#spencer's tummy is adorable

[milla984]

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…” 

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

[amorre1989]

lovely love letters

pairing: Spencer Reid; reader

word count: 3,4k

content: after a shared night with your sweet boyfriend Spencer, you wake up alone at his apartment and allow yourself to snoop around his apartment

mornings in your boyfriend's apartment were different. The feeling of the soft and a little sweated bedsheets combined with the smell of his skin was the closest you've been to heaven.

You had just woken up at Spencer's apartment removing the Spencer's part.

He left early in the morning, two hours before you, leaving a sweet hot kiss on your lips while you were sleeping (something you've assured him you didn't mind at all when he confessed to you that you looked adorable when you were sleeping, and that he always had to control himself from kissing you on the lips).

Leaving the bed was easy, you finally, after a long time, woke up with energy. Sleeping with Spencer has always given you an amazing dose of oxytocin, a hormone of happiness that is released while having physical contact and is related to the relationships (explained by who else than the amazing Dr Reid).

You walked your way to the kitchen, where on the coffee machine a sticky note was in the front of it, with instructions of how to use it, you left it to the side making the wrong assumption that you knew how to use a coffee machine, to seconds later hold it between your fingers and read it with a smile on your lips.

When you finally made your coffee you took a selfie holding the sticky note along with a text saying "thank you baby, i underestimated your gesture", you drank your coffee while sitting on the floor next to the opened window you allowed yourself to touch. It felt embarrassing, almost wrong to be at someone's place and touching everything you needed for the day, but Spence had made sure of letting you know you were free to do as you pleased while he was absent.

"I'm glad it did. how's your morning going?" Spencer's voice sounded in your head while reading the 40 minute late message, it's alright, you thought.

"very good baby, I'm sitting on the floor while drinking coffee" you said, not even thinking it was forbidden or anything.

"on the floor? I have plenty of comfy chairs, you know? and a sofa, and a bed" he texted back almost immediately. "why are you on the floor? does your back hurt again? I'll give you a message with oils when I get back, yeah? :)" he says, you can only pay attention to your smile being attacked by your teeth and the tickle you felt lower from your tummy. All those things he would do would always make you feel grateful for being his, and the fact that you, a well educated girl, was having breakfast in a house where the host was missing, was something you had to share with someone; you needed to tell someone you felt grateful for it, and who else better than your best friend?.

"I'll accept the massage with pleasure, baby...thank you for letting me stay at your place without you here...maybe it's dumb, but I feel grateful for it" you press the button "send" followed by taking a final sip from the mug you had chosen as yours.

Twenty minutes had passed since you last texted your absent boyfriend, you were now focused on tidying the bed you shared last night and doing an examination of Spence's belongings.

You were about to leave the bedroom when you realized his light table had a little red something peeking out the cabinet, you opened it and your tensed eyebrows relaxed by realizing it was a lollipop wrapper you made him try from your natal country, followed by little pieces of paper and napkins where you had written things to him before and doodled dumb things like his name or spirals, even a not too successful attempt of making a cute Snoopy followed by a "I suck at drawing" from you.

You sat on the floor for god knows how long, examining everything that was in that sweet little drawer. From candy wrappers to used napkins with your brown lip liner that had stained his cheek uncountable times as well. With little pictures you've printed for him of you both, flowers you had given him that were now dry and pressed for a book (a tip you've taught him) and then paper sheets from a notebook you didn't recognize of him talking about...you!.

Your first meeting, your first date, your first dinner, your first "she's staying at my place tonight!", his first "I'm staying at her's tonight!" and more things you've marked as relevant as well.

When you finished looking through his drawer you couldn't help but feel bad about invading his privacy, but you were curious, and he knew it!.

You went to the kitchen and noticed he had texted you back with a "you know you're more than welcomed at my place princess, I'm glad you feel comfortable with staying with me at night and in the morning too, I'm happy to share my days with you" your heart started to feel bigger and your heartbeat feeling more present as well, why does he have to be so charming?.

When he got back home after a few hours that became days, you were already at your place, and your presence in his apartment a few days ago was easy to notice when he opened the door and saw it was tidy, along with your perfume that you probably (did) sprayed at his place. He left his bag and made himself comfortable before calling you to meet up to have a movie night, that was your thing, classical movies everyone should watch, and if not, were pointed as dumb.

When you got there minutes later, you greeted him with a smiling kiss while holding something in your hands.

"hello beautiful...what's that?" he says scrunching his eyebrows.

"it's my Spence box, I thought you had to see it" you say, smiling, and with peek of something else he couldn't describe instantly.

"Spence box?" he asks. You nod and sit on the floor next to the coffee table, next you start to show and explain to him all the little things you have saved from 'firsts'.

After a while, when both were already distracted with a movie and holding each other relaxed he says.

"did you peeked in my drawer?" while realizing pretty late that in fact, you did. His face addressed yours, with squinted eyebrows and eyes.

"no..." you mumbled silently while looking away from his face which was instantly replaced with the view of him above you, smiling demonically while attacking you with his slender fingers in your tummy, along with both of your laughs filing the air of his apartment which was already titled as your home.

[luveline]

If you're taking request for Spencer and Bombshell!reader I think it would be so incredibly adorable if they were both on the way to a case (or coming back) and their little baby Amanda was face timing them to say hi to them and the team 🥺🥺

“Video call for you, momma,” Penelope says, plonking a laptop down onto the desk in front of you, and then quickly being called away by Emily for help.

You ditch your pen immediately, nail scratching the laptop trackpad as you slide the cursor to ACCEPT. 

Amanda’s face fills the screen, a shy smile like her dad’s close to the camera, her eyes almost cut off by the top of the screen. 

“Amy, babe, you’re too close to the computer! I can’t see your lovely face.” 

Amy sits back in her chair. “Is this okay?” 

You take her in. You trust your babysitter to take good care of her, but nothing is as reassuring as seeing her unhurt and smiling. “Hi, baby.” 

“Hi mommy,” she greets. “Where’s daddy?” 

“He’s in the bathroom. Be back any minute. Are you being a good girl for Mrs. Gamorrah? How’s your tummy?” 

