as possible. The effort to sound okay only made the pounding in his head worse, and he winced slightly as he tucked a very short lock of hair behind his ear - still used to having it longer. "I'm okay. I just tripped."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she studied him. Her hand lingered on his arm, her grip gentle but firm, as if she was afraid he might fall again.

"Spence, are you sure? You don’t look-"

"I’m fine!" Spencer cut her off, his voice a touch too loud, earning a questioning glance from Prentiss across the room. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. "I just need a refill." He added, holding up his empty coffee mug as if it were some sort of shield. "Do you need one? I can get you it if you want!"

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before stepping out of her grasp and making a beeline for the coffee station. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t turn back.

Reaching the coffee maker, Spencer set his mug down with trembling hands, the slight clink of ceramic against metal sounding impossibly loud to his hypersensitive ears. He focused on the simple motions of pouring the coffee, hoping the familiarity of the task would anchor him.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee hit him, and his stomach churned in response. He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea but pressed on, filling the mug to the brim.

The first sip burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He gulped it down, the heat spreading through his chest like liquid desperation. Maybe the caffeine would kick in quickly, stopping the edges of the pain enough for him to concentrate.

But as he drained the mug, the room began to spin again. A nauseating dizziness wrapped itself around him, pulling his vision into darkness for a moment too long. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as he fought to stay up.

His stomach churned violently now, and his head felt like it was splitting apart. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way, and he knew he couldn’t keep standing. He needed to sit down. Now.

Spencer scanned the room for the nearest chair. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he half-stumbled toward the breakroom table, collapsing into a chair before his legs could betray him entirely. He set the empty coffee mug down on the table with shaking hands - almost missing it - and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The sound of Spencer’s body collapsing against the chair reverberated through the bullpen like a thunderclap. Heads turned instinctively toward the breakroom, curiosity quickly giving way to concern when the sound was followed by a groan. A deep, guttural groan of pain that struck Y/N.

She knew that sound.

Her head snapped up, her pen clattering onto her desk, and in an instant, she was on her feet, moving toward it with determination.

"Y/N?" JJ's voice called after her, tinged with confusion, but she ignored her.

As she entered the room, the sight before her made her heart squeeze. Spencer was slumped in one of the chairs, his body hunched forward, his arms clutching his stomach. His hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his shirt was rumpled, the fabric pulled and creased as if he’d been tugging at it in desperation to rid himself of the sensation of it against his clammy skin. Sweat dripped from his temples, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half-closed as though the effort of keeping them open was too much.

"Spence?" She whispered, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly near his, afraid to make things worse but desperate to comfort him.

"Hey, what’s wrong? What are you feeling?" She asked, her tone filled with concern. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any clue, but the only response she received was a low, pitiful whimper.

The sound broke her heart.

Before she could press him further, Spencer’s body stiffened, his face contorting as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. His stomach grumbled violently, and he gagged, a sharp, involuntary sound that echoed through the room.

"Oh my-!" Y/N gasped, realizing what was happening just as he tried to stand, his weak limbs shaking under his own weight.

He only managed to rise an inch before his knees buckled, sending him crashing back into the chair. His hand flew to his mouth as another gag wracked his body, his face twisting with misery. The effort to move had only made things worse.

Y/N acted on instinct, her heart pounding as she spotted the small trash bin tucked beneath the desk behind him. She grabbed it quickly, her movements fast, and positioned it under him just in time.

Spencer bent forward, his body heaving as he retched violently into the bin. His stomach emptied itself in painful spasms, each cough leaving him weaker. One of Y/N's hands cradled his shoulder to keep him from falling to the ground, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly. "I’m right here. Just let it all out. You’re going to be okay."

Her fingers traveled from his back to the back of his head, intertwining through his damp hair, tucking the short strands behind his ears as she continued to whisper reassurances. The sound of her voice was low and soft, grounding him.