“I’m being good,” she says, ignoring the important question, “did you see my t-shirt?” She brings her shirt closer to the camera. She’s wearing her favourite pyjamas with the butterflies she had for her birthday, “Look, Mrs. Gamorrah got the soup stain gone.” 

You beam at her. You miss her like crazy when you’re not there. You and Spencer take turns staying home most of the time, and so being apart from her and knowing she doesn’t have Spencer to soften your absence makes it easier to worry about her, and harder to concentrate on the work. 

The door opens. You twist your head. 

Spencer’s drying his hands on a paper towel. “Is that Amy?” 

“Quick, she wants to see you.” 

Spencer hurries to the laptop, bending at the waist to see the screen and his impatient daughter. 

“Amy!” he says, like she’s the only person he’s ever wanted to see, voice enthused with his most dad-appropriate saccharine. “Hi, bunny, hi, hello. I miss you so much, are you okay? I miss you.” 

You tap his leg gently. Calm down. 

“Daddy, I am so happy, and I miss you too! We’re doing pictures.” She holds up a sheet of paper covered in crayon drawings. “Are you okay too?” 

“I’m great now I’m seeing you. I really miss you, sweetheart, I’m sorry we’re both away at work.” 

“It’s okay. Me and Mrs. Gamorrah are gonna have pizza and jiffy pop and soda tonight. It would be good with you, but it’s still fun.” 

“That’s good,” you say, putting your hand on the keys, wishing you could feel her soft arm in your hand, stroke her silken forehead. “We’re gonna be home soon. Maybe even tomorrow.” 

Spencer wraps his arm behind your shoulder. “Me and mom miss you so so much, and we’re so proud of you being a good girl at home. We’re gonna bring you a big present for being by yourself.” 

“I’m not by myself, dad, I have Mrs. Gamorrah. Plus, Uncle Morgan said he wants to take me and Hank swimming on Sunday.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be home before Sunday.” You smother your frown. Spencer kisses your cheek. 

“Give one for me, dad!” 

Spencer kisses you again. “That one good enough?” he asks. 

“Another one!” 

When you get home, you’re gonna spoil the death out of her. Like, worse than you’ve ever spoiled her before. Spencer presses another great kiss to your cheek and smushes your faces together, Amy on the screen reaching for you both for a ghost hug. “I wanted to say hi before we go to the store. Can I call you again before bed?” 

“Yeah, baby, call again!” You rush to answer. “Call daddy’s phone, okay? Mine’s not working right. I’ll answer you, we’ll talk all about your day. Okay? I miss you very much.” 

“I miss you too. Bye bye.” 

“Okay, bye bye,” you say, “I love you.” 

“Love you, Amanda,” Spencer says. 

She waves her little hand until it looks like it might fall off of her wrist. Spencer waves back just as hard.

[irndad]

Spencer laying in bed brushing readers hair and rubbing her back while she's asleep and then Derek walks in cause he has a key and Spencer refuses to move reader off him so Derek and Spence just talk in the room while reader sleeps ?

thank you for requesting dove!! she is so soft <3 requests r open!!

Morgan is a great houseguest, usually. Well, a fine one. He knocks, and when Reid had moved into this place he’d bought Spencer a moderately priced bottle of red wine that has sat untouched in the months that have followed. Still, Spencer had given him a key both for professional reasons and personal ones. He liked to be accessible to Morgan.

Tonight, though, this feels like a mistake. This thing Spencer has with her feels delicate. She’s so lovely, warm and kind and came over to eat takeout on his couch after what seemed to be an incredibly long day. He’d called her on his way out from the office, eager to see her that night, and selfishly was incredibly pleased that she still wanted to come over despite her obvious fatigue. 

She’d put in a valiant effort into staying awake, and god, it was adorable to watch. He likes to watch her, study her like a detailed oil painting. Likes to watch how the light of the television bounces off her lashes and illuminates the lines of her gorgeous profile. He’d watched as her eyelids got heavy, and she fell into a light slumber. She’d leaned onto his shoulder, and then fell into his lap. 

“Are you okay with this?” He’d asked gently, nervous and endeared in equal measures. She’d nodded, and nuzzled into his soft tummy. 

He was immeasurably pleased.

Which brings us to Morgan, busting through door with his spare key, and the most aggressive shush he’s ever given him. Morgan saw a woman on his lap, and his eyes widened in bemused shock. 

“My man,” he whisper-laughed, and Spencer blushed a deep scarlet. 

“What do you need?” he tried to be friendly, but Spencer- he was distracted, alright. 

“I came over to go over a file,” Morgan said, “But if lover-boy is busy…”

“Shut up and sit down,” he says, eyes gesturing to the ottoman. Morgan quirked up his brow in questioning, gesturing towards his sleeping girlfriend. 

“She’s a deep sleeper. Talk quiet.”

When she wakes and she’s told that Morgan had seen her sleep, she’s so embarrassed Spencer thinks she might pop. It’s still so, so cute.

[ssahopelessly]

(I know the gif is not Spencer but walk with me on this one)

Just hitting Spencer with a “baby?” As soon as he walks in the door.

“Yeah?”

“Tummy time?” And he removes the satchel from his body, looking at you with eyes of adoration.

“Yeah.” And then fast forward to you resting your head over his stomach, laying together in bed, blabbing and yapping about the days you had.

(OR your head is on his tummy but you’re looking at him and his hands are combing through your hair, and he’s wondering why it’s softer than anything he’s ever felt?)

Idk, some domestic things.

[reidsdimples]

No but imagine being insecure about your tummy and love handles and thick thighs but Spencer absolutely LOVES them. He nuzzles into your tummy and holds you close and leaves bite marks across your thighs. He never wants you to hide your body and can’t get enough of planting kisses everywhere to show you just how much he adores you. He grazes his fingertips gently over your skin to send goosebumps over you and just lays there with messy hair watching you sleep soundly. 🥺❤️

[radiant-reid]

spencer and reader (first time parents) definitely have a "parenting schedule" (aka who gets to do what), probably something like this:

- obviously spencer doesn't like germs, but i do think he'd insist on changing all the diapers, especially if reader is breastfeeding ("you carried her and you have to do every feeding, its only fair!")