Outside the breakroom, Morgan and Prentiss had gathered by the coffee station near the door, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the muffled sounds of gagging reached their ears. Morgan had been the first to step forward, concern taking over his face, but Emily stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Give them a second." She said quietly.

Inside, Spencer’s nausea began to ease, though his body still trembled, probably because of exhaustion. Y/N kept knelt by his side, her hands never once leaving him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

When he finally stopped, Spencer sagged against the chair, his face pale as a ghost, and his breathing shallow and uneven. Y/N quickly took off her jacket, gently wiping his mouth and chin before brushing the hair from his face again, creating a mental note to throw her clothing inside her washing machine as soon as they got home.

"Y/N, you don’t have to do this-" Spencer started, his voice weak but laced with sincerity as he tried to lift his head and meet her gaze, trying to push her jacket away with his hand.

Y/N didn’t let him finish, shaking her head.

"You make it seem like taking care of you is hard work." She cut him off with a soft smile, her free hand slipping over his lifted one, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into his knuckles, lowering them.

Spencer's eyes darted away, his cheeks coloring faintly in embarrassment. He hated that she was seeing him like that - so sick and so not him.

"But taking care of you." She continued, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh, warm and grounding. "Is the easiest thing in the world."

Spencer hummed softly in response, the sound noncommittal but tinged with gratitude.

"Now." She said, her eyes searching his as she lowered her head to his high, searching for his eyes. "What’s going on?"

Spencer shook his head weakly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was too drained and too overwhelmed to explain the relentless storm of pain that had consumed him in such a small period of time.

Y/N exhaled softly, her worry deepening as she took in his refusal to answer. She glanced over her shoulder, debating whether to call for Hotch or JJ.

"Okay." She said gently, leaning closer so he could hear her. "You don’t have to talk right now. Just breathe. I’m here."

The smell of vomit began to permeate the room, clinging to the air in a way that would have turned most stomachs. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She’d seen and smelled worse in her years with the BAU. Compared to that, a little puke was nothing.

"My head..." Spencer’s voice cracked as he whimpered several minutes later of silence, his words barely audible as his hands flew to his face, fingers pressing harshly against his eyes.

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she instinctively reached for his wrists, her hands gently tugging his away from his head. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and glassy, pain etched into every line of his expression.

"Oh, honey." She cooed softly, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. "It’s your migraine again, isn’t it?"

A faint, almost imperceptible nod was all he managed.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" She asked, her voice gentle. "You should’ve said something before we even left your apartment this morning."

He shook his head weakly, as if the mere thought of explaining himself was too much effort.

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing over his temple in a soothing motion.

"Alright." She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We’re going home, okay?" She paused for a beat, watching him closely. "Can you stand?"

Spencer didn’t respond right away. He stayed hunched over, breathing unevenly, his shoulders trembling slightly as if he was waiting for his body to answer for himself. Finally, after a long moment, he whispered.

"I don't think I can. I’m dizzy... really dizzy."

Y/N’s expression softened even further.

"That’s okay." She assured gently, her hand rubbing slow, comforting circles across his back. "There’s no rush, Spence. We’ll wait until you feel ready, alright?"

He didn’t answer, but the slight relaxation of his posture told her he’d heard. She stayed by his side, her fingers trailing up to his shoulders, massaging the tension she could feel knotted beneath his crumpled shirt.

"I’m going to grab some water for you, okay?" After a moment, she whispered. "Just something to rinse your mouth and maybe settle your stomach." She began to shift, preparing to stand, but the soft wince that escaped Spencer stopped her in her tracks.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it found her arm, his grip gentle but insistent. His big puppy eyes met hers with a silent plea.

"Can you stay?" He asked lowly, his fingers loosening slightly but not letting go. "I don't need water."

He actually needed it, but it could wait. He preferred her by his side.

"Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere." She assured him, nodding. "I’m right here."

She settled back into her position beside him, her arm draped protectively over his shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, Y/N murmuring soft reassurances while Spencer focused on taking slow, measured breaths.