- they bath her together until she gets a little older (like 4 months?), then they start to take turns (also im a firm believer baby reid loves bath time, idk why, she just does)

- if its not for a feeding, spencer gets up with her in the middle of the night. if it is for a feeding, obviously thats readers job.

-they take turns putting her down at night and getting her up in the morning

- spencer reads to her all the time, and reader is (mostly) in charge of tummy time (esp if baby doesnt like it, yk spencer wouldn't be able to handle seeing baby upset)

new dad spencer !!!!!!

I do agree that he does more than his fair share of diapers and he becomes quite a pro

he thinks it's adorable when baby reid splashes the water, whether she's in the bath or a pool because he can see her little mind being curious about things around her. and omg he loves washing her hair because it's so soft and so bubbly

i think if there's breastmilk expressed then he'll be up in the night feeding her but he'll always get up to bounce her or read to her if she can't get back to sleep

he takes the morning shift a little bit more than reader, especially if he's been away for a little while. he just loves walking into her room and she's giggling and so happy to see him. and reader's wondering where they are while spencer's getting his early morning cuddles in

he does the most wonderful voices for the character when he's reading !! anything to get her giggling and smiling. naturally, he has the books memorized so he can just show her the pictures

some of my thoughts:

-he feels so bad when she's teething because he hates his baby being in pain and he knows she doesn't have the words to express how sore it is. he'll sit there with her and rub her gums for hours

-he loves carrying her. she's like his little accessory (not in a bad way where he doesn't care about her) and he always wears her in a front carrier so she can see the world

-when she eats solids, he does more of the feeding. idk why, this just makes sense in my head. he thinks it's so cute when she tries a new food and does an adorable little thinking face while she decides whether or not she likes it. sometimes he does end up with puree all over him but it's okay

-he definitely does some humming and borderline signing to her but if anyone asks, it never happens

-along with reader, baby reid is the only person who can get him to abandon his work for the night. if he's at his desk and she crawls over to him, he's gone. there's nothing happening that night but him playing with her

[trrickytickle]

ICarly: Tickle Headcanons 🎥📺

I kid you not this song goes so hard

ok this feels SLIGHTLY offensive to write for some reason, but I enjoyed it a bunch, request for @tickle-beans

Carly Shay 🌐

As a ler: Her years of living together with Spencer have made her a professional ler. She's mastered quite a few techniques, including tummy-squeezes and dreaded claws of anticipation.. Gangs up on Freddie with Sam, because obviously! Also always gets her chances to get revenge on Spencer, who always teases her for being ticklish when really he's where she got that gene. Once collaborated with Socko to create tickle socks for the show. Most def switch vibes up the wazoo, and is the type to laugh while tickling her ler. Will come up with tickle activities for the webshow (because she HAS)

As a lee: Carly's very obviously and canonically got a ticklish tummy, and it's even canon that Spencer tickles her to cheer her up/annoy her most of the time. They ABSOLUTELY tk fight literally because it's so canonically implied and sibling dynamics have some of the best tickle potential because like??? HELLO. Sam and Freddie also tickle her frequently. A more general headcanon I have is that Carly gang sans Spencer also tickle each other a ton. Her worst spots besides her tummy are her sides and armpits.

Sam Puckett 🧦

As a ler:

Feral as a ler. Will literally just jump at wherever she can tickle and tickle it good. Likes to tease- but it sounds more like threatening. She definitely gets more injured than the lee when she's tickling someone (Freddie and Carly, mainly) and likes to chase lees with wiggling fingers. Knows all of Freddie and Carly's spots, even has charts of them because you know, feral. Whenever a tickle fight starts between the gang, the word "fight" sends a feral response into her brain and she becomes evil asf like she already is. Let's face it, she probably has some strange tk tool, think butter sock. When she goes on to live with Cat, she's the main ler for her, same goes for Carly. Doesn't help that she's stubborn and ticklish and iCarly probably has had a ton of tickle episodes though. Always takes advantage of Freddie's ticklishness because he's Freddie. The butt of the joke, duh

As a lee-

Kicker. Scrapper. Squealer. All of the -ers. Will curse people's firstborns. Spencer is the only one who can manage to hold her down- has the advantage of size. Freddie always tries to tickle her but she turns the tables immediately. Ticklish literally everywhere, only Carly is able to tickle her successfully even IF she does bite- or probably worse. Definetly worse. According to the DGITVSCU (Dan Get In The Van Schneider Cinematic Universe) Sam literally is banned in 6 US states. I'm scared of her, always have been.

Freddie Benson 📽️ As a lee: Always been tickled, like his whole life. Ticklish everywhere, most often tickled by his senile mother AND to make it worse, his friends. Most frequent ler is Sam, who's the most evil ler out of the gang. Honestly, scratch the "his friends" part. Mostly Sam. Still, though, singled out as the lee of the gang. Also bro wears like, the same 5 polo shirts. It was just funny so I pointed it out. Has a loud, wheezy and snorty laugh, which Carly, Sam and Gibby (and potential other guest stars) think is hilarious- well except the main 2 girls, they secretly find it adorable of the love triangle thing they got going for them.

As a ler: This man is out for blood and revenge. Favorite spots to tickle are the sides, ribs and armpits, and always revenge-tickles to no avail, except when he does. He would engage in great switch-banter with any of the girls, though.

Spencer Shay 🎨

As a lee: Reluctant, but doesn't hate it. Often tickled as a bribe by Carly and/or the iCarly crew (most frequently as a means to convince him to do Baby Spencer) Worst spot is his tummy much like his similarly creative sister. Will get tickled as a means of performance art or anything similar. I want this guy as a brother so bad. His laugh is frantic, loud and he's a thrasher but tries not to hurt his ler. Will shut his eyes and whatnot and try to retaliate using his strength advantages.

As a ler: Corny, cheesy, fatherly. Incredibly dorky, will make dad-jokes and play tickle games, as well as pretend to sculpt his lee (typically Carly) like clay. Has lots of fun as a ler, it's all in part to his duty as the fun, paternal figure to be good at tickling. Her favorite spot to tickle is the tummy (it's Carly's worst spot, sooo) and reluctantly takes part in the iCarly.com tickling escapades. Has tickle techniques memorized and whatnot, and enjoys making his lee immobile by pinning them.