Eventually, he shifted slightly, his posture straightening just enough to signal he was ready.

"I think... I can stand now." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, throwing her jacket over her shoulder before her hands moved to support him as she stood, then gently helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, heavily leaning against her, his weight a little awkward against her frame, but she didn’t mind.

"Easy." She murmured, her voice calm. "One step at a time. I’ve got you."

With painstaking care, she guided him out of the breakroom, her focus entirely on him. Their teammates noticed them, their concerned gazes following, but Y/N didn’t pause to explain.

She led Spencer to the bathroom, not caring to turn on the lights, knowing that it would just make his situation worse. She eased him down onto the small bench near the sinks, watching as he sank into the seat with a groan, his head drooping forward again as though even holding it upright was too much.

"Hang tight." Y/N said softly, brushing her hand over his shoulder before turning toward the sink.

She turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold, and dampened a handful of paper towels. Returning to Spencer, she knelt in front of him and gently pressed the cool towels to his face and neck. He sighed faintly at the momentary relief, his body relaxing slightly under her care.

"There we go." She whispered, dabbing away the sweat on his brow and cheeks. "Just a little longer, alright?"

She smoothed down the rumpled fabric of his shirt, adjusting it to make him more comfortable, and ran her fingers through his hair, untangling the damp strands.

"You’re doing so well, honey." She murmured, her voice gentle. "We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.

Spencer blinked at her, his pain-clouded eyes filled with love. He didn’t have the will to speak, but the way he leaned into her touch said everything he couldn’t.

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb brushing lightly over his eyebrows before standing again.

"Come on." She said, offering her hands. "Let’s get you out of here."

Spencer took a deep breath, summoning what little strength he had left, and let her guide him to his feet. Y/N steadied Spencer as they exited the bathroom, her hand firmly wrapped around his right arm - it would be barely 20 steps to the elevators. She could handle that. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but commanding.

"Spence, close your eyes for me, okay? The lights out there are only going to make it worse. I’ll guide you, I promise."

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly and let his eyes flutter shut. Y/N adjusted her hold on him, now wrapping his waist, taking most of his weight as they slowly started their journey through the small path to the exit doors.

The hum of conversation in the office dimmed as curious eyes turned toward them. Y/N’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze sweeping the room, sending a hard glare to anyone who dared look too long or seemed close to say something, as if to warn don’t even think about it.

Her eyes found Morgan when they crossed the glass doors, who was watching them, his expression full of concern. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if she needed help. She gave him a curt nod, Spencer's body against hers starting to make her legs feel tired.

Morgan moved swiftly, stepping ahead to press the elevator button, ensuring the doors would be ready for them. Then, without hesitation, he came to Spencer’s other side.

"Let me take him." Morgan said gently, sliding his arm around Spencer’s shoulders to ease the weight off Y/N.

Spencer stiffened for a moment at the unfamiliar touch, but as Morgan steadied him, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Morgan’s strength, though his grip on Y/N’s hand remained loose, as if afraid to let her go entirely.

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, pretty boy." He said lightly, his tone warm and familiar. "How are you feeling down there?"

Spencer’s lips twitched faintly, a weak attempt at humor breaking through the haze of pain.

"Not so pretty right now." He murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Morgan chuckled softly, his hand giving Spencer’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Nah, you’re still prettier than most of us, even like this."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile at Morgan’s effort to keep the mood light. She adjusted her pace to match theirs as they finally reached the elevator. Morgan shifted slightly, ensuring Spencer stayed upright while Y/N pressed the button for the parking level - he really looked like he was about to pass out, and none of them wanted that.

The elevator ride was quiet save for Spencer’s shallow breaths and the occasional comforting words from Morgan. Y/N kept her hand on Spencer’s one, her fingers tracing calming circles above his skin.