[riprendscore]

A brow was raised. Oh~? The little thing is attempting to comfort him... How adorable. A genuine giggle slipped passed his lips as a dose of butterflies paid a visit to his tummy, eyes like spotlights now scanning over his new friends features- a quiet act that very much overstayed its welcome, smile becoming sharp at the edges. A brief, yet all-too-long observation with predatory sights.

Usually, he is smart enough to keep his temptations to a second or two max. But this one.. This is different. He felt comfortable. Almost like he has a kind of unknown, unspoken permission. Something familiar. Strade's eyes rolled with a smile, finally moving away in a lean-back. "Well, thank you-.." He stopped himself at the others cheer, face twisting with greatly amused- if not impressed- looks, watching Spencer chug the first glass. "..No way." He slipped it in before the second was taken, and given the same treatment- Strade's eyes resting wide, the man now leaning forward against the counter. "No fucking way, that is insane!"

He took a quick swig from his own glass, but kept careful of how much he ingested. He can not afford to get drunk tonight. Especially not now! It's only been a few minutes, and he already has this guys sap-story and full name! And, what a lovely name it is.

Was.

Strade extended an arm, inviting in a hand shake. Not one he cares enough about to wipe the sweat from his palm for, but a shake nonetheless. "Strade." He truly couldn't help the way his bottom lip slipped beneath his upper teeth. Watching his friends throat pulse as he downed his alcohol far too fast to be healthy has his twitching in his pants. "Great minds think alike, don't they? Glad I could make ya night, Mel. And, maybe.."

Strade moved his hand in closer. Much closer, with a silent breath shaking through his nose. A single index finger twirled its way around one of those signature, framing 'raccoon tails,' slowly pulling it towards himself- watching the hair spin around his finger before withdrawing. Soft. Real. Strade shuddered. "You made mine?" He held a gaze that became all too flirtatious, all too soon. "You got rid'a your booze fast, didn't ya..."

A lean back. A loud laugh. He turned his attention to the yellowing TV instead, knee bouncing in anticipation as his hand rested on his stomach- leaving a fun pat pat. "Let me know if you're craving any more, yea? You're a good sport! I don't mind treating you."

Pay My Way

//Finally furthering the plot with @boneluvrr777 , cause life has given me a single window of a break 👉👉 Cont. from here

----------

[ddejavvu]

All I want is to wake up to Reid grinding against my ass and whining in his sleep, is that too much to ask?

🥴🥴 this post is 18+, minors dni. (Also please I’m on my knees for more criminal minds requests)

It’s the soft pressure against your stomach that wakes you, but it’s the gentle friction brewing in your belly that keeps you awake. You blink hazily in the darkness of your bedroom, only a soft sliver of moonlight illuminating the space. A soft whimper from behind you alerts you to the fact that Spencer isn’t asleep anymore either, and you try to turn over before you realize that the pressure on your stomach is his hands.

You peer down at his grip on you, tummy twisting as you watched his fingers twitch as your chest rose and fell. His touch is warm and almost puts you back to sleep, but then he shifts, pressing himself up against your ass and whining again.

“Spencer,” your voice is thick with exhaustion, a hand reaching up and back to lace in his soft brown locks, “Spencer, lemme go.”

There’s no response, and you strain to turn your head back, heart leaping in your chest at the sight of his peacefully closed eyes. Your movement spurs his, and he ruts against you once more, hands keeping you steady as he unconsciously grinds against you.

The situation has you letting out a moan of your own, the sound mixing delicately with Spencer’s soft whimpers. His brows are furrowed slightly, the soft curve of his face reading concentration as he slept.

You gently pry his hands off of you, turning around to face him. The next time his hips slide towards you on the bed he’s met with none of the same friction as before, and it tears a whine from between his soft lips.

“Spencer,” You coo, a hand cupping his cheek as your lips press against his nose, “Baby boy, wake up.”

It only takes three more kisses, one to the nose and one to each cheek, for him to finally stir, blinking groggily at you in the sparse moonlight.

“Y/N? What, what is it? ‘Somethin’ wrong?” It barely takes him two seconds to switch onto high alert, and you chuckle softly, your cheek smushed slightly against your pillow.

“Nothing’s wrong, Spence. But I think something’s definitely up.”

It takes him a moment to clock your innuendo, his sleepy brain working overtime to process his surroundings, but once he does he’s tensing, pulling away from you with a soft gasp, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry-”

You were already waving off his concerns, having predicted the embarrassment that stained his cheeks crimson, “‘S okay, I’m not mad.”

“You’re,” His brow furrowed adorably, lips puffed out in a confused pout, “You’re not?”

“No,” You giggle, snaking an arm around his waist to pull him back towards you, pressing yourself against him and not missing the way he jolted slightly at the immediate contact, “Just thought it might feel better if you were awake.”

[subspencer]

ummm, calling spencer princess and he pouts and squirms because he’s not a princess, jerking him off and rubbing your thumb over his cute tip 🥺

this speaks to me <3 reader can be gender neutral in this

wc: 1.1k. cw: handjob (male receiving), teasing/orgasm denial, oh and some light bondage but in a loving way

---

Spencer wiggled his ankles against his restraints; two of your favorite silk scarves, tied around each of his ankles. They were bound to two legs of his wooden chair, legs spread apart just a little. His hands were bound behind the chair, as well.

He was in this position because you loved him.

You came home earlier that evening to him, waiting for you in your apartment like he had always belonged there. He wasn’t doing anything special; just curling up on your sofa with one of your old books to pass the time. Wearing your favorite cardigan of his, a cup of tea in front of him. He looked so adorable like that. So deserving of your love, your praises, and all your attention.

So you had to do this. You needed him out on display for you, sitting pretty and patiently while you took your time to appreciate all of him.

You faced him in his lap, straddling both of his bare thighs. Your fingers pored over every inch of him, memorizing him just by touch. They left no stone unturned, almost. Avoiding only the areas where he wanted your attention the most.

You loved his long, perfect legs. Especially his thighs, which by far were the strongest part of him. He felt sturdy underneath you, like a safe place where you could always come to rest, because they would hold you. You could feel them flex and tense under you as he got more turned on; even feeling your body shifting with his, up and down, each time he tensed and relaxed.

And you could stare at his bare arms all day long. No one would ever know it because he hid them behind all his layers, but he had the most beautifully defined arms, that you never felt you saw enough of. Even on the lean side, they had a bit of tone to them. Not to mention the veins that ran through his forearms, down to the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen. All of those hidden things showed through when he did anything physical. Like strain his wrists against something he knew he wasn’t going to get out of.

He even had the cutest tummy. Soft and nearly hairless. Nearly. He had the lightest smattering of hair below his navel, which always guided your vision right down to arguably, your most favorite part of him. Your fingers traced that light path, tickling those wispy hairs and dipping low. Only the tip of your longest finger got close enough to touching the base of his aching dick before you dragged your hand back up again.

Digging your fingertips into his soft lower belly, you captured him in a heated kiss. One of your hands found its way up to his cute, tiny nipple. Flicking it roughly before taking it between two fingers, rolling and gently tugging.

“Please,” he broke off the kiss in a gasp, throat tightening the more you teased his chest, “please…please, please.” He didn’t even know what it was he was begging for, but he couldn’t stop saying it. He didn’t care what it was, he would take anything so long as you gave him contact where he needed it.

“What do you want, princess?” you mewled below his ear, nuzzling your nose into his soft brown locks. He always smelled like citrus and warm spice.

His chest rumbled at the name. He hated being called that.

You thought of it differently, but to Spencer, it reminded him of how absolutely helpless he was in your hands. Like a pitiful mess just waiting for someone else to take care of him. He loved you, and loved how much you loved him, but he hated the reminder that he was fucking needy.

“M’not a princess.” The words he tried to spit out got strangled up in his throat when he felt your hand suddenly grip his neglected cock.

You kept your hand still at its base, feeling him pulse inside your hand. His whines got pathetic as you gripped him tighter and tighter, getting close to making it painful. You brought him right up to the point where you expected him to cry out, and stopped just before it. Then, you released him.

“If you’re not my princess,” you scolded, grazing your teeth against his neck, “then you won’t get treated like one.”

You quickly jumped out of his lap. His regret was immediate.

“No, please! Please, come back.” His face was an absolute wreck; cheeks and lips equally red, a line of sweat above his upper lip right where that ghost of his stubble began to show through.

You walked around his chair, placing your palm flat on his chest and dragging it as you walked, across his shoulder and around to his back where you stopped. The other hand laid heavily on his neck, fingertips delicately placed over his pulse point. His heart was pumping fast.

“Say you’re my princess.” You cupped his jawbone, bending his neck back so he was looking up at you. His pulse picked up.

“Pleasee, I –”

“You know the magic words, baby.” You mimicked the big, puppy eyes he gave you and leaned forward, nuzzling your noses together. He just looked so cute when he wanted something.

Spencer swallowed, pushing his lips outward. You quickly bent in to give them a stolen kiss.

“Please make me your princess,” he whispered. You rewarded him by coming around and straddling his lap once more.

Your mouth slipped over his in a slow, tongue-rolling kiss as you finally touched his dick. It was flushed an angry red, the blush took over his entire lower stomach and sprawled up to his flat chest. Using the leaking precome to slick him up, your palm moved slowly up and down on him. Stopping every so often to thumb small circles over his tip, met with whimpers each time you dragged your thumb over his slit.

You pulled away from the kiss, just to ask, “Say it again for me?”

“I’m your princess.”

You moaned in his ear, working your hand faster against him. You could hear him say that over and over, forever. “Again?”

“I’m your princess,” he groaned, thrusting his hips into your closed fist, riding your hand with whatever range of motion he could afford.

“Again?” You worked him faster, your own breaths getting shorter as you felt him throbbing in your hand.

He was so, so nearly there and when he finally spilled himself all over your hand, letting it slowly drip onto his thigh, he kept mumbling, “I’m your princess! I’m your princess.”

[luveline]

Spencer coming home from a long case only to find reader has unexpectedly adopted a bunny? ("Look Spence!! This is Doctor Bunny Reid :)")

thank u for ur request ♡ gn!reader

Your apartment smells strangely like straw. 

Spencer creeps inside quietly. It's five AM, too early for him to feel good about waking you up, but he hasn't seen you in eight long days, so he had to come over. He's hoping he can dump his stuff and slide into bed beside you without waking you, content to be close to you, assured that you're alright. 

He shucks off his jacket and his bag of dirty clothes by the door and unlaces his shoes. Hand pressed to the wall, Spencer walks down the short hall, past your living room and kitchen, to your bedroom door. 

"No, Doctor!" you say in a hushed shout from behind the door. "You can't eat that, that's one of his favourites. Woah, that tickles." 

Honestly, the first thing Spencer thinks is that you've gotten so bored you've found yourself enacting odd role play. The second thing he thinks is that you've found someone to do it with, and he quickly backtracks the first thing. He doesn't like the sounds of it, but he can be into it if you're into it. Probably. 

"Y/N?" he asks, pulling down the handle and opening the door.

You're sitting on the floor by your bed in strange attire. His t-shirt (that, while he appreciates the sentiment, does not fit you even slightly) under an old soft sweater with a huge hole in the collar. Black sweatpants, one sock, and a pair of white bunny ears perched in your hair. 

"You're not supposed to be back until seven," you say, shocked.

"That was my seven, not your seven… Surprise?" 

"Spence, I'd totally run at you right now, but," —you point at your lap— "I'm occupied." 

Spencer is disappointed, doubly confused by what you're pointing at. The soft lump at your abdomen isn't your tummy after all, but a moving grey creature of the same colour. 

"A rabbit?" he asks, eyes widening as the bunny in question nuzzles your sweater for petting. 

"Doctor Bunny Reid," you say, avoiding Spencer's eyes, a sheepish tinge to your admission. "To be precise."

"Your sock?" he asks, moving down onto his knees adjacent to your own. 

"He took it. I don't know where it went." 

Spencer quirks a smile. "He's cute. I don't think I can compete, really." 

You put your hand on the bunny's back and lean forward. "You compete," you say, pouting gently, "you're adorable." 