Morgan’s grip was steady as he guided Spencer to the car after they reached the garage, Y/N walking ahead to open the passenger door.

"Alright, pretty boy, here we go." Morgan said softly, helping Spencer lower himself into the seat. Spencer groaned faintly as he settled in, head resting against the headrest.

Morgan straightened, closing the door carefully before turning to Y/N, who stood nearby with her keys clutched tightly in her hand.

"You good, Y/L/N? You sure you got this? I can follow you, help get him settled if you want."

Y/N shook her head.

"I’ve got it. Thank you, though. He’ll be okay. He just needs some rest and quiet." She offered Morgan a small but grateful smile. "Can you let Hotch know that we had to go earlier? I'm gonna text him later to explain it all better, but I know he will be worried."

Morgan studied her for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, you got it. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will." Y/N replied.

Morgan gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back, waiting until she climbed into the driver’s seat before heading back inside.

Once the door was closed, Y/N glanced over at Spencer. His breathing had already evened out, his face slack with sleep. A twinge of sadness pulled at her chest, wishing she could take all his pain away. She reached out gently, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead.

"You’ll feel better soon, baby." She whispered softly.

With the car in motion, Y/N quickly decided that taking him to her apartment would be the best option. Spencer’s place, though obviously comfortable, required climbing a flight of stairs, and there was no way she was going to risk him - or herself - having to deal with that. Her building had an elevator, and she knew he’d be just as safe there.

The drive was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine. Spencer didn’t stir, his head tilted slightly against the cool window as the motion of the car lulled him deeper into sleep. Y/N drove carefully, taking turns gently and avoiding any sharp stops, all the while stealing occasional glances at him to ensure he was okay.

When she finally pulled into her building’s parking garage, she cut the engine and let out a breath. Turning to Spencer, she hesitated for a moment before reaching over and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey." She said softly, giving him a gentle shake. "Hey, we’re here. I need you to wake up for me, okay?"

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly began to rouse. He squinted, grimacing as if the mere act of opening his eyes was too much.

"I know, I know." Y/N cooed softly, her voice full of understanding. "I'm sorry, baby. Just a little further, and you can sleep again. Come on, I’ve got you."

With sluggish movements, Spencer let Y/N unbuckle his seatbelt and help him out of the car, cringing slightly at how useless he felt and looked right now. His legs were unsteady, and she quickly wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the building’s entrance.

By the time they reached her apartment door, the sound of clicking nails on the floor echoed as Snow, her fluffy little Shih Tzu, padded over excitedly to greet them.

"Hey, Snow." Y/N whispered softly, nudging the dog back with her leg as Spencer swayed slightly beside her. "Not now, sweetie. Go lie down."

Snow, almost sensing the mood, tilted his head, nudging lovingly at Spencer's leg before trotting off to his bed in the corner of the living room.

"Alright, Spence. Let’s get you to bed, too." She guided him carefully into her bedroom.

Her free hand swiftly clicks her bedside lamp on, the soft glow of it casting warm light across the room.

Helping him sit on the edge of the bed, Y/N crouched down, quickly unlacing his Converse and slipping them off one at a time. Next, she loosened his tie and removed it, setting it gently on her dresser.

"Let’s get this off too, okay?" She murmured as she unbuttoned his crumpled white shirt.

Spencer didn’t resist, his limbs too uncoordinated to help her, only moving them to press his palms hard against his eyeballs again, but his action was quickly - and gently - stopped by Y/N.

Once the shirt was off, leaving him in just his pants and mismatched socks, she eased him back against the pillows, ignoring her mind telling her that he would be mad for 'going to bed in outside clothes, do you know how many germs there is in this?'

Spencer sighed softly as he sank into the mattress, the lines of tension in his face easing just a little. Y/N adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to his waist to keep him warm before brushing her fingers softly through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his face.

"There we go." She whispered to herself, her voice as soft as the dim light of the room.