His smile turns to pleased surprise as you kiss him. Twice in quick succession, before you arm curls behind his back for a loose hug over your new pet.

Spencer breathes in your smell. Or, attempts to. "The hay and ammonia is a lot." 

"I know. I'll figure it out, I promise… I missed you, Spence." 

"I can sort of tell." Spencer isn't sure he needs to be a profiler to realise that adopting a bunny and naming it after him while he was gone is the sort of thing only a very lonely person would do. "How's he so calm?" 

"He's, um, four years old, he's used to handling. I got him at the pound. His owner died last week." 

"You have all the stuff for him?" 

"Of course I do," you say, leaning back to meet his eyes. "I didn't mean to get him just 'cos I was lonely, I promise I actually read up on it before I decided. He's handsome, isn't he? You wanna feel how silky his ears are?" 

Spencer doesn't doubt you care, or that you're responsible, he's just surprised. You hadn't mentioned wanting a rabbit before. Petting the rabbits ears softly, he asks, "You know they live for eight to twelve years? Sometimes longer? The oldest rabbit ever documented was eighteen years old." 

You frown. "I know, Spence, it's a commitment. I should've asked you first, but I–" 

"No, I mean. It's not about that, I hope we get longer than eighteen years together. But are you sure Doctor Bunny Reid is the name you want to choose?" 

Your face floods with relief. "Well, his real name was Mr. Patterson. Which one do you like better?" 

The bunny has enough of your lap, hopping down onto the floor and bolting for what appears to be a big wooden house you've set up for him. There are black partitions for an enclosure leaned up against the wall. Spencer can guess exactly how he'll be spending the day, and it involves less cuddling than he thought. 

Spencer takes your empty lap as an opportunity to hug you again, a protective hand cupped behind your head. "Definitely Mr. Patterson," he says, resting his nose against your cheek. 

You laugh infectiously, leaning back under his weight.

"I missed you. I'm glad to be home," he murmurs. 

You hug him tighter. "I missed you, too." 

[baus-jr-profiler]

"JJ Robert he shot Aaron and Haley. Shot Haley in the tummy And Aaron in the chest. He was trying to shoot jack but Aaron prevented him from doing so. Jack took Aaron's gun and shot Robert In between the eyes killing him." Spencer said softly

"No no no this is my fault. Is jack OK what am I saying of course he's not He might be an orphan and it's all my fault." JJ's voice was breaking already

"I don't give damn what you say not your fault You hear me?"Jack's face got really serious looking which made him adorable.

@huskerdustfanclub

Five o'clock in the morning a police man knocked on Ashley's door Spencer Was spending The night and was currently Asleep beside of Ashley.

The Policeman was holding a very grumpy looking Jack.

Jack was currently Kicking and punching The officers chest. But,, the policeman Didn't even budge He just let The three year-old Kick and thrash.

"I need to be with mommy and daddy! They're hurt they need me!"Jack squealed very loudly

(@baus-jr-profiler )

“Mm- what? Babe is that Jack?”

[foxy-eva]

Sleepy Golden Storm

Summary: Reader and Spencer Reid enjoy some morning cuddles

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: none

Author’s note: Here’s a soft and fluffy little fic that made me feel all warm and fuzzy when I wrote it. It was inspired by the line “Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm” from the Leonard Cohen song Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.3k

Masterlist

Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm

Whenever I came home from a night shift and found you sleeping peacefully on my side of the bed, I was convinced Leonard Cohen must have written this verse about you. The logical part of my brain knew of course that this couldn’t be true for many reasons. But this exact line always replayed in my head when I saw you like this.

The rising sun managed to sneak one of its rays through a crack in the curtains, illuminating our bedroom in soft shades of red and orange. Your unruly curls on my pillow did look like a golden storm then, so soft and disheveled, begging me to let my fingers run through them.

Even though you had done it many times before, seeing you sleeping on my side of our shared bed always let my heart skip a beat. When I noticed you lying there for the first time many months ago you had told me that every fibre of your body was yearning for my presence whenever I worked nights. The only way to soothe that longing was for you to be able to breathe in my scent lingering on the sheets.

The wood of the floorboards cracked when I stepped closer to the bed to take in the sight in front of me. I was afraid the sound would wake you up, but you only scrunched your nose for a fraction of a second and kept breathing steadily. I smiled to myself at the fact that this tic of yours was so deeply embedded in your subconscious that you couldn’t even shake it in your dreams. Your face looked absolutely perfect, your features relaxed and the lower half of it covered in stubbles. Ever since I had told you how much I adored your little scruff you stopped shaving every day.

You looked so peaceful, lying on your side, one arm under the pillow and the other on top of the blanket, holding the fabric in a loose grip. Although the comforter hid most of your body from my sight, I could picture the way your legs were positioned on the mattress, your knees bent and curled up. I assumed you would be wearing one of your checkered pajama pants you had owned for a decade, the patterns already fading and the material almost too thin to provide warmth from being washed and dried countless times.

I always showered at the hospital after my night shifts to not wake you up when I came home. I had already changed into my oversized sleeping shirt and pajama shorts as quietly as possible. Timidly I lifted the comforter to crawl into bed behind you, pressing my front into your back and wrapping my arm around you under the covers. You sensed my presence instantly without having to fully wake up, shifting your position slightly to lean further into my body. I pressed my face on your shoulder for a second to take in your scent before I let my head rest on the pillow behind you, your curls tickling my cheeks.

I let my hand glide over your thigh, feeling the soft fabric of your pants. I lingered on your hip for a second, squeezing it gently before my hand found its way under the hem of your shirt. Your abdominal muscles twitched when I let my fingertips trace the line of hair right beneath your belly button. I circled your navel with my index finger twice and noticed your skin breaking out in goosebumps. I knew it wouldn’t be long now before all of your drowsiness left you and you fully woke up.

I flattened my hand to let it slowly roam over your tummy, relishing the softness of it. I had to suppress the urge to bury my fingers into your tender flesh, still trying to give you some time to leave the grip of sleep at your own pace. I don’t know why but your skin always felt extra warm and delicate in the mornings. My hand wandered further up your body and I let my palm rest on your chest, counting your heartbeats while I pressed my lips onto the nape of your neck.

I heard a hum leave your throat when you felt my kiss on your skin and I whispered against it, “I missed you so much, sleepy boy.” You took your sweet time to fully wake up, your eyes still closed when your arm wandered underneath the covers and reached behind you to make contact with me. You gave my waist a tender squeeze before you slowly shifted your body, turning around to be able to face me. I let my hand slip out from under your shirt and placed it on your back, caressing it gently.

Your eyes were still half-lidded and weary when they found mine. It seemed like it took you a couple of seconds to fully fathom that you were awake and I was really here. When your brain caught up with the fact that you were not dreaming anymore, you smiled at me and put your hand on my cheek, your thumb tracing my skin. Your lips looked so smooth and kissable I couldn’t resist them any longer. My mouth found yours in an instant and you gladly accepted the contact. After a few moments I decided that kissing your lips was not enough and peppered your whole face with little pecks while a breathy laugh left your throat. First I found your cheeks, then your nose, your forehead, your jaw, your temple and then your mouth again.

When I was satisfied for now I let my head rest on the pillow again to look at you. My little ministrations apparently helped to fully wake you up and I reciprocated the smile you granted me. You closed the small gap between us to kiss me once more while your hand made its way under my shirt, tracing the sensitive skin along my spine. You drew little circles with your fingertips, leaving goosebumps on your way and making me shiver slightly. Both of us always craved skin to skin contact after being separated for more than a few hours. My palm wandered from your back up to the nape of your neck, making contact with your soft curls. I let my hand dishevel what was already a little messy, intertwining my fingers with your hair.

“Good morning my love,” you mumbled against my lips with a hoarse voice. You pulled back slightly to be able to fully look at me. “I missed you so much,” you continued.

I put my hand down on your shoulder and gave it a tender push, implicitly telling you to lay on your back. I curled into your side, put my arm around your torso and let my legs entangle with yours. I buried my face into the crook of your neck and placed a kiss on your pulse-point. You let one of your hands rest on the small of my back and put the other one on my upper arm, holding me tightly.

The warmth you provided for me made my insides tingle and my heart swell. I found so much comfort and security in the way you held me, sending my body into a deeply relaxed state. I noticed how my breathing evened out and slowed down in tandem with the sound of your heartbeat. The harbingers of sleep were already dulling my senses when you kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

I wanted to tell you how much I loved you as well but I was already too far gone. I repeated it in my mind instead, over and over again, hoping you would be able to hear it somehow.

I love you, Spencer

[radiant-reid]

How about one where Spencers insecure about gaining some weight so the reader makes sure he knows how much she loves his body? Tummy kisses?

no bc he's so fucking hot

You know something is a little wrong with Spencer when he walks into your apartment with a frown that he's trying to hide. Usually, he's smiling, but when he's having a bad day, he doesn't hide it from you.

Tonight he is, though, and you're immediately concerned, walking over to take his stuff. "What's up?" You ask, pulling him further into the warm house.

He's still not happy, pouting as he falls down onto the couch, defeated. He lays flat against the material, looking up at you in an attempt to make a normal amount of eye contact. "Nothing." He claims. He kind of hates that you can read him how he reads people.

"Baby, something's bothering you." You coo, swinging your leg over his hip so you can straddle his waist. You push his curls out of the way of his eye, keeping your hands on his forehead.

"Sweetheart." He warns you not to push it, but it comes off too weakly.

You shake your head. "Tell me."

"No." He refuses. "It's dumb."

"I doubt you've ever thought anything dumb in your life." You remind him, leaning down to kiss his cheeks.

Spencer turns to deny you the kiss. "It's vain then."

You pull back, raising your eyebrows at him. "Please tell me, baby." You beg, cupping his cheeks again.

He huffs, barely getting the sentence out in a whisper. "I've gained weight, and I've never thought I was good-looking, but I feel horrible about how I look."

"Thank you for telling me." You say, gently running your finger over his nose. He expects your following words to agree with him, but they're very far from it. "Spencer, I need you to look at me and listen to me." When he does so, your heart breaks from the tears diluting the warm brown of his eyes. "I think you are the most attractive person in the world. I've adored how you looked since you were 29, and I'm enamored with how you look now. You've been to hell, through hell, and back, and yeah, you've gained weight, but it only makes you more attractive and healthier."

Spencer scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not." You tell him sternly. "I love how you fill out your shirt and pants now. Seriously, looking at your ass is a blessing every day." He chuckles slightly. Precisely what you've been looking for. "You're eating three meals daily instead of drinking heart-attack-inducing amounts of coffee. You're the hottest you've ever been because you're healthy."

"You're sweet." He says. "But I think you're a liar."

If words aren't enough, you figure actions will be, and you shuffle down before untucking his shirt from his pants and kissing his stomach.

"What are you doing?" He asks, squirming a little because of how ticklish he is.

"I'm going to kiss the insecurity away." You tell him. "This one and any others." You pause to kiss him again. "Until you believe you're the most gorgeous man in the world." You don't hesitate to go back to your job, continuing to kiss him until he pulls you away. "Believe me now?"

"Maybe." He answers sheepishly. "I'm sorry for dumping this all on you first thing."

You shake your head, leaning back up so you can kiss him properly on the lips. "I'm always here to tell you how good-looking you are." You assure him. "I'll never let anyone be mean to you, and that includes you, so be careful because you don't want to make me mad."

He chuckles at you. "Oh, I know that." He reminds you. "I love you."

You grin at him, leaning down to kiss his perfect nose. "I know that. And you better know that you're attractive."

"I do." He finally agrees, smiling his beautiful smile. It was a 180 from the expression he'd been wearing when he walked through the door, and you knew your work was done.

[fictionfunshop]

Wake up call - One Shot

Inspired by this gif-set by @reidgifs.

Him resting his leg on the chair does stuff to me.

18+ / smut!

You didn't even need to open your eyes to know that he wasn't next to you. You shimmed your hand across the bed to find his side cold and let out a whine. You knew some cases took their toll on him, and you could hear it in his voice when he called you from the plane earlier inviting you over. It was times like this you wondered why he does this job at all, why put yourself through all that horror without even a good outcome. Your eyelids flutter open and look around the room as best as you could, noticing a slither of light coming from the bedroom door.