Satisfied that he was settled, she straightened up and turned toward the door, ready to let him get the rest he desperately needed. But just as she took her first step, she felt a gentle tug on her wrist. The touch was weak, barely there, but enough to stop her.

Turning back, she saw Spencer’s hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, his long fingers barely curled. His eyes were still shut, but his brows were drawn together, his lips parting as he whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

"Can you... stay here? Just for a little more."

Y/N immediately sat in the mattress, by his hips side, her heart skipping a beat with his tone of voice.

"Of course, honey." She murmured, brushing the top of his fingers softly with her thumb. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."

Spencer let out a shaky breath. His grip on her wrist didn’t tighten. If anything, it was soft and almost reverent, like he was afraid to hold on too hard.

"Sorry." He murmured, his voice cracking, so quiet she almost missed it. "I’m... sorry for all of this. For making you deal with this."

The apology was so honest but so unnecessary that it sent a pang straight through Y/N’s chest. She leaned closer, resting her free hand gently on his cheek, her thumb tracing along his jaw.

"Spencer." She whispered, her tone firm but warm. "Don’t be stupid." She smiled faintly, noticing how his right eyebrow moved slightly up, the way it always did when he was feeling confused. "You’ve done this for me so many times. How many nights have you sat with me when I wasn’t feeling my best? How many times have you made me tea, or read to me until I fell asleep, or stayed up just to make sure I was okay? You never complained. Not once."

Spencer’s lips pressed into the faintest semblance of a smile, barely there but still enough to make Y/N’s heart squeeze. His hand slipped from her wrist to her own hand, his fingers curling around hers, warm despite the cool sweat still lingering on his skin.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice raw, like it was taking everything in him to get the words out. And maybe it was. Being transparent with his feelings was the hardest thing for Spencer - something he was trying to change since putting his eyes on Y/N for the very first time.

Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment as if to let him feel every bit of affection she carried for him.

"You don’t have to thank me." She murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "This is what love is, Spence. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I care about you."

Spencer’s grip on her hand stayed soft as his features relaxed again, the tension melting away. But just as she began to pull back, her tone shifted, still gentle but also firm.

"In the morning, we’re going to the doctor, okay?" She said softly, her tone sounding rhetorical, as if not waiting to hear his opinion.

Spencer’s brows knitted together, his lips parting in protest, but he didn’t immediately respond.

"Spence." She continued. "I know you’ve dealt with migraines since you were younger, but this? This wasn’t normal. It came out of nowhere, and it hit you so hard. You have to have it checked out."

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking.

"But... what if... what if it’s not just migraines?" His voice wavered, and he squeezed her hand tighter. "What if it’s... what if it’s something worse? What if it’s like my mom?" His voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, his breathing shaky. "I can’t... I can’t risk that. I can’t risk knowing that now. I can’t risk losing you because of it."

Before Y/N, Spencer had been trying to do every test and clinical exam that would show him how close to schizophrenia or Alzheimer's he could be - his college years had been full of them - but now he did his best to stay away from it. He just couldn't risk it.

Y/N’s face fell at his words, and the fear evident in his expression. She cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at her, even if his eyes fluttered open for only a moment.

"Spence." She said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. "You’re not going to lose me. Ever. Do you hear me? Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this."

He closed his eyes again, his features crumpling as he absorbed her words. He wanted to believe - he needed to - but the example he had from his father had been everything but perfect.

"Don't keep worrying your head with this. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Right now, I need you to rest. Just rest."

"I love you." He murmured, his voice softening. "So much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

"I love you more." She whispered back, smiling softly, brushing her fingers through his hair one last time before pulling back. "Get some sleep." She said gently.

This time, he didn’t protest as she stood and stepped toward the door. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension of the day began to melt away. Snow trotted up to her, tail wagging gently as if offering quiet support.

"Alright, boy." Y/N murmured, scratching Snow behind the ears. "Let’s get this place in order and make something to eat for later, huh?"

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