You stretch over to his side of his bed and cuddle into his pillow, hoping that his smell will get you back to sleep. For someone who spends most of his time in motels and sleeping in chairs, the fact that Spencer had a comfortable bed didn't surprise you; nothing about his apartment did. After months of dating and sleepovers being exclusively at yours, he finally let you come over, spluttering on about how dirty it was, but you didn't care. Building his trust had been the most important thing. The fact that he let you through the door made your heart burst and fall more in love with him than you thought possible. It also signalled a change in him; you noticed his shoulders relaxed a little when you cuddled into him on the couch and how much lighter his laugh was bouncing off his dark green walls in his safe space. You glanced to the door, hoping to see any sign that he was joining you again, but after a few silent moments, you decided to try to find him. You slipped out of the sheets, draped one of his shirts over your body and tip-toed out into the light.

That's where you found him. He’s sitting by his desk, surrounded by books and case files, wearing a t-shirt, his boxers, and a guilty look on his face.

"Did I wake you?" the guilt amplified on his features. You shook your head before you join him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders nuzzling into his neck.

"Just missed you," You can feel him smile as he rubs your arm. "What has you awake?"

"This last case…I. think I missed something, so I've been looking through some books I was reading last summer," You knew he was on a roll and not to say anything until he calmed down a little, so you sat down on the corner of his desk, you let a small smile escape when his hand finds you thigh, and his thumb rubs circles.

"Spencer," You take his hand to your chest, which grabs his attention. "I know I'm probably out of line when I say this, but it's over. You did everything you could; you all did."

"Sometimes I feel like I didn't do enough… I'm the genius. I'm meant to know everything..." He says the last part in a whisper as he looks up at you with his wide brown eyes, and your heart breaks a little.

You take his face into your hands, your fingers tangling into his hair. You know he didn't want an answer to the question. He just wanted someone to listen to him. It worried you to think of a time before when he would probably sit here in darkness for hours, pouring over files with no sound other than pages turning. He buries his head into your chest and wraps his arms around your waist. You twist random strands of his hair between your fingers, noticing that there's an auburn fleck when it catches the light. He lifts his head from your chest; his eyes glance at your attire. You keep your fingers in his hair, moving it away from his eyes.

"Is that my shirt?" You nod your head, "Looks good on you…" his hands move underneath to your bare skin and just like that, the files and books around him are forgotten, his eyes are starting to cloud over.

He stands up from his chair and moves between your legs, and you shift your position on his desk so you are perched in place. He leans down and captures your lips in his; the minute your tongues meet, he lets out a groan, and his large hands find the small buttons of his shirt; you shrug it from your shoulders, leaving you on his desk in your lacy underwear. He breaks away from the kiss, his gaze trailing all over your body.

"You are so beautiful like this…" his hands' ghost your ribcage before finding your hard nipples, "You know I'll think of this every time I sit here from now on…" he bends his head down and flicks his tongue over your nipple, his nimble fingers working the one, not in his mouth. You let out a gasp, your nails finding his shoulders as he switches, his teeth now grazing the sensitive bud. You can feel a wet patch being left on the wood underneath you.

"Spence…" you whine.

You know he's smirking because he knows you so well. His free hand travels down to your underwear where he cups you; you let out a whine when his hand connects with you. He breaks away from your chest, and you both lock eyes.

"Fuck me, you're soaked…" he dips his fingers beyond the lace and circles your entrance, your hips snap forward to try and get some relief.

He smiles as he gathers your juices and circles your clit lightly, your name cursing from his lips now. You whine as he removes his fingers before he tugs your underwear down your legs. He opens the top drawer of the desk and drops them in.

"You could've asked; I would've given you a clean pair."

"But I want these ones", he winks at you.

You let out a chuckle before he grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge. He kneels between your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he dives in, his tongue dipping between your folds.

"Jesus Christ!" You can feel him trace shapes with his tongue on your clit, and you're in heaven; one of your hands is tangled in his hair again, your other hand keeping you in place on the desk.

You can feel your orgasm building quickly in the pit of your stomach when his fingers start pumping you.

"So close – fuck Spencer!" he moans against your clit as you feel your orgasm wash over you, your legs shaking as he continues his assault while you come down from your high.

He pulls back from between your thighs, his lips and chin glistening and a massive smile on his face.

"Did I do well baby?" You nod your head as he takes off his t-shirt and slips down his boxers.

That’s when you see how hard he is. Your hand reaches out to touch him as you slowly pump him in your hand, his pre-cum leaking into your palm with every movement.

"I need you inside me", you croak out; you both hear the needy tone in your voice.

He replaces your hand with his own, lining himself at your entrance before he slides in slowly. You let out a cry when he snaps his hips forward; he steadies himself with one of his arms on the desk, the other holds your hip in place as he fucks you so slow and deep you can feel the tears prick the corner of your eye.

"You feel so good baby," he moves the hand on your hip to your jaw, smashing your lips together.

His encouragement made you tug on his hair and bit his lip as he starts to pick up the pace a little; it makes you wonder if he was made for your pleasure. He feels that good inside you, hitting your cervix with every stroke, stretching you to your limit in the most delicious way possible. He pulls away from you, and you can see the concentration on his face, the vein on his forehead now visible as he tries to keep himself together. You dip your hand between your bodies and circle to bundle of nerves between your legs, and a loud moan escapes your lips as you tighten even further around him.

"So close…so fucking good…" you mumble, almost giving yourself permission to fall apart, your nails digging into his supporting arm as you collapse back on top of the papers on his desk.

Through your haze, you can feel him pull out, and he coats your tummy and chest with his orgasm; he catches himself from falling on top of you with his steady hand. He must notice the look on hour face.

"I don't think Hotch would appreciate my cum all over the files" you let out a giggle as he pecks your lips, "Stay here, and I'll clean you up."

You close your eyes, and you hear his feet patter to his kitchen and grabbing some tissue and a damp cloth. You snap your eyes open when you feel him wipe himself from you, him gazing at you with complete adoration in his eyes.

You always hope that he can see the same in yours.

"C'mon, sleeping beauty, we can pass out for a few hours before we have to get up again." He pulls you from his desk and back to bed.